Saturday, April 09, 2005

The wallflower lives

Today I had a flashback to my more socially awkward younger self, to the girl who was never asked to dance and was always picked last in PE class… No, this is not pretty, but it’s honest: I feel left out. Outcast. Inferior.

And I hate myself for feeling that way.

Let me explain: The lit blogosphere has been buzzing with news of a new project by 20 of the leading lit blogs, which have joined together in a co-op to promote selected books, one each season. I applaud the initiative – by pooling talent, readers, and resources, this new blog initiative has the potential to really make a difference for four deserving and overlooked authors. The chosen blogs are linked to and prominently listed.

That’s all fine and good. And my more mature, logical side understands, accepts, approves.

My more vulnerable, primal side just feels sad. I KNOW my little blogging effort is just that, little. I haven’t even been here very long. I also know that it’s a basic law of life that there are always levels, hierarchies, insiders, outsiders. And yet… some of the chosen blogs are just a few months old; one of the bloggers in the new Emerging Writers interview has been at it about as long as I have. So, what do they have that I lack? Other than popularity, recognition, a sense of fellowship… and perhaps a more journalistic approach to this blogging thing...

It’s high school all over again.

I guess I shouldn’t have expected that the blogosphere would be any different from real life, and that just because this blogging thing is intertwined with books, which have always been my refuge, it would have no drawbacks, no downside.

I’m off to lick my wounds, regroup, and remind myself I am a competent, strong, self-validating adult. And then: Pick up a book. Blog again. Link to the co-op.

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