It's the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time.

There are these girls I went to school with. You did, too. Good girls. But not the good girls you hate, not the ones who lord it over you or get all self-righteous or run tell their mothers when you say, "fuck." No. They were actually good. Sweet, kind, unpretentious, good-natured, eager to please. They wore loafers and navy polos and pleated skirts and had square cut bangs and their Trapper Keepers were organized by subject and they always crossed their legs and gave thoughtful instructions and wrote their thank you cards on time, not six months later and smudged.

Maybe we ignored those girls. Maybe we discounted them, left them out, barreled over them, forgot their names. Maybe some of them surprised you, though. Maybe her name was Jan, and maybe she played violin and was plain and smart and hardworking and shy. And later, when you both grew up, maybe she surprised you, outstretched you in every avenue. Maybe she got ballsy, maybe she got brave, maybe she got wicked, independent, and unique.

Riverpoet reminds me of those girls, a little, before they surprised you. She seems tidy, organized, and nice. Like maybe she wears mom jeans and drives the speed limit and pays her bills on time and wears sensible underwear.

The blog design is fine, although the banner image is a little large for me. It's not cluttered or busy or ugly, but I like a less severe purple. River, you might think about moving your archives up where they can be found instead of down at the bottom in no-man's land. Also, switch it to a monthly archive rather than weekly. And why is there no blogroll?

She's a writer, but, like so many, her blog could stand some serious editing. I want to like her -- she's sweet like candy -- but I find myself glazing over. Like, here. The story about her mother in a nursing home with her buddy, putting on makeup and sharing their twilight years, could have been touching and poignant. Instead, it just kind of went on and on. And on. Not to mention the longest post ever about cats.

Her tone can be formal (especially toward the beginning of the blog), but I get the feeling she's not a formal person. She writes well -- in terms of construction -- but with little personality. There's often a seriousness to her writing, a ponderous quality, like it's weighted down. And I just want it to lighten up.

But that makes me feel guilty because she's been ill and in pain. There are valid reasons for her to be serious, to question, to feel weighted down and sad. There are lots of posts about medical procedures. I'm sure that's illustrative and helpful for people in the same situation or her close friends and family, or even not so close friends and family, but for me, a heartless bystander, it's just kind of depressing.

There are times when her personality does comes through, when she loosens up a little, and when she does it's nice. But it's seldom. And brief.

She mentions people like we should know who they are, but there's not a lot of back story, and no link to find out more. And Riverpoet, I'll tell you like I've told others -- get rid of the last names and identifying histories. Seriously. I know we all think it won't happen to us, but then it does. Don't make it easy for them.

I like Riverpoet. She's nice and kind and introspective and really kind of zen. But I'm waiting for her to surprise me. I'm waiting for her to do something outrageous or make a stand or reveal a deep dark secret or dance on a table or... something I haven't thought of, something that makes her wicked, and independent, and unique.

But, honestly, I'm not going to wait long, because too often your posts -- while they can be soothing and thoughtful and calm -- put me right to sleep.

Right now your blog is stuck on sick and tired and searching. But because I think you've got it in you, because you post frequently and consistently, and because you're a nice lady with some talent and a couple of readers who I read, too, and I assume maybe they know something I don't, I'm giving you





Also? This was like the hardest blog to review ever for me. I don't know why, but it took me ages to formulate an opinion, and even longer to get that opinion to make it to the screen. Don't get me started on how many times I waffled on my rating. Too, why do I feel like I need to call my mom now? And apologize to all the nice girls out there everywhere who I scoffed at? And organize my sock drawer? If I had a sock drawer instead of the floor.