I was reading someone else's blog (MiYon)... which led me to a column where someone was talking about how lame it was (basically) to have a blog. I used to think that, but I think that it is therapeutic. I don't expect to have hundreds of people bookmarking my blog to read every day, but once in awhile, I think that I can probably find something out there in the big-wide-world to offer as at least semi-interesting.
I guess part of it is just a burning desire to write. I've been writing in some form or another since I was 9 and lugging my grandma's old-fashioned typewriter around with me. I was a writer, dammit!
It is strange. I have avoided writing like the plague for quite sometime now. I'm not sure why that is... but a read a quote that really hit home and made me think about it. I feel like my writing is a spurned lover stalking me in the background. When I was younger, stress sent me to my paper/notebook and pen, andI'd write up a storm. Now, as an 'adult' I feel like that is the first thing to disappear when I get stressed. But it doesn't go so far as to be completley lost. I've been over-worked and over-stressed lately and have been doing a lot of digital scrapbooking in the past few months. It is very therapeutic to move colorful papers and elements around a page and then try to tell a story without using a lot of words during times that I'm searching for strength or answers. But I keep finding myself wanting to fill the12x12 pages with tons and tons of stories. Then I get into a quandry and don't know how to resolve it.
In the past few weeks, there have been too many obvious beacons pointing me back into the direction of writing. I will be looking at something and there is an article about writing or I see a review of a new book or I will stumble across someone's writing blog. Or even running across a scrapbooking site that is talking about journaling or someone mentions meeting online friends (which reminds me of the festival ofwriters). I've had friends asking about writing or suggesting an idea. All of these things.
I don't know what it is about Fall that brings me back to writing. It isn't that life has slowed down or become easier. But there is a feeling in the air. A quickening. A crispness that sharpens the mind and brings me back to the realization that Winter is around the corner and the end of another year is on the horizon. Perhaps it is that... or the recognition that I'm getting older (darn it, it happens every October). Anyway, it shoves me back, face to face with writing; the true love that will never stop haunting me.
I'm trying to find my way back to some sort of rhythm to soothe that burning feeling inside. I need to write. I can't ignore it anymore.