09 May, 2005

In the beginning

The page loaded, and there it stood. The inevitable--pick your template page. I froze at the keyboard of the laptop I received as a graduation gift from a father whose only way of showing love is through his gifts. How does one pick the template for their blog. In a way, it's like deciding what you're going to wear. The only difference, is your blog will wear this template for--at least in my case--the rest of its life. I know that I have the option to change its appearance, but I never do anything about it. I am lazy, and therefore, I must choose a template for my blog to wear until the end of its existence.

I scrolled lazily through the minimal templates, contemplating whether I should use my self-taught HTML skills to customize one of the templates into something representing me a little bit more than these manufactured templates could. In the end, I chose simple, basic black. Nothing extravagant (because I'm not); nothing too complicated (because I am). Just plain black for plain Elizabeth Black.

Once the stress of choosing my blogs clothing came to an end, the first thing the site wanted me to do was fill out a profile about myself. No big deal. Kept it as simple as possible; didn't want to give away too much information. You see, I do not use a pseudonym to hide my real identity. "Elizabeth Black" is not the glasses to my Clark Kent, not the strip of black fabric to my Bob Parr. In fact, those who know me in the non-online sense would see this name as obvious as those examples (Superman and Mr. Incredible, just in case you were wondering). I use Elizabeth Black to hide from myself. Under a different name, I become a different person. Without worrying about what I'm writing, or who might be reading, I can relax. I can hide behind this sheer facade for a while longer, spilling my thoughts out into the Internet, wondering if anybody is reading--if anybody is caring.

For now, I will hide behind my Clark Kent glasses, my strip of black fabric, and I will pretend that you are not the boy I crushed on in high school or the girl who slapped me in elementary school. You are my reader. You have stayed this long for a reason. You will read my stupid words, and you will hear me. A writer, struggling for her spot in the world. You will look for the name, even though you know it will not grace the cover of my first novel. That kind of readership will be let in on the secret--my real name.


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