Why do you blog? Does it really matter to you who reads your blog? Inspired by something I read through 20sb.net – Why You Should Blog, Even if No One is Reading – I wanted to share with you all why I blog, and why it’s important to me.
I have written since I was a young teenager, but I have blogged since high school. I wrote in journals, notebooks, printer paper – anything I could get my hands on. Hell, I still to this day prefer to write with a pen in my hand. Anyway, we got the internet when I was in 8th grade, in 1997-98 (yeah, I lived in a reaaaaaally small town, we were a little behind…). When I was a freshman or sophomore, I started using one of those LiveJournal blogs – that was the first platform I ever used to tell the world what I was thinking. I have since gone and deleted all of my old blogs to start fresh with this website. When I went back to read the blogs I had posted, I realized I was such a whiner. I mean, really. I was one of those brooding lovesick teenagers who whined about the boy who didn’t want me or who broke my heart. First, I’m so glad I got out of that stage sooner than later. Second, I can’t believe I posted that kind of crap for everyone to read! But see, here’s the thing… at that time, it wasn’t crap. It was how I felt. I was candid. I didn’t think before pressing “publish.” I let everything out without thinking twice. Sometimes, I wish I could do that again and not worry about the consequences.
Being trained as a professional writer, I find it hard to just write and not edit myself, and not think things through twice once I’ve reread my work. It is so difficult for me to just let go and hit publish on a new post. I write it out, and I read it a few times. I edit it a few times. I sometimes will go through and just completely trash it after I’ve spent a few hours writing (what I end up calling) crap. I am learning to not write for my readers (if there are any, that is), but rather write for myself. I’m trying to go back to the days where I would write candidly and just press publish. I would be lying if I said I didn’t care who reads my blog – I really do. I want people to enjoy what I write, and keep coming back to read more. As a writer who wants to become a published author, I strive to have many read my work. Of course I do – I want you all to buy my first, second, and even third book (if I get that far…)!
So, now that you know a little more about that… why do I blog?
I blog for therapy. I blog to organize my thoughts. Even though I constantly feel the urge to edit, I blog to break that habit. I have posted more than ever for a few reasons. I am becoming more comfortable with posting my candid thoughts. I’m starting to not worry so much about my (sometimes quite conservative) family reading my (sometimes) controversial thoughts. I blog to become more comfortable with myself and my writing style. To me, this is the first of many steps to getting a book started and published. It has become more important to me to develop content and post my thoughts/feelings/desires/opinions here. This is my blog. Not yours, not your mother’s. Not your sister’s, brother’s, cousin’s, boyfriend/girlfriend’s… but mine. I can post whatever the hell I want… because it’s mine. You may not always agree with what you read, but if you can value that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, we’ll get along just fine. That’s what I enjoy about reading other blogs out there – everyone thinks and writes a little differently than the next person. That’s what makes this whole process so beautiful.
My website has become the home for my writing. Like every good home, there is love, and I love my writing. I love to share my writing with my readers, even if it’s one person, a hundred, or shit, thousands (that would be awesome!). I yearn to nurture and mold my craft to become something great, to get a sense of accomplishment. I already feel accomplished not just for having one published poem, but being able to have an outlet to share my thoughts, feelings, goals, and life you. Again, this is my therapy. As I work to become more relaxed with sharing my writing, I hope you will continue to join me. Thanks for coming along on my journey.
John went to the airport with his older sister, Eleanor, to pick up her grandson. He was arriving home today from his second tour in Iraq. Eleanor had always been uneasy about Nick being overseas – she practically raised him. She felt more like his mother than his grandmother. She was proud he signed up to deploy, but still could never come to terms with the whole thing.
While in the terminal, they were looking out the window together, waiting. Waiting for his flight to arrive. Waiting to greet him. They should be used to it by now – all the waiting. Waiting for phone calls, letters, word that he would be sent home. There had been no announcement that the plane had been delayed, so they continued to stare out the window, waiting.
Eleanor sighed. John blankly gazed out the window. Neither spoke a single word. The plane touched down and finally made its way to the gate. They both looked down, and Eleanor grasped her baby brother’s hand tighter than ever before. She grabbed her cross necklace, the one Nick gave her before he left for his tour, and she said a silent prayer. She finally sat down, John joining her. They couldn’t bear to look out the window any longer.
After some time, they both let out a sigh when the gate attendant approached them, notifying them they could head downstairs and meet the escort. John informed the attendant they would go shortly, after they welcomed home the returning troops. She nodded and walked away to open the gate. One by one, the smiling Marines walked through the gate, cheering and congratulating each other. It was finally over. They were back to carry on their lives with their family and friends.
Nick was not with them.
He would never meet his baby. He would never see his wife one last time. He would never be able to hug Eleanor and thank her for raising him. He would never shake John’s hand again. But he would never, ever be forgotten.
