Imaginary friends, this one's for you

I'm in the middle of reading The Scarlet Letter--one of those books that I should have read, was supposed to have read, would have read if I was well read, but...I admit that I am reading it for the first time. Which may be a good thing, actually. I wouldn't have liked it in high school but I am thoroughly enjoying it now. In high school I would have been annoyed by Hawthorne's heavy-handed detail. I would have been especially appalled by the long, drawn-out introduction called "The Custom House."

Which would have been sad because he addresses a question there that I have thought about over and over again and he does it so darn well. He says it like this (with my comments interspersed in italics):

"When [an author] casts his leaves forth upon the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him, better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates."
You're so right, Hawthorne. Why else would we write if not for the thrill of the (very)occasional post that is able to articulate emotions that some random reader has felt, but never understood quite so well as when you said it?

"Some authors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly be addressed, only and exclusively, to the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at large on the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segment of the writer's own nature, and complete the circle of existence by bringing him to communion with it."
Oh, Hawthorne! If only you could see what people write on their blogs! You at least had editors to tell you what to write/what not to write. The problem with blogging is there is no outside filter and some people really don't have an inside filter. Really. So, I got it. Seeking connection through writing is good, seeking communion through writing is bad.

"It is scarcely decorous, however, to speak all, even where we speak impersonally."
And to sell advertising on your blog that speaks all.

"But, as thoughts are frozen and utterance benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with his audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk..."
Are you out there imaginary friends? I think it is interesting that he imagined a kind friend that was not the closest friend. If our associations with our closest friends were left solely to cyberspace, there would be nothing to differentiate between my imaginary friends and those that I want to tell my thoughts to in person, or at least on the phone.

"...and then, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness..."
I admit that the number one thing that keeps me from writing is that darn native reserve.

"...we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even of ourself, but still keep the inmost Me behind its veil."
YES! Hawthorne, you hit it right on the head with that one. (Although no one uses the word "prate" anymore). That is the goal, to keep the inmost parts inmost and yet to write with enough of ourselves that the writing is true, genuine, pure.

"To this extent, and within these limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical, without violating either the reader's rights or his own."
Taya, Christine: This is just what I should have said the other night when were glutting ourselves into a new year with fondue and sparkling cider and the conversation went to how to navigate all that is out there (and all you could put out there) on the Internet. We wondered out loud whether we wanted to be found, worried about leaving an electronic footprint with things that we thought were a good idea at the time, but it retrospect weren’t so much. And I knew I wanted to express to you why I keep this sporadic blog, why even with the risk of writing too much or too little (just admit that you don't really care what funny thing my children have done lately), I still have a blog. And I sometimes write really long posts with no pictures despite the fact that most posts like this get 1 comment (thanks Mom for reading) which makes me feel terribly unpopular among my imaginary friends. But I still have the hankering to "cast my leaves forth" with the hope that it will answer the thoughts of one of my imaginary, but kind, friends out there who actually read The Scarlet Letter in the 10th grade when they were supposed and will never pick it up again because of it.

You really should, my imaginary friends, because you might like it more now that you know how to use “prate” in a sentence if you needed to.