Should I write a blog? What do you think?
It’s a question people often ask. Not necessarily to me. (I am no blog-oracle.) I asked it once, twice, probably more times than I remember. And I like to think that there is always a reason to write. You don’t have to publish it.
But always write.
Write because you’re passionate.
Write because you’re angry.
Write because you’re scared.
Write because you’re lonely, write because you’re curious and you want to see what might happen.
Write because otherwise you might not remember. Write because it makes things clearer, less real or more real.
Write because it’s powerful.
In the last three years, I have written hundreds of blog posts. Some better than others. Many dull and far too long. But out of all those words, good things have come. And tonight I sat and I tried to write something about why I blog, and where it has led me, and why I fell in love with writing all over again, and I couldn’t do it. There were too many things competing for space in my sentences, too many clauses.
So instead I wrote the list above. When you try to explain why you love something, it’s hard. It feels like it shouldn’t be, but it is. And no, I didn’t miss the irony in the fact that I couldn’t write about writing.
Writing online is a powerful thing. It’s dangerous, sometimes.
But I would never trade those boring posts and torturous paragraphs for not doing it.
On Friday, someone took the time to tell me how much something I had written meant to him. ‘It mattered, and you wrote about it,’ he said. And that’s it, that’s the point. Write about things that matter to you. And sometimes, just sometimes, they will matter to someone else too.