This piece was somewhat difficult for me to write, because I have lost friends to war. Thank our troops for the daily sacrifices they make to keep us free.
I have become obsessed with the song “Better Days” by Eddie Vedder lately. The lyrics really spark something inside of me – makes me want to further explore my beliefs. I have been struggling with trying to figure out what I believe in (religion-wise), because I’m realizing my views are changing drastically. As I grow older and wiser, I’m beginning to branch away from the religious views that I was indoctrinated with as a child. Although I’m not too sure about what I really believe in anymore – if anything – I’m starting to question and explore other ideals and beliefs. I was born and raised Catholic, but now I would say I’m more Agnostic and questioning. I am not sure I’m ready to open that can of worms at this time, but stay tuned – that’s sure to come soon.
This song may not have much to do about the above paragraph, but when I listen to it, I feel that I am right to question my previous beliefs. I feel there is something else out there that is a better fit for me, and the universe will help me find it if I just open my mind… I’m ready to explore and open up. I’m ready to “greet myself, read myself.” I love my life and am very happy with the way things are going, and I know they will only get better. I will find my answers eventually. My future is definitely paved with better days.
I wanted to share these lyrics with you. I also included a video (from the movie Eat, Pray, Love). Enjoy!
Better Days, Eddie Vedder
I feel part of the universe open up to meet me
My emotion so submerged, broken down to kneel in
Once listening, the voices they came
Had to somehow greet myself, read myself
Heard vibrations within my cells, in my cells
Singing, “Ah-la-ah-ah, ah-la-ah-ah”
My love is safe for the universe
See me now, I’m bursting
On one planet, so many turns
Different worlds
Singing, “Ah-la-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah, ah”
Fill my heart with discipline
Put there for the teaching
In my head see clouds of stairs
Help me as I’m reaching
The future’s paved with better days
Not running from something
I’m running towards the day
Wide awake
A whisper once quiet
Now rising to a scream
Right in me
I’m falling, free falling
Words calling me
Up off my knees
I’m soaring and, darling,
You’ll be the one that I can need
Still be free
Taking classes this semester while working full-time is killing my writing schedule. I’m anxious for May to get here so I no longer have to worry about writing papers for class, but rather write journal entries, poetry, flash fiction, and blogs! This semester has been filled with research papers and answering specific questions, leaving my creativity on the back burner for another time. In one of the recent papers I had to develop, I was able to show my opinion rather than keep it straight forward and display only the facts surrounding the subject. I enjoy writing what I know, especially when I feel strongly about the subject at hand.
I seem to never have time to sit down and write for myself and personal pleasure. I have been making my way through a couple of the writing books I began reading at the beginning of the semester, and I’m looking forward to finishing those and apply the principles to my own writing. I’m working on my writing schedule, and jotting down my ideas that could one day turn into a novel. That’s one of my problems – I have so many ideas that could turn into something huge. I have to remember to write them down immediately. I carry 3 notebooks with me at all times, keeping them easily accessible. I like having my pick of which one to write in. My fave? Moleskine, by far.
Anyway. I have a journal by my bed, and I keep staring at it before I lie down. I need to just suck it up and start writing something – anything – every night before bed. I also think writing first thing in the morning would help jump start my creativity, because I find myself waking up thinking about the crazy dreams I’ve had. My dreams are so vivid that they sometimes stick with me for weeks. The ones I want to write about seem to slip away within a few hours of being awake. This is why I must make time for writing in the morning, I think. Here’s to hoping I can stick to it!
When do you write for pleasure? Do you have a schedule, and if so, what time works best for your personal creativity? Do share, I’m curious!
Writing has been a part of my life since I was very young. I can remember when I would seclude myself in my bedroom as a kid, lock the door, and sit at my desk to write for hours. I would write what I called “songs” (now I look back and realize they were actually poems, with repeating verses), short stories, and letters to friends that lived on the other side of town.
I have always loved having a pen in my hand – I still feel the same way. I catch a lot of grief about wanting to write things down in a notebook versus putting them on my laptop, but some people don’t understand how therapeutic it is for me to physically write my thoughts down.
I have recently picked up a couple of books (recommended to me by my lovely fellow writing friend, Tyne) to help give me the tools I need to get back into writing for myself – Time to Write, Thinking Write, and Living Write – by Kelly L. Stone. First – she is fantastic. She has a master’s degree in counseling, and has been a freelancing novelist and writer, and combines the world of psychology with the world of writing. Second – her books are an inspiration. After picking up Time to Write, I have discovered I truly do have “the burning desire to write.”
I am trying to make time to write more every single day, even if it is for only 15 minutes at a time. Having the burning desire to write will give me the push I need to become a successful writer, and will motivate me to spend time each morning, afternoon, or evening penning my thoughts down. I have a desire to write more fiction, so each day I’m working on a fiction piece, as well as poetry. I do find it difficult to clear time every single day to get my ideas on paper, but if I make the effort, I know it will be very rewarding.
