Thursday, July 2, 2015

Quite Some Time

Dear Whoever You Might Be,


      Three years, to the date, I started this blog. In honor of this occasion, I reread my first post (Click here to read first post ), and was a wee bit nostalgic. I found that back in the day, when I was venturing into the blogosphere, I was much *more* articulate. I wrote much more about literature, movies, and quoted You've Got Mail basically every other sentence. Reading back made me smile, and made me wonder where I should take my blog from here...
      With not blogging as much as I used to, and not nearly as much as I wish I could, I wonder why I still do it. I know for sure that a few loving family members dedicate a few minutes of their time whenever I post a new post, but is that enough to maintain? Am I still doing this for myself?  My original point was : "To say all the thoughts that I wish I could have said in the moment. The words that I have to hold back with the risk of offending someone. The words that a lot of people cannot express in an eloquent manner." Just quoted myself right there, and I am forced to consider those words. Am I actually saying all the things I wish I could say on a daily basis? If anyone should have the answer to that, it should be me.
      Since I have been aggressively reading Steinbeck all summer, I figure I better quote him:
                                              "The writer must believe that what he is doing is the most important
                                                thing in the world. And he must hold to this illusion even when he
                                                knows it is not true"
Now, I do not necessarily consider myself a "writer." Most of the time, I do not even consider myself a legitimate blogger. I consider legitimate bloggers the ones who have an internet presence. I consider writers to be artists, craftsmen who are dedicated every single day to their work. Believe you me, I am not dedicated every single day to my work. My research work, yes. My "writing," not so much. Would I love to spend my days, sitting proper at a writing table, typing or scribbling away at the next great American novel...or great novel...or novel...or even a few consecutive pages of some sort of story. So, why don't I?
      If I ever want to be a writer, or even a "legitimate blogger," I have to do as Steinbeck says; I have to believe that what I am doing is the most important thing in the world. I have to believe that fairies are dancing and mermaids are swimming and that the little piggies really are flying. I have to write more often, even if I feel lazy and just want to lay in bed in my fuzzy socks, re-watching Gilmore Girls reruns for the umpteenth time. Maybe I need to mix up my Steinbeck reading with some occasional fluff and nonsense to get the creative juices flowing down the brain river.
      I guess, at the end of the day, if I want to write, I shall write. If I don't, I shan't. If there is one reader, thank you. If there is a plethora, than you all dear readers deserve a medal for sticking around the past three years. Cheers to you all. I shall have a cup of Earl Grey in your honor.


                                                                        Sincerely,
                                                                                Me

1 comment:

  1. Ah, Megan, I do love your blog posts! I like your decision . . . write if you want to, or don't if you don't want to -- it's yours to do with as you like. Me, I prefer if you do. :)

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