Cheating?

Does anybody really read this? Does it really matter?

Would I have more incentive to post entries in my blog if I knew hundreds of people were reading it every week? Or would that make me so careful of my words that my creativity would be paralyzed and my voice compromised?

Ever since I started this blog, I write less in my notebook. I used to set aside at least three hours each morning for writing, and if I ran out of words before the time had passed, I would pick up a book and lose myself in another writer's words, study someone else's craft. These days, if I've posted an entry, I can say I've done my writing for the day regardless of how much (or how little) time it took me to produce.

I feel like I'm cheating on my notebook, having an illicit affair with my desktop computer, even as my notebook sits beside me waiting for the familiar touch of my pen. Except where time spent with my notebook is a meandering walk through the park holding hands, the time spent on the computer is an afternoon quickie in a motel with red heart-shaped beds.

I guess they serve different purposes, fill different needs. In my notebook, I can jump from one topic to the next without providing any sort of logical segue. I can spew out thoughts in grammatically incorrect sentences if they are coming too fast to be interrupted by proper punctuation. I can try out an idea before it's ready for the eyes of the world. It doesn't have to make sense to anyone but me. There is a great freedom in the pages of my notebook. Room for the unexpected to surface unsummoned.

In my blog, I feel the need to have some sort of topic in mind as I write and to develop it to some extent before moving on to the next thought. I am conscious of the possibility that I am writing for an audience, but it is a big, faceless, nondescript audience (aside from known friends and family) that in fact may not now, or ever, exist anywhere beyond my imagination. I don't feel at liberty to ramble on for pages at a time because blog audiences, it is said, like to get in and get out, not find themselves elbow deep in a dissertation.

Part of this, admittedly, may be my fault, the result of expectations I brought to this writing endeavor. A hope that my voice might become part of a broader dialogue or conversation going on in the blogiverse and in the world. a subconscious seeking of approval or adulation from others to feed my ever-hungry ego. Perhaps I just need to give it more time, be patient, enjoy the journey, let my words find their own way into the world. Wouldn't be the first time the universe was trying to teach me that lesson. Maybe this time I'll learn.