The compulsion to blog

This blogging business is a curious thing – I have no idea why I am compelled to put words and thoughts out into cyberspace. I have no idea how many people actually read the words and no clue why I think they should. I second guess myself all the time. I worry that I embarrass my family (my children in particular – my husband has been hanging around long enough to be used to being embarrassed). I beat myself up on a regular basis.

Writing, to me, is a relief valve – once I put my thoughts onto a page it’s like I set them free. When I hit the ‘publish’ button on the blog page they scatter and I lose all the confidence I had in them when they were still in a neat little file inside my personal computer. And yet, I’m compelled to do it.

I’d like to pin this compulsion on someone – so I will. (I certainly can’t be held accountable for this brazen exhibitionist tendency). About a quarter of a century ago I signed up for a night school class on Creative Writing.  That in itself sounds innocent enough; BUT I met a man there. My instructor (an ex-priest, if you can believe it) began to encourage this sort of behavior. He encouraged his students to dig deep – to mine their own stories – to create.  I’m certain on some level he thought this was a good thing to do – he was, after all, a writer himself – how could he have known where this encouragement would lead.

This man, my friend, loved the act of writing – he felt (actually, he believed) the world became a better place just because he wrote. Whether those words were ever critically acclaimed or even read was beside the point — the sheer act of writing improved the planet.

So as most generous souls when they find the water refreshing, he invited everyone into the pool as well. Not everyone dove in, but I couldn’t resist. I started handing in assignments and waiting nervously for his encouraging remarks. I signed up for the same course repeatedly just to have this newfound ego stroked. It became somewhat of an addiction.

Now all these years later, I still find myself encouraged by his words. I’m not sure the planet is improved by my writing, but my life is — whether anyone reads these posts is decidedly beside the point, my world is considerably better for having written them.

(This post is dedicated to the memory of Ed Griffin – writer, teacher, friend and mentor.)