Yesterday's prompt on the NaBloPoMo website was the following: What is your favourite part about writing? Yes, that is favourite with a u, in case my kids are reading this. Their u, not mine.
I hadn't really thought about using prompts, but with my recent string of complaints on the blog, I thought maybe I'd try a prompt and move beyond the negative. Change is good, right?
I have always loved to write. That might sound completely trite, but it is true. I remember writing stories and poems as a kid, and becoming lost in the art of writing. Most of my pieces weren't great, but apparently the teachers liked them. I remember my dad being in Iowa for 3 months during the end of 8th grade. I wrote him poems to keep him from missing us too much. Apparently, he liked them, too. I remember writing Harvey the Hippo stories for the school newspaper in high school, and I remember having to kill Harvey off, so to speak, when I graduated. I actually wrote about extinguishing Harvey for our English class, and Mrs. M made me read it aloud. She thought it would be 'cathartic' for everyone.
I kept writing through college, although I realized that I wasn't as great a writer as I thought. The college professors still mostly liked my writing, but if I had ever thought about a career in writing, I would probably have had to think again. That large university was chock full of good writers. Knowing that fact was somewhat intimidating, but I did learn how to improve my writing. While in college, I found that I was best at writing for classes that centered around women: my 'Gender Roles' sociology class and 'Women in French Literature' class are two examples. I actually wasn't the best science writer. And yet, I decided to head into science (that is another whole post right there!).
And so the question is, why do I write? I think it goes back to what Mrs. M said way back in high school. I liked that word she used: cathartic. And when I think about the single reason that I write, I think that word encompasses my reasons. According to Merriam-Webster, anything that is cathartic is 'of or relating to catharsis.' Well of course, that forces us to then look at the word, catharsis. The 2nd definition says:
Well Halleluiah! I'd say that both of those definitions apply to me. I don't easily express myself in any other form. The visions in my head never quite translate into the right shapes on paper, either with paint, crayon, or pencil. I don't consider myself an actor. My piano playing ability has never quite advanced to where I'd like it to be. Instead, I pour myself into writing, letting the emotions splash onto the page and land where they may.
While at the vet, I was thinking of what I could put into this post. Melina came with me to the vet, dressed in her little ballerina costume. She asked about boy dancers, and immediately, the movie Billy Elliott came to mind. If you haven't seen the movie, then this image will be lost on you. In short, Billy Elliott wanted to dance; his dad wanted him to box. In the end, Billy wins. He attends ballet school, and much later in life, lands the lead in Swan Lake. The final scene shows Billy, behind the curtain, getting ready to dance. The music surges in the background, and on cue, Billy leaps. In fact, he soars. The feeling of soaring that I get every time I see that final scene of the movie is the same one I get when I write, at least when I write something meaningful.
And there you have it. So now tell me, why do you read blogs? In particular, why read this one?
I hadn't really thought about using prompts, but with my recent string of complaints on the blog, I thought maybe I'd try a prompt and move beyond the negative. Change is good, right?
I have always loved to write. That might sound completely trite, but it is true. I remember writing stories and poems as a kid, and becoming lost in the art of writing. Most of my pieces weren't great, but apparently the teachers liked them. I remember my dad being in Iowa for 3 months during the end of 8th grade. I wrote him poems to keep him from missing us too much. Apparently, he liked them, too. I remember writing Harvey the Hippo stories for the school newspaper in high school, and I remember having to kill Harvey off, so to speak, when I graduated. I actually wrote about extinguishing Harvey for our English class, and Mrs. M made me read it aloud. She thought it would be 'cathartic' for everyone.
I kept writing through college, although I realized that I wasn't as great a writer as I thought. The college professors still mostly liked my writing, but if I had ever thought about a career in writing, I would probably have had to think again. That large university was chock full of good writers. Knowing that fact was somewhat intimidating, but I did learn how to improve my writing. While in college, I found that I was best at writing for classes that centered around women: my 'Gender Roles' sociology class and 'Women in French Literature' class are two examples. I actually wasn't the best science writer. And yet, I decided to head into science (that is another whole post right there!).
And so the question is, why do I write? I think it goes back to what Mrs. M said way back in high school. I liked that word she used: cathartic. And when I think about the single reason that I write, I think that word encompasses my reasons. According to Merriam-Webster, anything that is cathartic is 'of or relating to catharsis.' Well of course, that forces us to then look at the word, catharsis. The 2nd definition says:
2a : purification or purgation of the emotions (as pity and fear) primarily through art
b : a purification or purgation that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension
Well Halleluiah! I'd say that both of those definitions apply to me. I don't easily express myself in any other form. The visions in my head never quite translate into the right shapes on paper, either with paint, crayon, or pencil. I don't consider myself an actor. My piano playing ability has never quite advanced to where I'd like it to be. Instead, I pour myself into writing, letting the emotions splash onto the page and land where they may.
While at the vet, I was thinking of what I could put into this post. Melina came with me to the vet, dressed in her little ballerina costume. She asked about boy dancers, and immediately, the movie Billy Elliott came to mind. If you haven't seen the movie, then this image will be lost on you. In short, Billy Elliott wanted to dance; his dad wanted him to box. In the end, Billy wins. He attends ballet school, and much later in life, lands the lead in Swan Lake. The final scene shows Billy, behind the curtain, getting ready to dance. The music surges in the background, and on cue, Billy leaps. In fact, he soars. The feeling of soaring that I get every time I see that final scene of the movie is the same one I get when I write, at least when I write something meaningful.
And there you have it. So now tell me, why do you read blogs? In particular, why read this one?
Comments
:P
And you're talented.