My mother is a writer.
Well, she does business during the day, and writes occasionally at night.
She is an occasional columnist at a local Chinese newspaper. Her writings in the newspaper sound nearly like blog entries. They include fragments of her experience, her thoughts, and her feelings. They also include encouragement and some advice for her readers. Her benevolent side has driven her to provide some sort of one-way embrace for her readers. I guess it is therapeutic for her too. She started writing at a time of great sadness and loneliness. Only one year earlier, my father had left her for someone far younger, taking me with him, and my brother was studying in the States.
Mother and her writer friends have together published a children's zine entitled 小小世界 (A Small, Small World) to encourage children in their Mandarin studies. The full color zine includes stories, comic strips, and a few poems by prominent poets in Classical Chinese – poems she would memorize back in Junior School.
For all that, Mother does not know that her favorite daughter also writes publicly – in her blog. I have been blogging for five years, and I am still trying to figure out why I have not told Mother about my writing activity.
My first blog was named Heart Songs. I maintained it for almost two years before I terminated it for some undisclosed reasons. Some of my best writings were published there. Heart Songs archives were kept in my computer, until it got corrupted somehow and all my files were sent into oblivion. I regret having not created a back-up. A fragment of me died. I am still hurting.
I started Canto shortly after I retrieved Heart Songs. Canto is more than heart songs. Canto is songs on life, death, and the in-between. I chose to broaden my horizon and in some ways, be (slightly) less revealing about details. Canto is now in its third year, and is read by more and more people – meaning that I am being judged by more and more people; friends, co-workers, superiors, students, former teachers, and my pastor.
My pastor recently ran a seminar called Blogosphere. He looked miffed I had not come. He could have taught me how to run my blog more responsibly. Perhaps I refused to attend because I was not ready to have someone tell me how to manage my blog. Despite my strong impulse for (sometimes not so) funny meanness, knowing that important authorities are reading Canto already constricts me from writing about potentially too harmful entries – my even darker thoughts, things that will get me fired and trashed by the society.
So why bother making my blog public if the publicity is eventually frustrating? Cheers for Emily Gould, whose writing about whys and ups and downs and conflicts of blogging was published in The New York Times at the time I needed it the most. I recommend that you read the article completely.
Perhaps my not telling Mother about me blogging is because I would rather not have her check on me that way. There is no need to breed unnecessary worries in her. She sounded happy at our last phone conversation, and I want her to stay that way.
Well, she does business during the day, and writes occasionally at night.
She is an occasional columnist at a local Chinese newspaper. Her writings in the newspaper sound nearly like blog entries. They include fragments of her experience, her thoughts, and her feelings. They also include encouragement and some advice for her readers. Her benevolent side has driven her to provide some sort of one-way embrace for her readers. I guess it is therapeutic for her too. She started writing at a time of great sadness and loneliness. Only one year earlier, my father had left her for someone far younger, taking me with him, and my brother was studying in the States.
Mother and her writer friends have together published a children's zine entitled 小小世界 (A Small, Small World) to encourage children in their Mandarin studies. The full color zine includes stories, comic strips, and a few poems by prominent poets in Classical Chinese – poems she would memorize back in Junior School.
For all that, Mother does not know that her favorite daughter also writes publicly – in her blog. I have been blogging for five years, and I am still trying to figure out why I have not told Mother about my writing activity.
My first blog was named Heart Songs. I maintained it for almost two years before I terminated it for some undisclosed reasons. Some of my best writings were published there. Heart Songs archives were kept in my computer, until it got corrupted somehow and all my files were sent into oblivion. I regret having not created a back-up. A fragment of me died. I am still hurting.
I started Canto shortly after I retrieved Heart Songs. Canto is more than heart songs. Canto is songs on life, death, and the in-between. I chose to broaden my horizon and in some ways, be (slightly) less revealing about details. Canto is now in its third year, and is read by more and more people – meaning that I am being judged by more and more people; friends, co-workers, superiors, students, former teachers, and my pastor.
My pastor recently ran a seminar called Blogosphere. He looked miffed I had not come. He could have taught me how to run my blog more responsibly. Perhaps I refused to attend because I was not ready to have someone tell me how to manage my blog. Despite my strong impulse for (sometimes not so) funny meanness, knowing that important authorities are reading Canto already constricts me from writing about potentially too harmful entries – my even darker thoughts, things that will get me fired and trashed by the society.
So why bother making my blog public if the publicity is eventually frustrating? Cheers for Emily Gould, whose writing about whys and ups and downs and conflicts of blogging was published in The New York Times at the time I needed it the most. I recommend that you read the article completely.
Perhaps my not telling Mother about me blogging is because I would rather not have her check on me that way. There is no need to breed unnecessary worries in her. She sounded happy at our last phone conversation, and I want her to stay that way.
