Writing has always been an odd subject for me. It’s an integral part of life, even if it’s just in the form of emails or texts, it’s something you do without even really stopping to consider just how much you actually do.
I figured that I would have plenty of time to build up a backlog of draft posts, several weeks worth of writing waiting to be posted, but it turns out I’m going to need to hit the ground running. My drafts folder has been created, but it currently sits empty, save for a small .txt file labelled “Ideas for Posts”. There are two items in the list.
And if I’m being honest, I do enjoy it. I find it therapeutic to transcribe my random synapse pulses into words that other people can read, but it’s not something I’ve ever really been very good at. I earned mediocre grades in school for English Language and Literature, and I’ve barely written anything longer than a few hundred words that I’ve ended up holding on to. The vast majority of everything I write is in private; short, personal, one-on-one messages with others. Hell, I barely even tweet anymore. I can’t tell if it’s because I have nothing to say, or I’m self-conscious that what I have to say isn’t worth writing.
But then, earlier this year, I started developing this site (the main site, not the blog). And over the past few months I realised that I was holding myself back just by not including an outlet to write. It doesn’t much matter if people don’t think this is worth reading; what matters is that I take pleasure in the writing of it. I don’t need to worry about whether my words will be read at all, because that’s not the point. Writing is first and foremost a selfish act for me, and if people enjoy reading it, well I just consider that a bonus.