I used to write because there were a lot of ideas in my head and it seemed like they needed a home elsewhere…and so I wrote them down. On paper. There were no blogs.
editorial note: I was carded at a restaurant just two months ago, proving that I am quite young, or at least young-looking, or , as the waitress explained (on my non-protest to produce the requested document), “everyone under 40 gets carded”. Thanks.
Also, my parents claim that I was THE KING of pretend when I was a youngling. So I’m sure all that time spent in “Pretend that…” land was the birth place for the ideas and subsequent writings.
And everything was great. I learned how to write (not just physically, but, you know, correctly). I spent much of high school and college in literature and writing courses. A few people thought I was a decent writer. I may or may not have been one of them. They/we may or may not have been qualified to judge “decent” in this context.
Oh, and all that time spent in those course may or may not have been a great way to prepare for the present, since I work in banking with a bunch of analysts and number nerds who can wax eloquent on statistical data, ROE and percentage averages, but don’t see the value in verb conjugation or the horror of ending a sentence with a preposition.
All that to say, I once wrote because I had ideas, I enjoyed it and there were a handful of individuals who encouraged it (thanks Mrs. Stroebel!).
Work – and marriage – and kids – and lots of other stuff took up much of the time I used to spend thinking creatively and writing. Yet I write! But, the reason is singular and a bit more practical:
I now write so I don’t forget.