Hold it gently...

I feel compelled to say something about the nature of blogging and what's been happening here. I began to write, thinking I had something that might be publishable and might have legs. It's hard for me to tell until I get a good bit of writing done, and this one proved stronger the further I got into it. Then I thought I would post it online, to help generate an audience for it and help find a publisher or create enough enthusiasm to sustain a self-published title. The response has been positive and not so small as to be insignificant. (Actually, the numbers look good.)

What has surprised me is how deeply personal it's all become. I suppose that shouldn't have been a surprise--it's a memoir, after all, including a story about something like falling in love. It's about romance in a surprisingly Austen-esque sort of fashion, because this relationship grew quietly, largely out of conversation and character.

So I've been sharing some of those intimate conversations and thoughts, because that is the stuff this was made of. I think good books--and good blogs--have to be personal. But somehow, the blog feels much more personal, makes me feel more vulnerable.

There are a few classes of readers: my dear friends, those who don't know me at all, and those I know but would never share this amount of detail with. The first two don't bother me. My friends will love me no matter what, and those I don't know are safe at a distance. It's the third group that has been giving me occasional panic attacks.

I hope you'll know that this is my heart, and hold it gently.