blogging and authenticity.
I write for two reasons: it’s a form of release, foremost, and it leaves a record. But it’s only useful to me if it’s honest. Empty it of its authenticity and it’s just a writing exercise.
This raises the question: what’s honest?
The act of writing is a process of selection, creation, and sometimes extrapolation, so by its nature, it’s contrived. Some writing is more contrived than others, so much so that the act of writing can become a way to create an alternate reality, maybe an aspirational fantasy. I see it all the time. For myself, the challenge is in overcoming the inadequacies of language, or the contrivances of writing, to find and preserve something authentic. This is easiest for me to do, or attempt to do, when I feel like nobody’s looking.
When someone’s looking, there’s a bit of a Schroedinger’s Cat effect, in that the presence of a observer changes the thing, the moment, the reality. For example, the fact that you’re reading this right now might affect how I write it. And if you’re a part of my life and you’re reading this, you might even affect how I experience it, whatever “it” is, or I might try to change how I present myself.
(As an aside, this is useful to remember when reading certain voluminous tumblrs, which may or may not be parsed. There’s the appearance of authenticity as a running record of one’s daily minutiae, and it might be easy to forget how constructed and controlled these things really are. If it were a compelling topic, a dissertation could be written on the meticulous self-fashioning of Miss J, and others.)
I know Paul is reading what you’re reading. A friend/client reads this, too. The motherfucker who outed me several years ago reads this (I’ve got your IP, dear). I’ve met some amazing people through my blog, including him – they may or may not read this. I know a few working girls who know at least one of my other names who read this. I know my fuckbuddy is conducting regular searches to find this, so there might be a convergence of blog and life there, too. So I wonder if my awareness of these observers changes how I write. I wonder if the occasional surge of traffic makes me self-conscious about writing. When I write, I try to pretend, again and again, that nobody’s looking.
And there are pitfalls to writing about sex with any sort of regularity. One that’s come up in conversation with other sex bloggers is the risk of narrating your own sex life while you’re fucking, as though it were being viewed by the reader, like some kind of rapid, real-time conversion of experience to language. It’s like when you play Tetris so much that the world starts to look as though it were made of stackable objects — sex acts become words and phrases. That’s, well, sort of a Schroedinger’s fuck, in that the presence of an observer, or potential observer, directly affects the sex itself. This, to me, is very, very dangerous.
I avoid this by going blank during sex — sex is one of the few things that allow me to stop thinking, and when I write about it later, I usually write about those few moments of lucidity. And if I ever find myself thinking during sex, I stop writing.
I’m going to cut this short because I’ve got a gig and I need to dry my hair.
I can’t claim to have an answer or a strategy to keep things honest. All I can do is be aware of the challenges. It’s something I’m thinking about.
It’s funny you should write this. I recently had to do my own re-evaluation of my blog when it became clear that the sexual tone in my writing was growing to become to much for one of my readers, namely, my 1st cousin. Now, I blog on Livejournal, which means it’s a little more complicated of an issue that can’t be resolved with the ever-so-standard “So don’t read my blog.”
But in the end, that was the result. I decided that I couldn’t alter my contents for this one reader, as I would lose my own authenticity in the process.
The fact that we’re different around different people isn’t always something I’d call dishonest. I don’t believe truth is that rigid. We are, because we are. At least sometimes. Depending on the situation, you could almost argue it’s less authentic to remove the affect from the equation.
But, I totally understand what you’re saying, on the whole. Back when I blogged, those rare few who could walk into the room and hardly stir a persona were the ones I imagined reading as I was writing. I never could pretend no one was looking, probably because I wanted to think people were looking, but not too closely. The internet is perfect for that.
Thank you for this post. What’s clear is the emotion and honesty that you put into every post here and I for one love you for it. It can be ironic that what feels like narcissistic self-indulgence can be so helpful for someone else, but I take great solace in your public diary keeping, and wrestle with my own issues of public and private honesty that will plague me forever, as I’m afraid your will follow you for a long time as well. I have no answers to offer you, but thank you for sharing your own struggle here as we all search for the answers together.
“This is easiest for me to do, or attempt to do, when I feel like nobody’s looking.”
Be mindful of falling into this solipsism. I submit to you that the point of any art is to reach out to others, to make them feel or think or both. There is a hope that someone, somewhere, will “get it”. That, in and of itself, doesn’t make the art any less authentic.
I fully expect to be castigated by the “true artists” that read this. They will sturm and drang, and say they do art only for themselves. Well, they may be right. The instant they show their art to anyone at all, though, they will have proven me correct.
blogging is a certain performance, much like the rest of life. performance does not necessarily mean a departure from self or authenticity. perhaps it is just one aspect of self. some people who read this might know the “real you”–as in, the flesh-and-blood person–but i would imagine even the “real you” is some version of a performance, no?
i think that we even perform for ourselves some times. maybe the question might be, is this performance one that is actually connected to the core of myself? or has this performance become a distorted, unrecognizable, behemoth of a non-me?
and since, as a growing thinking human being, you are always in flux always changing and reassessing, well, maybe right now you’re trying to figure that out. for purely selfish reasons, i do hope you keep writing. but if this becomes and albatross, well. i’ll miss you.
So, what do you think of this whole Spitzer thing? Bit hypocritical, eh?
Did you, you know…?
Re : “the risk of narrating your own sex life while you’re fucking” – I notice myself doing that too, thinking, When I get home and it’s just me and my diary, how am I going to describe all of this?
im dying to hear more about this new guy.
One useful analysis of life as performance is Erving Goffman’s “The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life”.
