I sometimes wonder why I blog.
Not why I write. That I have learned is what makes me dance, what makes me feel alive. Putting words on a page, feeling the keys beneath my fingers as they tap and fly across the letters. After a good day of writing I feel a deep satisfaction in my soul.
I live so much of my life in my own head. My son is the same way. I guess it is in our DNA. But sometimes I keep rehashing the same idea, the same words, until I write them down. And then they are free and I can move on to other thoughts. If I ever need them back, I can read what I wrote in the notebook on my desk, on the yellow lines of my iPhone notepad, or on this screen.
So I know the value of writing for me but why do I open this screen?
I guess I hope someone will read my words and relate. My thoughts might be validated. My words might encourage.
While I have always said I write for myself, I write because the process helps me understand, helps me grow, that does not explain why I blog, why I hit the publish post button at the bottom of this page and send my writing out into the world. That is a much more complicated question.
Do I think I have something worth sharing? Yes, oh arrogant, prideful me definitely thinks my ideas are good. But does my pride diminish the possibility that my ideas might be worthwhile to others.
Do I need validation? Absolutely. One of the hardest struggles of writing a novel is spending days, weeks, months writing and living in the world of characters that exist only in my head. There is no comment section or retweet to spur me on.
But there are also really good things that come from blogging, from sharing what God has put on my heart. Sometimes, my story does resonate with someone else. Sometimes, what I wrote are the words someone needed to read that day. Sometimes, nothing happens when I hit post and I am again reminded that my work and my reward is the writing, not the following (or lack thereof).
So I guess I blog for all those reasons, the good, the bad, and the truly ugly.