The sun filters under my patio umbrella and warms my feet as the wind pushes whisps of hair from the up-do I hastely created this morning, tickling my face. No amount of tucking will keep them in place but its a light distraction.
I finally figured out that I quit writing because no one ever read what I wrote, or if they did, no one commented on it. I was so bothered by the fact that no matter how many other sites I visited, no matter how many links I made, or comments on their sites I made, still no one visited mine. I basically quit writing because I wasn’t as popular as this or that site.
Stupid me.
Being a popular blog, or in my case not being a popular blog took all the fun out of my writing. I spent more time searching for people to communicate through blogging then I did writing and that took all the fun out of the actual art of writing; it dried me up. I finally just decided that I don’t really care that anyone doesn’t read what I write, what matters is if it helps me – I can make peace with that.
I can deal with little or no exposure because what I really want to get out of writing is a sense of peace, a sense of personal purpose. Writing soothes my soul and while what I have to say may not be what others find interesting, writing is a form of creative expression. An empty page in front of me, or a brand new journal, is to me intoxicating. It is to me like a blank canvas is to a painter, a splash of color here and there is like a word written here and there, a shape is like a paragraph, and eventually at some point the canvas or blank page takes on a life of its own. When it is complete, I sit back and look with contentment at the life I created by giving life to something that was otherwise vacant and empty.
That is the soul of writing.
