There’s a way that I lose my writing voice when I start to edit. It’s worst when I try to edit while writing, try to overthink my audience, what they want, what they will think about whatever is going on in my head. When I try to write “a blog post” and be all official about it, it just gets bland.
Monday morning at 4:20 AM, I remembered that I write best when it comes out stream-of-consciousness. When I don’t worry too much whether the uninitiated reader has all the background necessary to understand what’s going on. I woke up that early, thinking about my friend Kate’s newest book The Book of John (check out the excerpt). “New” as in “not actually out until May 2010, but I’ve got the freaking Microsoft Word version because I’m just that cool.” I started reading the book Sunday night, and forced myself to go to bed because I had to work early on Monday morning. But damn Kate and her damn books, they get under your skin, they whisper into your dreams. They have some secret way to tell your cat that there’s more important things to be doing than sleeping, and they hypnotize your cat into meowing in your face, pawing your shoulder until you are wide awake and thinking about how heartbreaking this book is.
So I surrendered to the power of Kate’s book, and got up and wrote her a stream of consciousness review. And even now I can’t imagine publishing it direct to this blog without editing the fuck out of it. And since “the fuck” is the juicy part, if I edit the fuck out of it, there’s really not much left. So I’m writing this review of my review, trying out my looser voice, the voice I use freely in emails to friends, but still haven’t quite found a way to publish it to the interwebs. Kate is beyond an inspiration to find my own voice, speak my own truth, own my vulnerability as the most precious of the crown jewels.