Keep it up

I read somewhere to have an active blog people will continually follow, you have to post every day. I repeat, every. day. Who has that kind of time? More importantly, who has that much to say? I can write my list for Target, if that will interest people. Otherwise, no new blog post until something strikes me.

I don't think I have much to say. I try not to say much at all. I've been labeled an introvert by Myers-Briggs, the mother-daughter duo who have branded people for decades. My friends would probably laugh at the thought of me being an introvert. I try to be the jester when I'm around them. But when it's people I don't know, or don't want to know, I either force myself to say something, or say nothing at all.

I remember when I was in the fourth grade, I decided I didn't want to answer the phone anymore. That was back when everyone had a land line and no one had a cell phone. I tell myself it lasted a year - which in the fourth grade, was a school year. August to May. Any time the phone rang, instead of jumping up and running down the hall from the living room to the kitchen (I guess this was before cordless. Yes, I am that old.) eagerly anticipating the voice on the other end, I'd linger on the floor, examining my toenails or tracing the carpet pattern with a finger.

When I finally learned to drive, I was afraid to order at a drive-thru. If my friends and I were going to grab something to eat, I made sure I wasn't driving. Or I'd make up an excuse as to why it was funnier if the passenger leaned over me, jutted her chin out the window, and shouted our order. Sounds fun to me!

At my current job, I cold call. Worst. Thing. Ever. I stutter and stammer, my voice faltering. The first call always go terribly. Once I bomb the first time, the rest are ok.

I think I don't like talking to people when I can't see expressions. I want to know how you're reacting to what I'm saying. Of course, this is incredibly ironic since I'm blogging and I have no idea what your reaction is. I'll just pretend you're chuckling to yourself, maybe wiping away a tear or laughter or shaking your head ruefully and sighing, "Oh, Stacy." At least, that's what I'd like you to do.

Or you can just tell me what you think. I may not be much of a talker, but I'm a great listener.

Honestly

In my head, I post what I'd really like to say on Facebook. Things like, "I always courtesy flush. You're welcome." Or "Had a great poop today." Not all are about bowel movements. Sometimes I think of things I want to say about Illyria, but am afraid I'll attract perverts or Child Services. Like "I love my naked baby in the tub!" and "I tap Illyria's tush and say, "Ta-ta-ta tushy, goodbye! Ta-ta-ta-tushy, don't cry." (I really do sing that.) Or things Mark said. I could post them before he got his own account. Now things like "Mark just told me he's learned more Spanish watching Handy Manny than his years in high school" just don't get posted because of the bruised ego and dirty looks that will definitely follow. I mean, that would definitely have won me some likes!

So I have to censor myself on Facebook. I've also learned not to friend certain people in Facebook. Exes. Bosses. I mean, if I want to take a quiz like "Which Hogwarts house do you belong in?" during work, I think it's best of my boss doesn't know. Which, by the way, the answer is Griffindor. I wouldn't have taken any other.

Facebook has become an obsession. I have to see if someone commented or liked my status. If I put that much effort into say, my job, maybe I wouldn't have time for things like Hogwarts quizzes. Alas, alack, I remain addicted to reading people's updates and hope they enjoy mine, too. It's like I'm still the 7th grader with glasses and acne hoping the girl behind me will stop coloring my hair with a marker (washable, thank God) and actually show me some respect.

So, here's my attempt to get some likes and maybe a few comments. And I'll save the real posts for here.

Brevity

When I was in undergraduate (which, by the way, you only say when you've gone to graduate school. You pay $50,000 for a piece of paper you may never frame and the rights to say phrases like "when I was an undergrad" and "my undergraduate degree"), I took a creative writing class. I thought I wanted to be a writer - or my mom thought I should be one.

Anyway, we all had to write two short stories. A girl in my class wrote a story called "Brevity." It was 50 pages long. I didn't understand the irony until someone gave me the definition of brevity. (shortness of duration; especially : shortness or conciseness of expression - www.m-w.com) I remember the story vaguely - it was horrible. But I will never forget that word.

Brevity has been on my mind lately. It's something I struggle with. I don't think I'm long-winded in speech, but when it comes to writing, I need plenty of white space. Or blank pages. Or empty lines. When I worked as a copywriter, I was horrible with titles. "What should we title this globe with a cross hanging off it? I can fit five words." Huh? Please don't limit me.

Brevity and I meet each other every day when I try to post on Facebook. Let's "face" it - the shorter the better. No one wants to read the Litany of the Saints (all you Catholic school guilt trips understand that reference). So I sit at my computer and drum my fingers across the keyboard and think....and think...and try phrases that are just too long or two wordy or two complicated for a post. And then I type and backspace everything I've typed. In such a fast-paced world, I need 30 minutes for a clever post. By that time, the joke is over, the moment has passed, the followers have scrolled on.

This is my first blog post. I feel I should stop now, for the sake of brevity. After all, I want you to come back for more.