Writing

I love to write. If I analyze why it's probably because you get to put out your thoughts uninterrupted by anyone else who might have a comment to make or a story to tell. Writing is completely narcissistic. It's all about me, babe!

My friend, Carole, and I were discussing my stories (LOL!) over a glass of wine and I tried explaining how terrifying it was for me to bare my pitiful abilities on a blog where anyone could read and critique them. When I finally got the nerve to click on that "publish" button I nearly had a stroke! I was "outed".

But then an interesting thing happened. I was also liberated. It stopped mattering to me whether what I wrote was good or not...it just mattered that I had an outlet. In my own little way I was having fun and it wasn't hurting anyone.

I've said that blogging is the equivalent of baring your boobs but maybe I exaggerated a bit. Maybe it's only the equivalent of showing some cleavage. Readers really only get to see the top of one's imagination.

When I was in high school I always got top marks for stories I wrote. It was, and still is, my belief that you can make a story out of absolutely anthing. To prove it, I once wrote a story about a comb and got an "A". Through my adult years I wrote constantly but kept every story hidden from view. My granddaughter, Lisette, has no such compunctions and she's already developing a terrific talent for writing. If I'd had her confidence when I was her age I think I would be a better writer now.

Wishes for what could have been won't get us anywhere so I'm going to take today and make the best of it. Blogging isn't my life but it sure has become one of the most fun parts of my day. And that's the way it is.