Re-writing the Milk Story
Earlier tonight, in trying to take some time properly writing again, I gave myself a project: take this blog post - originally written twelve years ago and actually kind of a personal story I’ve been telling about myself since college - and completely rewrite it from scratch, not referencing the old blog post until after I’ve written a draft.
I’m not necessarily ready to post it to the public just yet - I’m not happy the way it reads right now, and I feel like I need to curate my words just a little better. Maybe soon, probably soon. That said, I have some thoughts about the whole process.
- The phrase “tears of a clown” feels pretty accurate. I tried (tried? try? will try?) to be desperately funny, even if it’s a kinda sad situation like, say, my parents getting into a screaming match because I was a fat eight year old. That’s not a funny ha-ha moment, but I made it one, because I didn’t know how else to deal with feelings at the time. (Not like I’m an expert at that now, mind you.)
- On the other hand, I’ve read through a couple of my older blog posts years later, and I actually managed to make present-me chuckle out loud a couple of times. Not bad, past-me. But now that I know (via life experience, friends, some therapy) that it’s okay to feel sad every so often, there are places where my storytelling makes a sharp right at Emo Street and gets stuck at the intersection of Wallowing and Self-Pity, and I wish I was funnier in my re-write.
- Blogging twelve years ago (!!) was about blogging as opposed to writing. Blogging didn’t necessarily need to have a beginning or an end. I could write The Milk Story, say “I totally forgot the rest of the story” and then feel better knowing that a bunch of people have read and commented the stuff I wrote. But writing writing, not so much. Now I am trying to re-tell an event that literally happened thirty or so years ago (so, um, there may be some inaccuracies) and then at the end I’m still all, “hmmm. But does this story have an ending? How about a theme?” And I’m all, fuck this shit, I’m a terrible writer and I’m never going to be good at this and I’m going to spend the rest of my night getting angry watching Black Friday fights on Twitter.
So that’s where I stand right now. Off I go again.