Why do I blog? Why do I type my thoughts on a screen, then press publish and send them out into the wide, wide world of the world wide web?
That’s a big question. It’s too hard to answer that question in that form. So I’m going to simplify it.
Why do I write?
Ah, that’s easier.
Here goes: I write because I don’t have a choice. I write because I have to.
I write because the words and numbers that constantly do battle in my head need an outlet. I write because the characters and voices in my head demand recognition.
(Yes, voices in my head. The comments section is below, waiting for your jokes.)
I write because there has never been a time in my life where I didn’t write. The outlet varied from diary to school work to essays to short stories to poems to blog posts to articles to picture book manuscripts to anything and everything in between. But the writing itself was constant. Is constant.
The words come to me. I create them, arrange them, rearrange them and manipulate them. And then I write them down so the next lot of words can come.
I didn’t realise how important writing was to me for a very long time. An embarrassingly long time.
In fact, the main reason I’m reflecting on it now is that a close friend of mine recently brought it up. I studied linguistics at university with this friend, but while she also studied creative writing and visual art, I studied marketing and finance.
“It’s so weird that of all our uni friends, you’re the writer now. Why didn’t you study writing back then?”
I didn’t have an answer for her then. But I think I do now. And the answer is both simple and difficult.
It’s as simple as not knowing that this was what I wanted to do. And it’s as difficult as never having been given the chance to realise that this was what I wanted to do.
I wanted to take the words in my head, the words I constantly created, arranged, rearranged and manipulated, and give them meaning.
So I did that. But that’s not all I did. I did so many other things that the writing never leapt out as my passion.
It is SUCH a relief to pinpoint that passion now. Such a relief. I have other interests. And, if you’ll forgive the seemingly not-so-humble brag, I’m good at other things too. Good enough to do well at them without the same level of passion to propel me. Good enough to think I could make something of myself with them.
But writing, words and language are the things I keep coming back to. They’re the things I study, the things I practise, the things I’m willing to work harder on than anything else. They’re the things I don’t mind getting wrong as long as I can keep working towards getting them right.
So that’s why I write, and therefore why I blog.
Do you blog? What inspires you to blog?
(Images of my family in the slideshow are my own. All other images have been sourced from freeimages.com and used with permission.)