I have just read a wonderful post by Fabulous Larraine about writing. About writing and what makes you to be a writer. And it´s fitted my today´s mood as I am thinking why I write. Why I put thing down. And why here. And why somewhere else and what happens when I do so.
I started this blog almost two years ago. And I did so because I had to write. Something. So many thoughts, so big need of writing them down. It was a kind of experiment. I didn´t have any concept, I didn´t have any plan what it was going to be all about. It was like: "ok, let the river flows and I will see where the stream will take me".
And I was writing about the origin of ice-cream, about Sarah Kane and In-Yer-Face Theatre, I wrote about cutting my hair (and it was a big change) and gnomes, about some funny and about not so funny situations I experienced as a teacher, and about creating kind of "teaching voice", I wrote about clever flies and seamonsters, about how I hate insect and so does my sister. I wrote about some evil cleaning machine, I dedicated one post just to my sister (it was a day before her wedding) where you can see some very old photos, I wrote about the fact that Smallone is going to be me and posted some great photos taken by her. I also wrote about the weird moon.
The beginning of the year 2009 was dedicated to Smallone and my sister as they stayed with us for a while and when my sister and her husband split up, I stopped blogging for quite a long time. And when I started again, it was mostly about the summer travels, and only once I came back a bit when I wrote about my darkest side.
And suddenly it is March 2010 and I am going back through this whole blog. And I have found how much my writing´s changed. How much my themes have changed. And I do want to bring back those "silly" things I wrote before.
I always know that writing is important to me. When I write I sort my thoughts out. I have to put them in some order and unexpectedly things begin to make sense. My only "problem" is that in many cases I need a reader. I can´t write things just for myself. I can´t write a diary. If I don´t have any response (or If I don´t think there could be some), I find it kinda useless to write anything. That´s why my diaries from my teenage years were usually so short - three posts at most, and then I found it boring and did other things, much more interesting ones.
I´ve grown sort of addiction to writing. When I undergo some hard times and have to speak about it, I sometimes write long e-mails, or some essays where I let my thoughts fly and hope that they would find their way and settle. But sometimes my thoughts break away and fly really high. And at that time I have to be very careful who I give the letter, who I send the e-mail to. Or if I do this at all. I have to decide if the letter or the e-mail is comprehensible at least. The power of words is huge. And you should be careful about it. And I am still learning about that.
This blog was a beginning. The beginning of my writing. Of my constant writing. I still haven´t got any plan what it should be about. I still have no concept. If I had time, I would have at least three blogs - one about my silly thoughts, one for my photographs, one about books and other cultural stuff. Well, and I would also need the fourth blog - for Smallone, my family and friends.
But I don´t have so much time and I´d love to find the balance among all those subjects. I don´t think I will, but I´ll give it a try. And I will also try to come back to the roots of this blog.
Writing is a way of relax, writing can be a kind of convalescence. Why do all bloggers write? Post photographs? Share their thoughts? And although I write many things outside the blogosphere, and I enjoy it, I also like posting things here. I like sharing them. This blog is mine. This is my playground.