I Really Did

April 19, 2012

I honestly posted something on here hours ago. But for some reason it never…worked…it was a very odd thing.

Actually, it was probably for the best. I think I just included some unecessary items. It wasn’t much writing, but a lot of very vital and personal information.

Name. Address. Phone numbers. Social Security number.

You know…stupid stuff.

So since that post is no longer, let’s go ahead and replace it with some real content.

I’ve been thinking about what writing really is. Or at least I’ve been thinking about what I think writing is.

I think it’s mostly a more sophisticated way of saying “Hey, look at me.”

It’s pretty egotistical at it’s core.

When I write, I’m trying to tell a story. I’m also trying to tell it in a way that makes the reader respond. Maybe they say “Good job.” or maybe they don’t speak and just send me money via Paypal. (Both are great reactions.) But even at it’s more basic level, I’m wanting the attention it brings.

And let’s be honest. We all want attention. Even animals want it. What do you think they’re trying to do when they pee on your sock or bring you a dead snake on your back porch? They want your attention. “Look at me.”

This blog is a lot like one of those dead snakes. I know I don’t get a whole lot of traffic through these dusty trails of the internet, but they’re my trails, and I like to know if people are walking through. It makes me feel a little better than I did before. It’s good to know you have been here.

This was probably true for the earliest storytellers in history. It was true back in the middle ages. It was probably true way before written language existed. Storytellers needn’t write their stories… No.

People who would travel from village to village trying to get food and find shelter because they could spin a good yarn. Whenever people hung around and listened, they took a deep satisfaction from that. They had to. It not only meant that they could get food and shelter, but it also had to mean that they were important.

It made them feel like they had something to do in this world.

I think I’m liking the metathought on why I write. I want to feel the same way they did.

D.A.

 

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