Do you know what today is…It’s our Stanniversary. Today marks 1 year of Stan of Few Words. I thought I would’ve been quit by now, seeing as I’m someone with 2 unfinished novels, a couple of half designed websites, 3 business prospectuses, and a partridge in a pear tree. It’s been an interesting year, In my first post, I said I had no idea where this blog was going, to an extent I still don’t. I don’t even know where this post was going. I can talk about my favorite posts, or my greatest hits and shameless plug them so that new readers who likely missed them can see them. I can write about all the things I learned in 365 days of blogging. Answer reader questions that I probably answered directly but never in a post. I can openly express gratitude to all my readers and humbly brag about stats and followers. Or I can jam all the anniversary blog posts cliches (you mean like naming your post a Stanniversary) into one super mega cliche blog anniversary post. Or just be me and completely just say whatever is on my mind and hope it makes sense and my jokes land. Yeah, let’s go with that.
What makes this blog work is refreshing honesty. As the writer I don’t feel I have to pander to my audience, my audience I would hope they feel are getting a unique perspective. [Sidenote: Perhaps that is why I assume reader emails really took off, something I didn’t even anticipate, or even expected to get into, haven’t they been reading, I absolutely suck at relationships]. However, even accidentally, the author has taken a voice of his own. Stan is me with hindsight, me with maturity, me without an ego. Stan dives on the swords I cannot. Stan is willing to openly express, his desires, his fears, his faults under a relatively low profile. Stan doesn’t have to explain himself, he just speaks and it doesn’t matter if anyone listens or agrees. I wish I had that luxury (confused yet, I hope not), I want to be understood, I want to be heard. I don’t want have to speak for what Stan feels, which is why some of my readers follow me on Twitter, Instagram or Facebook, with nearly 4000 followers at my disposal, I never promote this blog.
Not that Stan and my everyday self are night and day. One’s able to say whatever he feels, one isn’t. It’s like being drunk, except I can give eloquent thoughts. A handful of people who know me and Stan, Ms, Miss, M and now Dessiner. If you’ve read long enough you know the tales of the first two, M and I never had issue and Dessiner just…gets me. The internal conflict of a writer is how to be an effective storyteller without betraying the confidence of others. I try not to, thus the nicknames in the first place, and again I’m not just telling a story for hits, I do so for me. Stan has evolved into a third party, plenty of times I write something and seeing it in print I can say, “damn, that was really messed up of me” or “wow, I really did play myself”. Expression limits regret, if I tell a story of Stan and “Her”, its me cleansing myself of any memories and thoughts of <redacted>, I’m not putting her on blast. I spoke on my social media presence, even then it’s my real name and picture, mutual friends and even a much larger audience. Worrying about what I say to my handful of readers whom you don’t know possibly saying, “wow, she’s cold”, silliness. Getting upset over something I wrote as if I didn’t express it to you before, silliness.
We all project ourselves online in one form or the other. The girl who takes the glamour #goodnight picture, before you wash off that makeup, take off that Vickie secret bra and throw on that old t-shirt you stole from of ya exes, throw on a head wrap or one someone who is very outspoken on Twitter but shy in person. Just remember, worlds will collide and you never want to find yourself so far on the other side of the fence that you can’t explain yourself. There’s nothing I wrote in the past year I would have any problem saying in real life, I just choose not to. I rather shrug and let Stan say why I’m upset. It’s worked for me this past year, time will tell if it will in the next. Thanks for reading.