Something happened today that is one of the things I never write about here. It's a subject about which I could write (and in the past have privately written) many pages. I even have several short stories and a partially finished book (that will probably never be finished) on the topic. (I have never considered trying to have any of it published, although a small group has read some of the short stories).

In 2002 when I first started blogging (or ejournaling, my preferred term and the one that I used back then) there seemed to be a lot of bloggers writing about whether to self-censor. The majority of the ones I encountered who wrote on that subject argued that you should avoid doing it at all costs. They advocated a sort of free-for-all, stream of consciousness, raw emotional, "real," no taboos style in the name of "honesty" and "truth." (And my impression was that even a lie could be the "truth" if it was raw enough, but that is a whole 'nother story.)

By 2002 that debate was nothing new to me (print writers always struggle with it, even in fiction), but the online environment does take it to a new level. Anything can be published, and anyone can Google and find it. Although I do believe that sometimes self-censoring can really, really cut down on creativity, I never agreed completely with the bloggers who believe(d) in "anything goes."

I have self-censored this. I've thought about writing something here many times, but never have. I haven't even written about it off-line or read my old stories in years. I'm not even sure why I am writing this post. I guess because I sometimes use this journal to keep track of things (when we opened the pool, when we picked the first tomato, etc.) and I want a way to have a marker. Those examples are trite, but this is major. Let's just say that something has resurfaced from my past. Unfinished business, you might say. I have no idea how it will turn out, and I dare not even hope. (Yet I do, a tiny flicker.)