Monday, February 13, 2006 2:12:04 am
Why Write? What do i get out of it? what purpose does it serve for me? I sit here and poise fingers over keys and think and magically words appear on the page. Yet i keep them hidden behind this passworded journal where they do little good for anyone. Do they do me good here? Do i get anything out of writing? It is all about the actual words on the paper or is it more than that?
I think it is more than that. There is so much to use to personalize each entry. The color, the style, the size of print, the background image to use.(not seen on the yahoo360) Why personalize it so much? That question is easily answered. Personalizing it makes it mine. I can change it to what I want depending on the day my mood or the content of what I want to write.
So much about my life is not my own. Writing is just for me. It is all mine.
I sit here and write things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. Is that cathartic? I’m not sure? I don’t truly believe I know what that word means and yet I write it here for what reason?
I save all these word of the day To a section of this journal for what purpose? Do I really think i will use the word in a story someday? Do I want to learn new words. I’m not sure.
I find I am a habitual saver. So much I can’t recall. I read each word of the day, but truly I can’t recall them now. I don’t know what sort of memory singletons have and frankly I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what sort of memory singletons have. I am not singleton. I am a multiple.
I wonder sometimes do i write about being multiple to the exclusion of other things? A hard question to answer. It is my life and part of who I am, whether i like it or not. To not write about it is ignoring a bit influence in my life. Balance is the key eaglewings would say. Balance is the key to all life. Is Life really in balance? I don’t think it is really. To me life is so out of balance so chaotic. To see the streets filled with cars going who knows where. To see people each thinking of themselves and their own lives. All these buildings where you can buy all these things. things that in the long run mean little and are quite trivial. Things don’t make a person happy. I stray from my point. I walk outside and there is so much everywhere, noises, sights, sounds, It is a tad overwhelming. I equate it with chaos.
Are books things? I don’t believe they are. Books for me are alive. They breathe, they speak, they are so much more than things.
Do other people begin to write about one thing and find themselves writing about something totally different? Does it matter what I write about or just that I write because I enjoy it? Is that all that matters in the long run? That I enjoy writing so I do it?
I Read a post once from a person in the journal group and they wrote about how they don’t journal more because they have nothing special or out of the ordinary to write. As if they can’t write what their thoughts are. Do they not think their thoughts are worthy? I just write. Poise the fingers over the keys, think, and away I go. No telling what or how much will pop out.
I can write any time, no matter how late it is, It is here. I can type it or hand write it. I can just sit and let loose. A journal doesn’t care what my mood is, or how neat my writing is, or even if I make sense. It is just there to accept whatever i have to say. Where else in the world can you find that?
You can even write in the dark. Stories are ways to make life what you want. Make myself a character in a story, or total distraction by writing about strange people from foreign lands.
Writing is done for yourself to satisfy some primal need, and shared with others to fulfill some other primal need. I think most all people edit what they wrote when they share it with others. If they write it for the purpose to share stuff is edited out that they would leave in for their own eyes. I Took things out of here when I posted this here. Censoring that is the word I was looking for. I censor myself when writing here, or in the journal group, or even to the penpals. I censor myself with everyone save 2 people. My sister, Kassie and Eaglewings.
Why write is the question I posed to start this entry. The answers I come up with are quite simple I Write For me. I censor my words for others to share bits of myself, but I write for me, I write for what I cannot say, I write for peace, I write to write.
Monday, February 13, 2006 2:12:04 am