Writing

I think about words. I think about how to put them together, how to phrase certain sentences. It's funny because when I'm talking to myself the words flow smoothly and articulately. Then I sit down to put those thoughts to paper (or screen), and my mind goes blank. When my thoughts finally return, they come together flat and stale. Words are powerful yet I can't seem to string them together coherently to accurately project and portray the thoughts I've been pondering.

The joys of writing.

Even though writing is excruciatingly difficult, I couldn't live without it. It's my life-line. It's cathartic. It's my thinking outlet. I come to my journal, my scrap of paper, my Jane-a-Day journal, or my blog; and as I write out all my thoughts, feelings, and conversations, I process, filter, think, and make decisions. I need all those various writing outlets, and each outlet has it's own unique purpose.

My journal documents those close, personal, and private thoughts which I do not need to share with the world, but those thoughts which I must think through. Journal entries, after much refining and continued thinking, may become blog posts. My scraps of paper records the thoughts which pop into my head and must be written down immediately before they fly out of my mind.

My Jane-a-Day journal is a 5-year journal which I started in January. Every day has a quote from of Jane Austen's books, and I write a short reply to the quote--what it make me thinks of, how I react to it, if I connect to anything, agreement or disagreement of her statement--or sometimes I just write a short recap of my day. My blog preserves pieces of writings and memories which I deem fit to share with the public while I can still, currently, be anonymous.*

I love preserving the thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories, and many happenings which my memory won't always be able to recall down the road. I love reading through my journal and blog entries, my random scraps of papers, and my Jane-a-Day journal to see what I wrote, how I reacted to a situation, my thinking process for a decision, and how I've grown and changed.

One of the great things about friends is when they in ordinary conversation, reveal to you a part of who you are but have never realized how you were defined by that part or how important it is. I showed Jessica a couple of quotes from my Jane journal, and this one was across the page:

I am not at all in a humor for writing; I must write on till I am. 

Personal Correspondence 

My comment was this, "I don't understand this statement because I'm not a writer. I've heard that sentiment voiced by other authors but have never experienced it myself."

Jessica read the quote and statement, looked at me, and made a comment that she wasn't sure why I would say that since I am a writer. No one had ever told me that before. Being me, Jessica's statement wouldn't leave my head, and I've now been pondering the thought for the past seven months that I am a writer. (Another aspect of myself that I hadn't been honest about to myself about myself, read here for my initial post on being honest to myself about myself). My conclusion: I'm a writer, and writing is vital for my survival and sanity. And I like it that way.

*There are days when I wished my blog would have more followers, but I'm not ready for that yet. I really do enjoy my anonymity and small following.