The only reason writers write is they can’t help it; they have to!
We are compelled to put pen to pape or fingers to the keyboard, whether it is published or not, almost like an illness or addiction. As a child, I can even recall sitting on the loo, writing on the toilet paper! A girlfriend and I wrote letters to ‘boyfriends’ when we were quite young, burying them in the scrub near our cubby house after we had placed a lipstick smeared kiss on them!!! I wrote dozens of letters to aunts and uncles, grandparents and pen pals. I wrote in a journal, not daily, but often. I wrote a manuscript by the time I was 19, but was too nervous to take it to a publisher. I’m not even sure where it is now, probably in the box of recipes I have lost. The scary thing about getting published is you have to accept that what you wrote is in print forever, for anyone to see and interpret… or misinterpret.
Blogging is there for all to see, and also for all to plagiarise or in/misinterpret. More so than being published in the form of a book as a website is global, is very easy to access, and virtually impossible to monitor what happens to it. One just has to have belief in the goodness of people; the alternative is to give up blogging. And blogging is writing, and it can be as addictive as any other hobby a person might have, so giving up is currently not an option, for me! I feel like I am writing for my life, healing my heart and soul as I write about the journey I am taking on the dementia train. Sometimes when I re-read what I have written, it not only serves as a memory bank, it feels like removing the bandage from a deep wound in the process of healing. Handwriting is becoming increasing difficult and laborious, so the pc is my saviour as it allows me to keep writing.
As a child, I had dreams to be and achieve many things, but like so many others, I was more often a ‘gunna’ … ‘gunna do this, gunna do that’, often not even starting on a dream. My ‘to do’ lists were more task than dream focused. I did want to be a published writer, and it took a diagnosis of a terminal illness to sit me down to start. Anh Do’s autobiography, The Happiest Refugee, ‘tracks a young Anh as he and his family journey from their homeland to a refugee camp in Malaysia and finally Australia… It radiates hope.’ His father has a saying; ‘There’s Now and There’s Too late!’ which is similar to the way I am trying to live now. We live until we die, so I’d better get back to writing!
Ps. I’ve had a glitch with my brain working the last few days, but with the support of some special readers, I gathered the resolve to complete this blog that had been sitting in my drafts folder! At least for today I’m back.