Almost two years later,still surrounded with little never ending errands and duties like dirty dishes to do and clean dishes to put away, laundry to do and laundry to put away, cat litter to throw away and cat litter to refresh, I’m still checking my blog statistics first thing every morning. My blog writing is quite infrequent now compared to my burst of activity writing one initially.
At first the blog was a novel experiment to inspire me to write. It worked very well. Like learning to play an instrument it became easier with each attempt. The desire to write had been a childhood dream that had become only a faint memory after life put me on a course of different experiences. In my work as a teacher I always used writing so I never felt the loss of the dream. As a single parent dealing with managing things my mind and heart became fixed on doing what was the most important for my son. Writing for the sake of my own creative life came into the light from time to time when I was involved in community theatre projects and drama workshops that I led. Like a little mushroom, my desire to write responded to the brief light of these experiences. I loved the shortlived glow from doing these things but especially the appreciation of others for my efforts.
The blog is something like that for me now.I realize, perhaps too late , that my writing style is flawed by some grammar flaws. Most of my topics are sentimental and my take on them ranges from wistful to downright corny. My more experimental writing which I am stockpiling elsewhere isn’t all that earth shattering in it’s content or style. It might someday be rewritten, edited and polished up enough for someone else to appreciate. That depends on me though doesn’t it? The dream of writing which I had over fifty years ago has struggled to see the light of day for so long it has weakened with neglect. Weak, faint, hidden, it still forms small displays of growth.
Blog writing feeds the dream just enough in my case to not care that fifty odd years have gone by due to life, parenting, work and the calendar. It has stirred the long dormant, dried up and overrun patches of my childish dream to simply write. The new light encouraging spindly yet determined growth in my writing shines from the readers I’ve reached, way out there somewhere in the blog world. This is a miracle light and I don’t take its restoration for granted.