I have great admiration for your writing skills. Clarity of thought, clarity of expression.
Does this clarity run throughout your life, or is the blog a chance to create a clear viewport through the confusion?
Have you ever read the Joan Didion essay, “On Keeping a Notebook”? She makes it seem like honesty is overrated, at least when you’re writing for yourself and yourself alone.
“That’s, well, sort of a Schroedinger’s fuck, in that the presence of an observer, or potential observer, directly affects the sex itself.”
So true. Do you have great sex and document the great sex, or do you limit yourself and narrate your own sexual history, pre-planning moves or encounters because it sounds good?
It’s something I struggle with.
It’s been surreal moderating comments from a restaurant restroom. But now I can write.
First, on Spitzer: I wish I could remark on that here. I’ll just say that it’s safe for everyone to assume that any politician with a particularly moralizing stance is seeing a prostitute. Just consider it a given. The hypocrisy you see doesn’t begin to compare to the hypocrisy you don’t see.
Again, these are all such great comments and thoughts. I guess it’s something all bloggers wrestle with to a certain extent. When does personal expression become an exercise in narcissism? Or solipsism? What’s genuine? What happens when that anonymity begins to erode?
Savage Henry – you know how much I respect your insight. You’ve got a good point. That outward connection is valuable. But when your readers are woven back into your narrative, it gets tricky. I wonder how to work with that, how to write without too much self-censorship, and how to be open without damaging my personal relationships.
It’s quite late, so I’m going to stop here and think about the rest of these comments.
I’d like to get my hands on that Didion essay and that Goffman book.
*turns himself into the Didion essay and the Goffman book*
yeah, A-freakin-men to the praise of your lucidity as a writer.
i would so hate to lose the learning and sheer pervy deliciousness of your blog if you stopped writing, but i’ve learned enough to know that if it’s costing you your own lived experience of your life, we’re all better off without it.
actually, inspired by you, and some amazing women i know who have opened their dirty minds and beautiful souls to me, i decided to go to a bdsm conference soon, and put up a profile on bdsm site. i’ve never really been one for the whole humiliation and intense beatings, but the mental domination, being a sensual and worldly mentor, having a woman’s permission — indeed, her express request — to coach her emotionally and sensually (often sides of the same coin)…it’s a nice turn on.
P.S. re: Tetris…..yes. Now that i’ve launched more fully into my vocation as a Positive Dom, i find myself seeing more women than i’d like through this filter. i don’t really want to ask the undergraduate cuties or hot moms at the kids’ dance class “hey, are you a self-identified submissive bi slut?”
actually…i do.
i just don’t like it intruding into my thoughts so much. maybe that’ll improve with time.
my anonymity is definitely slipping because i told three of my friends where my anonymous blog is. all of them were told for a specific reason aka ‘if i get hit by a bus please tell my blog’ because i hate blogs that just go dark and no one ever knows what happened. post a last post please…
anyway i’ve also told both long term lovers and now i’m stuck with an ex lover who knows where it is. i trust his discretion but i’m still tempted to move…
as for the narration it’s funny for me … it’s almost more like i’ll be in the middle of fucking and i’ll feel my inner blogger take a snapshot or something and then i’ll get back to what i’m doing. the inner narration exists for me certainly but it exists ALWAYS and not just when i’m in bed… so i don’t worry about it.
great post!
I had a wise boss once who counseled me (and all his co-workers) to always reserve a small part of your consciousness – say, 5% – at all times as a ‘witness bird’. He was talking more in the context of being in a business meeting or presentation – not fucking! – but I think it applies. I’m still working on this, as I tend to live more in the moment, and suffer regret. Especially when in an argument with a close friend or loved one, but its a useful skill.
To be able to perceive any situation as an outsider would, even while its happening to you, would in most cases help you at least keep your emotions in check, and/or may even help you avoid making a huge mistake. Although while in the sex act I agree its time to just let go and cover the eyes of that bird.
Some might call it your conscience, but I think its possible to do without being judgemental – of course, its not easy. I don’t think it diminishes the authenticity, but that’s just my opinion, and I could be wrong…(yes, I’m a Dennis Miller fan).
As as private dancer, I was always lying to someone, and I felt like my blog was the only place that truth existed.
Perhaps like most, my sex blog is kept almost entirely to myself; only one lover, my current (though long-distance) ‘primary,’ knows about it and reads it regularly, and we enjoy the sharing. I otherwise enjoy the freedom that that anonymity provides.
It’s affirming to see that others have been asking themselves if they’re internally blogging while engaging in play. I suppose it’s something like being a photographer who sometimes struggles between living life and trying to document it.
Often, anonymity and the Schroedinger’s Cat effect go hand-in-hand – that’s one of the first rules of blogging. When I first started, I made a conscious decision concerning the levels of anonymity and disclosure that I would follow. I haven’t deviated since and I like to think it’s worked well so far. I’m sure it will bite me in the ass some day, but I am confident that it won’t be too bad because of my forethought.
Of course, that means I hold back – that was my decision. There are things I wish I could share. Often, those are some of the more significant and important thoughts I have and I can’t post them. But the trade off is the safety of knowing that they can’t be used against me, that I am more secure for my discretion. The internet is not just a tool, it’s also a weapon. Personal blogging is a balance of catharsis and vulnerability.
But then my blog isn’t a sex blog and my sex life is nonexistent. It’s easy not to write about something when there’s nothing to write. It’s also easy to have a viewpoint without any perspective. All I can really suggest is that if you keep blogging, I’ll keep reading.