Webwords

I admit I haven’t read a lot of blogs. When I see a blog link, I often follow it, but few blogs compel me to return. That isn’t necessarily a negative statement about those blogs; other people may return to them but not necessarily to mine.

We write and read for different reasons. Most of the blogs I’ve seen tend to be about the daily lives of the bloggers. If I know the person, I’m more likely to be interested, and perhaps those blogs are written for those who know the blogger. If they are, they’re serving their audience.

I started this blog to get to know WordPress (this blog program) so that I could provide help hosting other people’s blogs. Since I get paid to write for publication, I didn’t know what I’d write here.

With time, I’ve found that this blog does serve a personal purpose. Most of what I write for my work is informational. I enjoy that work, but here, I can write about different topics and in different styles. I aim to write so that people who don’t know me and those who do will find something they want to read and perhaps see something of themselves in my words.

How personal should a blog get? Do we want friends, clients, possible clients, acquaintances, people who barely know us or who don’t know us, and those who want to attack us all to be able to read our thoughts? Personally, I’d rather not have all those people reading everything I write here, but I accept that they will be able to.

Three days ago, I wrote something far more personal than I thought I’d publish online. But only my closest friends and a few others will know who I was writing about. I had to write it. That part was for me and for the person it’s about. For everyone else, it’s a story. It might leave you wondering, or it might remind you of someone you know.

For some of you, it’s your story too. You were also in my mind when I wrote it. Some thoughts and feelings have to be given words to connect us to ourselves and to each other, and for many of us, that is part of why we blog.

I wonder what her dreams and regrets were. Did she wish that she’d been able to express herself more, have deep friendships, hug someone, say “I love you”? Perhaps she sometimes imagined what her life would have been like if she’d done a different type of work. Married someone else. Never gotten married, or never had children. Or perhaps she felt fulfilled in ways that I couldn’t see.

Did she think about how much of our lives is shaped by our choices and how much is predetermined by our childhoods? Would she have been able to make other choices? Did she want to? Did she understand mine?

I think her last years were happier, but I’m hardly one to know. After years of struggle, I realized that I had the right and the responsibility to protect myself from people who…I’ll just say that I had my reasons. Only those who have made similar decisions will understand the turmoil that leads to such a separation. The turmoil continues because when you separate from one person and the group around that person can’t comprehend your decision, you end up separated from the group. Including her.

She had a good heart, and she gave a lot in the ways that she could. I hoped that she had a good life.

I won’t be attending the memorial service. I can still feel the flames from the bridges I burned behind me so long ago now. I grieved when I finally made that decision, and I grieved when she almost died seven years ago. My grieving has already happened and finished.

Almost.

Peace, M.

In my way, I will remember her.

We move among you, invisible but not silent. You read our words. You learn from the material we write. Perhaps you think about how helpful our work was, or you think a piece of ours wasn’t very good. But you don’t see us, the writers behind the words. After all, we’re ghosts.

I didn’t realize how fitting the term “ghost writer” is until I became one.

They: “So, what do you do for a living?”

We: “I’m a writer.”

They: “Ah, a real live writer. What do you write? Can I read some of your work?”

We: “Sorry, I can’t tell you what I write.”

They: “Oh? Why not? Do you [whispering] write adult content? You know…?”

We: “No, nothing like that. I’m a…ghost writer.”

They wander away. What can you talk about with a ghost?

It isn’t actually that bad. Depending on my audience, I can share the general idea of what I write about. I’m not after fame, and I recognize the reasons for having some work ghost-written rather than under the author’s name. Of course, I get paid for my ghost role.

As a ghost writer, I don’t get public credit for what I write, but I’m also not accountable to my audience. If you don’t like what I write, you can’t tell me. If I make mistakes in my work, you can’t criticize me. I am no longer one with my words, which in some ways is liberating.

Still, my words are my voice. I identify with them even if I’m not connected with them. Writers and words go together like bodies and souls. With my words published in various places without my name attached to them, I feel like a…ghost.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s your teacher. Lois is wearing a short-sleeved white cotton shirt with a mid-calf-length flowing floral print blue rayon skirt. Her casual blue sandals almost match one of the blues in her skirt, and she’s carrying the scuffed-up bicycle water bottle that she always brings to class.”

I try to walk the catwalk model-style but fail miserably. The students laugh and applaud.

“Isn’t she lovely? Thank you, Lois.”

After the teacher is willing to make herself look ridiculous, the students are less inhibited. Not that inhibition would’ve been a problem with this class. We even have the perfect music. I forgot to bring some, but Claudia from Mexico produces a Madonna song via her laptop.

Yetta from Taiwan starts. How does she do that walk so well? The students cheer. The camcorder rolls.

The students continue taking their turns as models and commentators to practise clothing vocabulary. Evan from Korea poses with each one in a manly style, capturing the sultry male model look perfectly.

Days like this in a language classroom make me want to stay in teaching. But I can’t do everything. After teaching only part-time for a few years while starting up my writing and editing career, I see that the next step in the transition may be soon. What happens in the next month or two will be key.

I don’t know if I’ll leave teaching completely, though. Why pass up an opportunity to be paid to have fun?

Hi R,

It’s been a couple of weeks since we’ve talked, which is unusual, I know. I didn’t know it would be like this. I’d say that I was abducted by the Greens, but the truth is that I volunteered to work with them.

Why? I’ve been asking myself that. Among the reasons is the way I feel drawn to the inner workings of groups. As you know, I tend to be peripheral or immersed in whatever I do. Middle ground doesn’t suit me. I already had more than enough to take up my time, but when they asked for more people to join the Greens, I got pulled in.

You also know how I need to organize information. In other groups I’ve been in, a knowledge structure was already in place or I was the one putting it together. In this situation, we learn by osmosis, asking questions, and tripping over our feet. I’m constantly following other people’s actions to try to figure out why a decision was made the way it was so that I’ll know how to handle similar situations. The Green Leaders are following our actions too, to see if we’re doing things right. The experience is different from what I’m used to, but that’s another reason that I volunteered.

This group expects more commitment than many. You put out, and you keep putting out. Within human bounds, of course. Is it worth it? So far, yes. Besides the rewards of helping the group, I enjoy being part of a committed team and having the opportunity to learn from people whose insights match their level of experience. The time will come when I’ll want to move on from this, but the time was right for me to work with the Greens now.

But I wish I had time for everything. When I don’t have to study so much to move up the learning curve, I hope my time will settle down to something resembling normal again. I haven’t forgotten the team that you and I are part of, and I’m still committed to that too.

Hope you’re doing well,
Lois