My Blog Hiatus

I know it's been a really long time since I posted here. I had what was certainly one of the best summers of my life, yet there's very little record of it here or in any journal of mine. Why was it such a good summer? I got published several times by New York Magazine -- once in paper and three times on the website, saw great concerts, had delicious food and beer; speaking of that I turned 21 and had most of my best friends come up for an unforgettable party. I lived on my own for a month and learned to love cooking for myself and going to my interesting, dynamic ten to six. I felt like an adult! Few things are as pleasing as when you feel yourself maturing, even when it's a false sensation. Isn't that feeling part of what underage drinking and smoking are all about?

So in a nutshell that was the glory of my summer. Why didn't I write about it here? Well the first day I got home from my internship at the Magazine, I sat down at my computer and wrote breathlessly about my thrilling first day on the job -- a day that in retrospect was pretty mundane. I was on cloud nine at the time.

The next morning my boss emailed me: "Sam, please come see me." I normally don't assume I'm in trouble in this kind of situation, but I got the sense that I was this time. I scurried eagerly to her desk, and entered the cubicle to the sight of my blog page up on her screen.

"Is this yours?" she asked.

"Yeah...," I said, not sure whether to expect praise or admonishment.

"You have to take it down immediately," she said. My post had made brief mention of the stories I was helping with; the magazine couldn't afford to let that information leak. "Several editors told me to tell you."

How several editors came across my blog post in one morning I'll never know, but the experience brought me to this shockingly obvious conclusion: anyone -- no, everyone can read what I write on this blog. Something about the scolding and my internet epiphany spooked me so bad I couldn't consider coming back to this open diary for the rest of the summer. It was something more insidious than writer's block, something like... writer's trepidation. That doesn't sound quite as good though, does it.