The Why and The What For

Okay, I can say it, and if I must, I will say it loudly, "I AM A BLOGGER." That being said, I must now do a bit of soul searching to find out exactly what that may entail. Why do I choose to write anything for inspection by the known universe? That may take a bit of space to explain.

A writer for as long as I can remember, I learned very early on from my mother: "NEVER write down anything you don't want someone to read." As a Middle School writing teacher, I gave my students similar words of wisdom: "Your writing journal is NOT a diary. It is not a place to write your deepest darkest secrets, UNLESS... it is your intention that those secrets become published pieces." So, I am taking my own advice, going out on a limb, and turning my writer's journal out to the world.

Secondly, I have quite strong opinions about the enormous benefits of being a writer, even if not a very good one. I remember a professor saying at some point in my not so stellar academic career: "Writer's do not live more colorful lives than ordinary people, they just learn how to find meaning in the mundane." To practice the art of writing gives meaning to my life. No, that isn't right. It doesn't GIVE meaning, it allows me to be more aware of the color which surrounds each and every one of us. When a bird's nest becomes a metaphor and a distant tornado siren a simile; when I search for satire in the McDonald's drive through and irony in the laundry basket; life is just... more.

And if that were the long and short of it, this whole endeavor would be pretty self-centered and not only BY me, but FOR me. I hope that is not the case. I love writing and when my muse is singing, I actually love what I write. Maybe you will too. Or if not, it is still helpful if your muse is similar to my most dominant which rears its head in angry response to what someone else has said or written. By all means, use it thus. Or if maybe, just maybe, you read something here and catch a glimpse of what I mean by the color of a writer's life, and you pick up your pen and give it a try. Well then, the limb I have gone out on just might hold my weight for at least a little while.