I like this leaf; it composed its fall colors with a dash of originality.

Why do I blog?

For this intriguing question, just asked by WordPress, I’m tempted to divert you over to Marilyn’s excellent response and leave it at that.

But in examining the question, I realized that ‘why do I blog?’ is different than ‘why do I write?’ They stem from different needs, in a way. Perhaps a subtle difference, but one I decided to write about.

You will have noticed, my few kindly readers, that my blog posts are not always regular and present. This does not mean I’m not writing, however. This just means that certain aspects of my life have muscled out my time for crafting a blog post, and organizing my thoughts into neat packages whereby pictures, quotes, introductory paragraphs, enticing links and concise conclusions can be rendered. Sometimes I spend days hovering with motherly anxiety over a blog post, sometimes the ideas marinate for weeks before being brought to birth. I am not always able to spend this time.

I am always writing, though. Just not blogging in that moment. Or even a few moments later. The time spent away from blogging is still reading and writing time, and usually involve making lists, squirreling away ideas for future blog posts.

Even when I’m writing, I’m not writing exactly what I want to write. (see previous post) I’m rehearsing; I’m exercising the volubility and constraints; I’m flexing, and basically, breathing. Because writing is as natural and inevitable to me as breathing. Is there a contest for the best breather? I don’t know. Does it have to do with natural lung capacity? Doomed…. I just breathe; it is a part of my everyday experience. It doesn’t matter if I am the best.

Even a grocery list provides fodder for the active writing mind—a quote from Homer scribbled on the side (the ‘wine-dark sea’ always a reminder to buy…well, you know) or a brief scribble about ‘free range eggs!!!!!’; the freedom to punctuate excessively reminds me that chickens have feelings and there is always a perky little haiku that can accompany this sentiment. No, even grocery lists do not have to be boring; although, mercifully for you, I do not blog them. That’s where my writing and my blogging exist in separate compartments.

Writing is both personal and expansive. The expansive part is where blogging comes in. I love the idea of combining words with pictures. I love the idea of tying in links and quotes from other resources, and attempting a complete whole for the reader. I love WordPress because it gives me beautiful frameworks in which to set up my little writer’s storefront, hang out a welcoming sign, and weave a tall tale, or spin a yarn. (okay, so that last is a scarcely concealed clue to one of my up and coming blog posts…but not before I finish my train series!)

I do not always write the way I want to write on this blog. Yet writers will write; be it good, bad, mediocre, writers will always write. This is what I love to do. I make sure, though, that what I read is quality writing. The raw materials are so important. They stay with you. So read read read…that is what I do. The best words, in the best order. That way, far from being discouraged, far from wanting to give up, I am constantly inspired to do better. When the moment arrives that I can do better—I will recognize it. It will happen.

It’s rather exciting, actually. Writing. With a side helping of Blogging.

And this is the most I’s you’ll probably ever get from me.

5 thoughts on “Stripes and Solids

  1. I read a book once where the writer was recovering from traumatic circumstances and the only thing she could manage was to write lists of ten things (ten things to take care of myself, 10 things I love about my house…etc.). I did that for awhile, very revealing. I also agree with the previous comment. A writer has to write to keep sanity.

    • Lists are amazing! They can really direct your mind to creative productivity. I keep books of my daily lists; I suppose they are sort of like a journal, but very unexpected in content. 🙂 My husband is slightly baffled that I don’t want to throw away my moleskin notebooks of ‘lists’.

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