I think I should start by saying – I’m really bad at this blogging thing.
There are such huge gaps between each of my posts, and somehow in those gaps my outlook on life changes every time and I recoil at all my previous efforts on this space.
So in effect, rather than documenting my transition through the phases of my life, all I end up doing is occasionally cringing at life in hindsight and then vanishing to explore some more. (And usually coming up empty-handed and frustrated.)
First thing’s first, I’m not going to be titling each of my posts with Log Post #xyz anymore.
I think I’m o k a y enough now, that my mild OCD to number everything is not going to kill me if i abandon this little tradition. Also it’s not like it added anything to my blog, right?
Then comes the name. I hope some people might have already noticed that I’ve changed it from ‘thelogbooker’ to in medias res. It might seem like something Latin-y and cool but I assure you it does hold a lot of meaning for me.
Back up about seven months, to my first Literature AS class and my teacher is a volatile female, with a severe bun and an unreadable look in her eyes.
I was terrified of her.
It was a strange feeling, loving the subject so much but suddenly doubting your choice to take it up because in my world – if the teacher and I don’t click, especially in Literature, I don’t want any of it. I remember thinking for five whole minutes, before I jumped into the class discussion because I kept mentally countering my ideas with what I assumed she would say to each of them, basing my judgement on what she was saying to people around me.
But I finally did say something, and as expected, she waved it off with an artist’s hand, a calculated flick.
It was this woman that introduced me to the concept of ‘in medias res’ roughly a month later, and I finally had a label to put on one of my favorite kinds of narration. The state of my mind identifies with it; continuously flowing, weaving in and out of bright spots and dull shades, not necessarily important, but not to be overlooked either. And most importantly, it has a universal feel to it, because isn’t everyone always in the middle of something?
This brings me to another point. I feel like I’ve always been deliberately vague about myself as me in my writing, and got away with portraying myself as just another individual. What I’m talking about obviously means a lot to me, but I always try to maintain this strange anonymity in my writing. Agreeably sometimes it’s not about me, but where it is I feel my presence lacking. I’m pretty sure this is because I don’t trust the internet when it comes to my identity, but then again, if some hacker wanted to stalk and murder me he could easily have tracked my IP address or something by now.
So yes – no more of that. Or at least less of that. Can’t conquer the OCD and the phobia all in one sitting.
In other news –
HOW GOOD IS THIS??