An Interesting Issue of Privacy

I like producing material. I enjoy writing because I enjoy the thought of people reading what I have to say. Since the creation of this page, I have been thrilled with every new person that mentions that they've read it, and even when my best friends talk to me about my blog, my heart beats a little bit faster with the knowledge that my words are not sucked into the internet as light into a black hole.

This lead to self-promotion, slight as it may have been. And with Twitter and now Tumblr, I can write something that is immediately published in two or three places, spreading my written word round the web. Has it become too much. I've felt several times now the urge to write something down, post it, wait to see if anybody shares similar thoughts or if inspiration reaches through them and jerks on the chords of their heart. But my hands stay, hovering over the keys. Though most of the people reading such things would look upon it in interest, I know where my sphere of influence reaches, and in the depths of Facebook, family and fellow church members await my proclamations, and I find that I've worked myself into a corner that requires my censorship. I've spent the time wanting to have my words accessible, not to be read and revered, but noticed. Now, when I am capable of tossing thoughts like kittens in a cotton factory, I worry who will walk in and find me.