I am not sure, really, why I started my blog. I had made a list of New Year’s Resolutions and blogging was not on it. Recently I committed myself to posting every Saturday morning, and I am still trying to figure out why.
I am not trying to sell anything. I hope not to be preachy (this will be hard to resist). In my web design work, I create sites for other bloggers, such as Deborah Lee Luskin, who has posted faithfully every Wednesday for over a year. Her commitment to her craft has been an inspiration.
So, last month I started this blog. I made a weird image for the sidebar and wrote a post. I could have yearned forever to do this, as I have done many other things in life, and yet this blog just happened. It must be that the time is right.
I am not sure if I am a real “writer.” I don’t have the desire to spend too many hours thinking of my topic and fine-tuning what I have to say. I do not want to write a novel or a short story.
However, I have danced around writing for many years. I took creative writing all through high school, edited a literary magazine, became an English Major at UMASS, participated in writer’s workshops in Napa and other places, tried the Julie Cameron The Artist’s Way morning pages, and wrote in my own journals for years and years.
This morning I dug out one of my favorite writing books, Brenda Ueland’s, “If You Want To Write.”
Everybody is talented because everybody who is human has something to express. Try not expressing anything for twenty-four hours and see what happens.”
Writing or painting is putting these thoughts on paper. Music is singing them. That is all there is to it.”
The hard part about writing online is the aftermath of the post, the statistics, the comments, the likes and shares. Did anybody understand what I wrote? Does anybody else feel the same way? Was that a stupid thing to say? Should I focus on websites and forget about trying to communicate online?
It is hard. It takes guts. It is a commitment. It takes time. It can be draining. There might be nothing to say. I might start lying. I might not find any connection, with anyone, ever.
But the Brenda Ueland book gives me confidence. This is who I am. Should I be ashamed of my writing because it might not be interesting to you at this moment?
Over time, maybe I can learn to write in a way that is engaging, but mostly I hope to write my own truth, my heart, and cultivate my own unique urge to express that no one else can do, in the same way, but me.