The thing about contributing to a blog is that you're never really sure anyone is reading it. Initially that's kinda depressing. But eventually you move past the fatalism and the feelings of inadequacy and writing for the blog becomes a cathartic experience - one you begin to crave. Is anyone reading? Who cares? You're writing for yourself. Or so you think. Because it's in that mental state that you just might finally be connecting with readers.
A few weeks ago I wrote a short entry dealing with blue Christmas lights. That's all - just blue Christmas lights
and the way they make me feel and how they connect me to past in a very real, almost sense-memory kind of way. So this past weekend I'm at the Feast of the Seven Fishes Festival in Fairmont, signing books and generally enjoying myself. And suddenly this nice lady with a very kind face walks up and quietly puts something in front of me.
A blue Christmas light bulb.
She said something nice about reading the blog and that particular entry and how she agreed with it and - well, honestly, I can't remember it all because I was simply floored. Floored not only by the fact that someone was reading the blog - but by the sweet, powerful, theatrical way she chose to inform me. In a day filled with high points she managed to trump nearly everything with her very kind gesture.
Buon Natale,
Robert Tinnell
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