Early last week I discovered Helium, a website where people write online. It’s interesting to me for several reasons, and kind of dangerously flirting with my neuroses for several more. All the articles there are peer-reviewed, which means that all the people who write there are asked to rate other people’s articles. If more than one person writes an article on the same topic, they will be ranked based on these ratings. Also, publishers who are looking for articles on particular topics post titles there too, so there is the appeal of getting paid for your writing.
One result of this website’s presence in my life is that I am indisputably writing more. Give me a title and I can write about it, especially if those titles include “How to Pick a Yoga Style That’s Right for You” and “Techniques to Improve and Shorten Childbirth” . In fact, if there is the incentive of seeing numero uno beside my name I’ll even write articles with such banal topics as “How to Diaper a Baby” and ” Reasons Why you Should Learn How to Knit”. I’ll even neglect the teetering tower of dirty dishes to do so.
So why can’t I sit down and work out the bones of a children’s picture book? Why can’t I get motivated to sketch out characters for a potential novel, or even finish the half-written one I started for NaNoWriMo two years ago? Why do I need to see my ranking right there beside the article? Why do I compulsively click refresh on the rankings page, waiting and watching to see if the numbers ascend or descend?
And why, oh why, do I find myself wordless when faced with a room full of people who seem absolutely fascinating and perfectly nice?
I suspect it has something to do with the fact that they are not at all interested in how to diaper a baby or breastfeed discreetly in public. And also something to do with my fixation on ranking and worth, some kind of dysfunctional self-evaluation monitor that tells me my worth is dependent on what other people think of me, and that opening my mouth is a sure way to be labeled a disinteresting dork. Of course, maybe they think I’m a silent, disinteresting dork right now. That’s kind of paralyzing in itself.
And so, here I sit. Words on the screen and my mouth silent.

Filed under:
Uncategorized by michelle