I get asked this all the time? “Why do you write about all this stuff, man?” My response is actually quite simple.
Some people start a Journal, Diary, or Blog site in hopes of becoming an Internet sensation overnight. Others may dream of writing a best selling novel. Me, I write for my own sanity. Believe it or not, I do not write for you, the reader. I write for me. It calms me to write. It allows me to think and rethink situations that trouble me. It provides me media to vent my frustrations. And, it allows me to look back at myself to ascertain if I have started slipping away from reality.
But, even though I write for myself, I still invite you, the reader to browse through my words to see if you can find something of interest in my constant roller-coaster reality to enjoy. I ask nothing of you. I do not require you learn from me or my mistakes. I do not ask that you make comments or critique my writing. You may do so if you wish, but I do not ask or require you do so. I do not even expect you to laugh or show other emotion realized while reading my writings. Simply, you honor me with your presence and regardless of my seeming indifference, I do appreciate you being here.
Anyway, back to my explanation of why I write. I write because I feel. And, I usually write with the emotion I am feeling at the time. Whenever something happens that stirs an emotion in me, I tend to need someplace to show my feelings. Frankly, showing my emotions on paper is the most sane thing I do. Were I to bottle my emotions up, I would be a “powder keg” just waiting for release. Writing often helps me work through an emotion rather than sit frustrated waiting for my head to explode.
When angry, writing provides me vent to scream and holler as much and as loud as I want without sending the neighbors running in fear seeking safe haven from my storm. When in a funny mood, writing provides excellent media to demonstrate laughter and joy. Romance thrives on the written word. And, where would a joke be if it were never written down for others to enjoy.
Yep, It is true. I write for myself more than for you. I also read myself, because of you. So far I have been quick enough to temper my words in such fashion as to allow you believe me not a candidate for a “rubber” room. Have you ever been so enraged that what you wrote in the heat of anger even scared you? I took a “Creative Writing” course some 30 years ago at a local college. The Instructor told us to write what we are trying to say, verbatim. It leaves you with grammatical errors and lousy sentence structure sometimes, but can certainly demonstrate hostility or anger strongly.
There is but one other real reason to write. Immortality! No, I am not delusional. I do not believe myself to die an accomplished novelist. But, I do realize that it is entirely possible that this page you are reading right now, copied and folded neatly, used as a bookmark, in a book written by an accomplished novelist, left in the public library. Might one day be found by a reader that checks the book out from the library and gets curious enough to open the folded paper book mark and read what I have said here.
There you are, I am on my way to immortality without having to kill anyone . . .