I don’t remember why I started a blog.
I don’t even really know why I need to write. I just know that when I don’t, I get cranky.
When I do write, I feel fabulous–whether I end up posting or not. So why don’t I simply dump my thoughts in a journal and stick it on the shelf?
It doesn’t seem to work that way for me.
For one thing, I hate writing by hand. Despite heckling my father for years about his illegible scrawl–or perhaps in karmic retribution for doing so–I have rotten handwriting. Plus, the friction of implement on paper, the dim pallor of pencil, or bleed-through of a decent pen, all render writing by hand slow and unappealing. On the other hand, I love typing. It’s zenlike, meditative. And it’s great having a place to gather my thoughts that doesn’t kill trees or add to the clutter on my desk.
I love having an audience, too–even an imaginary one–because I work so much harder. It is very, very easy to disappoint myself; to dismiss my creative pursuits as luxuries, and focus exclusively on the business of life and parenting and work and what not. But if I think other people expect something from me, I am much more reliable; I make it happen.
This explains why I meant to nurture a writing practice for years and years but didn’t actually get around to it until I signed up on WordPress. The truth is: I have a hard time kicking my own ass.
Of course, I especially love it when people give feedback of almost any sort. That means whatever I happened to say came alive, struck a chord–or a nerve–and inspired someone to respond. But just imagining that you are out there, waiting for me to drag a few hundred words out of my head–THAT is what lights the fire for me.
So thanks for reading. Let me know you stopped by, and I’ll come and visit you as well.