Heaven holds a sense of wonder….











{September 1, 2010}   Oh, for the want of a finger…

Oh, how I want to write… it’s the perfect day for it – stormy, cool, autumn-like.

Alas, it seems I may have broken my finger. Index finger at that. Slows me down some.

Pen and paper, it is then. I’ll share my chicken scratch with you when I can type adeptly again.

Thanks for reading! 🙂



{March 21, 2010}   Written in blood

Why do I put myself out there for the world to see? Why do I write my innermost thoughts and feelings for perfect strangers to read?

She said, “You have a story to tell, and people want to hear it – but you can’t just force your story on them! You have to wait for them to be ready.”

She’s every bit the private person I’m not.

It’s kind of strange, to me, when I think of it. Of the two of us, she’s more gregarious, more socially outgoing. In a crowd, I’m reserved, quiet. I like to watch the people around me. In intimate settings, she’s more withdrawn, and I’m on center stage.

I love attention, it’s true. But of a specific sort. Attention with some distance. I’d rather be behind the scenes running props or costumes & makeup, coaching the actors, than to actually be on-stage. I love to organize things and know that I made that happen, but I don’t need to have accolades thrown to me. I write, and I love to know what people think of my reading, I’m a sucker for blog stats that tell me how many visitors I have. But I don’t want anyone to know who I am.

When I demand attention for myself in a direct way, it’s a unique event. I don’t do it often. Well, I do with her. She feels like I’m always demanding her attention and she’s always giving me attention. I beg to differ – I ask her for ten minutes of her undivided attention, and she thinks that watching TV together counts as paying attention to me. She can be such a dude sometimes. 🙂

In all seriousness, though, I know that the big reason for the difference in opinion of how attention is given has a lot to do with the amount of attention she gives herself. I’m willing to let it rest, for now.

Back to the point.

Why do I put myself out there for everyone? Why do I write?

____________________________________________

I put this entry away mid-construction because real life asserted itself. It’s now been eight days since I began it, and I’m no closer to any sort of constructive answer.

I write because it’s therapeutic. I know this much. I write because, if I don’t, I become emotionally and mentally congested. If I don’t write for myself, I don’t process the little things in life, and they add up, and eventually I spew my contents in a very messy way.

I suppose I’m motivated to write for an audience for several reasons. One, knowing that I have a readership (however tiny) keeps me coming back. I feel a stronger sense of duty. I must give the people something to read! Two, having an audience forces me to clarify my thoughts. I work harder to be comprehensible. Three, and related to two, writing for others to see gives me an opportunity to improve my own writing skills. I can receive feedback, and build on my already-existing skillset. And four, I do want to make a difference. Maybe something I say will mean something to someone.

I don’t think it’s about the attention itself. I don’t mind attention, but I’ve never been one to put myself in the spotlight for long. Not without outside encouragement and a lot of pushing, anyway. I like to pull the strings to make the puppet dance. I don’t want to be the puppet.

When I think of all the reasons why I write the way I do, I wonder if I am justifying myself and my actions… am I rationalizing? Do I really do it for the attention?

I’d be lying if I said the answer was a clear-cut No. I do like the attention – but in the sense that I appreciate insight and validation. It does make me feel good to know someone out there enjoys reading my pretty words. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, and I am pretty positive it’s not the prime motivating factor in my decision to put myself out there.

Maybe it’s just about the need to express myself in a consistent way, the need to grow and challenge myself. And this is just one way I choose to do it, and it works.



{March 7, 2010}   The writing on the wall

I’ve decided it’s time to buckle down on the writing that’s kept me sane for so long. I am going to commit a certain chunk of my day to writing efforts on a daily basis.

Beyond this blog, I’m also going to start submitting my words to various magazines. Being paid is a nice perk, and it does help me justify the amount of “free time” I have to dedicate to this passion of mine, but really, I feel like my story shared would actually help people. No one needs to know it’s me – just that they’re not the alone in their respective journeys.

I used to write and edit for an awesome, now-defunct, body- and sex-positive feminist e-rag, nearly a decade ago. I wrote for them for nearly two years. As time passes and I age and gain perspective, I miss writing more and more.

My kids are becoming increasingly autonomous, growing up, needing me less. I have questions only I can answer for myself, and putting words down is the therapy that works best for me. Others share those questions in their own lives, and sometimes a key word or two can make all the difference.

My mother once told me when I was a child, she’d always envisioned me as a writer – specifically a writer of children’s books, but a writer in any regard. When, as an adult, I followed other pursuits, she felt I wasn’t being true to myself.

I don’t want to be a novelist. For the most part, fiction is not my strong point, though when properly moved, I can churn out a poignant and relevant short story. Poetry… I love poetry. I don’t have enough confidence that my pretty words are pretty to anyone else – I have a very distinct voice, and seldom come across anyone with one similar. This is supposed to be a good thing, though it leaves me feeling very vulnerable and exposed. I’ll post it in my blogs, I’ll put it up when I can hide behind a binary-code curtain, and I might even publish a zine. Ask me to put it in a real book with real publishers, and I quail. Children’s stories? Sure, I’d love to write them. I tell my kids stories all the time. But I think I’ll wait till I’m a grandmother to do that. It seems more fitting to my personality.

I’ve always preferred to write on the subjects that explore the deeper questions of the psyche, the hows and whys of human nature. Subjects of a philosophical, psychological, spiritual, and even socio-political nature are the ones that pull me under, so I churn the words like water and create sea foam and tidal waves out of a seemingly placid pool.

So that’s where I’ve been. Writing for magazines. Telling my story as a lesbian mom. I’ll share it with you when I find out about publication.



et cetera