For many of us, our blogs are where we go to howl. They are hankies for our tears and ears for whispers of gossip that no one out here wants to waste time listening to. They are walls we drive our fists and head through when we cannot puff up some weed clouds to get over and done when at the edge of it. I do not know what writing does to you, but among the many things it does to me is cleanse me up. Just like my twitter TL, I can say anything I want and not care what anyone thinks about it. It is mine.

However, this sharing of thoughts, the ranting and the weeping on a blog is somewhat becoming a difficult thing. Mojo is of course there, but the courage to strip yourself naked to a crowd of readers who have already met you, who know your mother, know your girlfriend and all is a tad scary. I have wanted to blog about many a thing, about people, about myself and stuff I am going though. I have wanted to strip myself naked and just put it out there because it always feels good when poured down into writing. I have wanted to say things not because I want to be read but because this weight needs a way out of me, the shackles need to be undone, one way or another, and the only easiest way I know is by writing.

I tried once. I wrote about something I had not ever shared with anyone before, not even my family. It is probably one of the posts that has received many hits on my blog. For months after posting it, I felt naked. I battled with the idea of pulling it all down, then stopping immediately after logging into wordpress. I could see the stares on my twitter timeline. The death of previous me and the unspoken element of association with the post. I felt naked! Like everyone could see through me. Like a piece of glass. That nothing else was left for me. I felt defenceless. Exposed.

The nakedness this post brought with it has left me unable to blog. I know I am not alone. Many of us have files after files of posts piled up in our computers. Things we want say but we can’t really let an eye see because we are afraid of the dot joiner readers. Those that can’t let *Mary-not-her-real-name be just *Mary-not-her-real-name. As someone mentioned yesterday, with the death of the invisible ghosts and aliases that people were twitter handles, and the stepping out of these closets for meet ups and all, it slowly became a hard thing to blog about some things. We are all in the same inner circle. Blogging about a night out and  #chipsfungarism thereafter might soon be at the verge of dying out. We are all curving in into one crowd. Tweeps drink together, go bowling together, invite each other to church service, do everything together!

I know that a writer should be fearless; as plucky as to call a spade a spade even when the spade is a best friend. However, sometimes it just doesn’t feel safe. As someone once said, If we were to be charged for the thoughts that run through our minds, we would all probably end up on the hangman’s noose. There is a lot of incommunicables that run through our minds. The little there is to communicate is however put at a limitation by other factors, with ‘what-will-people-think?’ being one of the focal.

However, I hear fear in a writer is the beginning of mediocre writing. Tackling that which you think you are safe with. A friend of mine told me to make sure that my writing is good enough to take me to prison. Ruffle some feathers. Do not be too complacent with things. Unfortunately, there is a lot that is always at risk when it comes to fearless blogging.  The only other option would be to blog anonymously, but for the most of us that are keen to detail, we will figure you out after four sentences!