Never put a sock in a toaster

Just in case you should be contemplating that, don't do it!

It strikes me that this whole act of "blogging" (I dislike that it is called that, it's such a ... well, the word itself is unimaginative & ugly. *sigh* Dumb English language...) is really rather amusing.

I was reading some of The Diary of Anne Frank today, and in one of her first entries she remarks on how unlikely it is that anyone will ever read--or be prone to want to read--what she has to write. Yet, years later, her diary has been published, translated into many other languages, adapted for screen & stage, and has a museum in her honor. People still speak of what she wrote (as I'm doing now), yet she never thought they would even be interested in what she has to say. A strange kind of occurrence, yeah?

How different is blogging from that? Instead of being quiet & unassuming, writing merely for the catharsis of it, every person that posts knows on some level that they post it online knowing--or hoping--that it will be read.

Is it possible to write for others and for one's own catharsis as well?

I sure hope so. :) If not I fear I've been wasting my time.

I've heard it said that to be a writer only one thing is necessary: to wake up in the morning and want nothing more than to write. I don't know how true this is, but it's what has kept me journaling for years, & part of what led to my blogging. It's what kept me scribbling away long after I thought "This is such rubbish, no one will ever want to read this!"

Being involved in theatre, I've heard more times than I can count "know your audience". I have to confess though, when I write I don't really do so for the audience. I do it for myself, for the unburdening of my soul to the page. Then if anyone wants to read it, well, some of it anyway, they can take whatever comes.

Even for writing plays, including that "commissioned" 10-minute that was the final for playwrighting class, I don't really think I wrote for an audience. I wrote knowing certain parameters must needs be met, and knowing certain people would read it, but that's not really the why of writing it.

Perhaps writing isn't even something done for enjoyment. Perhaps it is something done because it's what I was created to do. It is my reasonable act of worship, my living sacrifice, that part of myself that is an integral to being me as ... as my soul.

On a metaphysical level, would I still be myself if I did not write? Of course I would, I've gone days without writing before. But at some level there was still that yearning for putting words to the page. Perhaps that's it: would I still be myself if I did not want to write? I've never wanted to not want to write. I've never really considered the second order volition with regards to writing before. But I don't really remember there being a time when that desire, that itch, was not present.

Strange stuff, this blogging thingummy. It's almost like journaling, except I know with relative certainty that someone will be reading this soon. Yet, I'm almost as free with words here as I am when I know the thoughts I pen are for no other eyes than my own. Is this transparency? Or simply picking the right topic? I'll have to think about that one for a bit.

"For a dreamer, night's the only time of day."

Also: apparently "journaling" and "playwriting" are not real words, but "thingummy" is. Go figure.