People who write for fun are always bigger than their writing. I, for instance, am larger, more complex, more interesting in person than my writing in this blog.
But people who create art are always smaller than their writing. You meet the author of an incredibly powerful piece and it’s always a disappointment. The person is so much smaller, less profound than the writing.
This is interesting!
I think many people only become interesting once you get to know them well and they are willing to be honest with you. The blog removes all the social barriers to communicating freely and all IRL opportunities for putting someone off (accent, weird body language, how they think you look or should look, etc.). I am probably cooler on the blog than in real life (I don’t think I am particularly cool in person, definitely not in the way where people would flock to befriend me; most of my Midwestern colleagues probably find me overly direct and plain obnoxious), but I think I am interesting and fun with the people with whom I am relaxed.
But people who create art are always smaller than their writing. You meet the author of an incredibly powerful piece and it’s always a disappointment. The person is so much smaller, less profound than the writing. Do you think they don’t have the greatness in them, or it is simply something that is there, like minerals in the rock, and simply has to be purified through the act of writing?
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With artists, it’s like the art comes from a different place than their selves. Always freaks me out to see that. But I have no idea how it works. It’s like they don’t even know how they manage to extract the art out of themselves.
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A conservative literary critic and college professor
Clarissa's Blog 
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