Image: – raventhird
When the blog “pepperonipizza” appeared in my feed one day, I became immediately entranced.
The writing was vibrant and refreshing.
After several interactions I discovered, Pepper, as she wanted to be known, was a woman of some intellect and her posts were vivacious and life affirming.
She has a unique take on many things and a blog I looked forward to reading.
She seemed to be able to write on any topic.
Blogging she said allowed her to live a life of fantasy; it enabled her to escape the reality of her life and hide behind a blog of her own choosing. And why, she’d argue, allow the truth the stand in the way of a good story.
There were times when her writing did reflect a darker past. Some prompts acted as triggers to spur her on to write about that side of herself she kept private.
Over time she revealed more and more about herself. It wasn’t that she was seeking attention but rather gathering the confidence to talk about aspects of herself she kept close.
There were occasions when she didn’t write at all. Long periods where she posted nothing. When I wondered if she was alright as I had no way of knowing. (That was always the down side of blogging, not being able to communicate directly when you wanted to know something. Privacy I felt had to be respected.)
Then she’d be back saying she needed a bit of time away, that she found it necessary to step back and reflect on what she was doing and allow real life to happen around her.
She said she enjoyed the writing process, taking an idea and seeing where it might go, what conclusion she might come to and then post it always wondering if anyone would read it and find it entertaining or even interesting enough to elicit a comment. So often she’d say she was surprised by the reactions of other bloggers to her writing.
Pepper wrote from her heart. She explored words, looked into the depths of her soul and wrote at times in ways that held your attention, you felt drawn into the world she was creating but at the same time learning a little more about her.
The mask she wore slowly crumbled over time, enough to reveal the woman she was. She never sought to establish relationships other than through what you read and the interactions that occurred through any comments you made.
Then one day she stopped.