Reading my blog posts from way back in 2006 makes me cringe. I wrote just like a child—so immature and foolish. Who would blame me anyway? I was in high school, and my hormones were starting to realize what they're for, and I had every right to make disgusting blog updates about puppy love, bad days, and food. I can't believe how much profanity I used! I wrote in fuck whenever I had a want for the proper adjectives to make the proper purple patches. I wrote about my childish romantic feelings, which all seem so ridiculous and stupid to me now. I wrote in sticky keys. My ideas were a mess. My paragraphs were obese and visually appalling.
I can't really say I've improved much over the years. I still can't find the right adjectives to form the right purple patches. And I've sort of given up and have decided to be a follower of Wordsworth's "rural subject" and "plain language." I find that I like writing using simple words because then I don't have to pretend to be really good when I know that I'm really not. I'm not the type who can use the big words like lacuna or antidisestablishment. Even though they're at my disposal, I can't seem to bring out pinnacle or endemic when I need them. This sometimes makes me wonder if I really can write at all. I don't (or ever will) write in sticky keys anymore, and I have had training in copyediting, so my punctuations are more or less groomed. I have managed to trim down my paragraphs too to a sexier appearance.
But are my ideas really there? Am I present in my words? It sucks to admit that I don't have the answer to that. When I read other people my age, my words don't hold a candle to theirs. Mine seem too bland and just mediocre compared to theirs that contain long and difficult adjectives and lively expletives.
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