Some of my “blogger buddies” have been wondering over the last few months why they even bother to write their blogs. Many reasons have been discussed and they are all very personal. Too personal for me to speculate upon in this forum. But it got me thinking…why do I bother to write a post everyday?
I have always wanted to write. English was, and remains, my favorite subject. I grew up reading voraciously from a very young age and when I was in high school my American Literature teacher made me fall in love with the written word. I wanted to be a high school English teacher and write a work of fiction in my spare time. Sigh…
Well – I still want to be a high school English teacher and I have hopes to do that when I retire but I’ll likely never write that work of fiction. I took some writing courses in college and the bottom line is…I suck at it.
Now don’t get me wrong – I can write okay – I just can’t write fiction. And I’m not a very discriminate reader so I wouldn’t expect that much out of me. I love Stephen King and Stephenie Meyer and J.K. Rowling as much as I love Emily Bronte, J.D. Salinger and John Steinbeck. I’ll read, and enjoy, anything and I think there are a lot of people in the world like me. But trust me…I wouldn’t even read me.
I’ve also tried to journal. Writing in long hand, while pretty, just didn’t work for me. It took too long, I lost my train of thought, and I got a terrible cramp in my right hand.
And still I longed to write.
So I tried this blogging thing. I had tried before with no success…mainly because I didn’t really give a rat’s ass about my subject matter…which was, essentially, nothing. Then I decided to write about being an alcoholic and surviving and recovering.
Ding, ding, ding, ding…yes folks we HAVE a winner!
And why? Because I didn’t start writing for me – I started writing in hopes that someone else who was struggling would stumble across this blog and maybe it would help them…even if it just got them started blogging. That’s what happened to me. I found all these wonderful blogs that said what I was feeling and it made me think…hmmm…I wonder if I could do that?
And so I started. And what began as a journey to maybe help someone else has become a life line for me. A place I can come and vent and get the thoughts out of my head and onto “paper” where I can cut and paste them, delete them, correct them, massage them and then go back and re-read them. The miracle happens when I’m done and I realize that I have worked through an issue, or just released it, or just nurtured myself a little.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is that now I write for me. This is something that belongs to and is just for me. It’s mine and mine alone. If I make some friends along the way (which I have) then that’s a really wonderful bonus. If I help someone along the way then that’s an even more wonderful bonus.
I love the comments and the interaction and reading all of the other blogs. It all helps me cope. But to be perfectly honest, if no one ever commented again and no one ever read this again I would be okay and I would still keep writing. Because I need to have this for me.
Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.