Balance.

Everyone has their own level of writing honesty. I used write about everything under the sun. I don’t do that anymore. But since I’m no longer telling you everytime I change my socks, I’m having trouble writing at all. There’s some sort of balance that I’m not achieving. (Achieving? Finding? Aspiring to? I like to think I aim for it and miss so perfectly that I’ve taken to giving up.)

Erin Shea used to write about her socks too. And then she had that divorce. And somewhere in there she realized that she didn’t have to tell EVERYTHING to entertain her readers.

Heather Armstrong spends a lot of time writing about the dogs and her gorgeous “stuff”. Have we all noticed how she writes less about Jon?

Pamie is the funniest girl on earth and she has totally figured out the secret to telling just enough. That’s why they pay her. I wasn’t an early reader so I don’t know how her writing has changed since hitting the A list.

Dr. Scott, who is not A list at all, still tells way more than I know how to. Imagine coming across the personal journal of the guy who is looking after your sick parent in the hospital. Is it creepy to know that he’s ogling the goodies of asian women all day long? Step back for a moment and note today’s entry: How can you not love that his kids are playing chess. With Star Wars pieces. Everyone has their personal definition of balance.

Maybe the goal of this month of forced writing should be to find that balance? I think the conflict is between that inner voice that tells you that no one cares what color your socks are, and the fact that I read, with bated breath, EVERY DAY, each of the above authors to find out what color their socks are.

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