My friend has been blogging for years now. She blogs extensively, writing about her thoughts, dreams, encounters, loves, likes, loathes, friends, family, and general experiences. Yet whenever I found myself depending wholly on her writing, I never felt like it was enough. I missed her when I read it, wishing I could be near her again, in spite of the information her superior writing afforded.
This year I rejoined her, eager to see for myself what her inspirations were, specifically the people to whom she dedicated post after post. I found myself drawn to the magic and mystery of what she wrote about, accutely feeling her same passionate emotions.
It was odd, though. I knew things about people I had never met before. It was as though they were celebrities, and I was entering their hidden world, becoming one of them but still a gaping fan waiting to be trained. Worse, I realized, I had been reading about them as though they were characters in a book. Characters like the princesses of fairy tales, the bullies of teen trash, the victims in mystery novels. I felt the same way about these people as I do towards the fictional readings I think about constantly, close to them because an experienced artist acted as my reliable portal into their personalities. Only here it's different. I used to yearn to meet the characters in books and movies, to know them on my own terms and understand them as no one else could. Now that I can meet them, I cannot - they are not to be torn apart and picked at, or oggled and wished for. They are real in every sense of the word. I may love them in my own way from having glimpsed their true colors through the eyes of my friend, but in no way can I reach that level the way I think I can when I read her blog. I suppose this is non-fiction in its essence: the reader being allowed into the minds and hearts of others, via the writer - the only one allowed to delve into them as such.
So though I may not be able to handle it anymore, it is an excellent experience. Enjoy .... curiousjew.blogspot.com