Because we must, Gentle Reader. Because we feel ill without it.
When we are not writing, we think about writing. When we write, we plan what else we will say.
We dream in scripts and novels and essays.
We laugh as if reading it on a page (“ha ha ha,” “hee hee,” “hrmph”).
We grump when someone criticizes our work, but we cannot stand it when someone does not criticize our work.
We crave feedback, good and critical. We want the recognition and the demand to Do Better, Always.
We remind ourselves that writer’s block is a form of writing, because if we don’t, we see nothing but darkness.
Blogging is writing, we remind ourselves. Writing is writing is writing.
As Hamlet said, nothing more or less in the world than “Words, words, words.”
What is writing to you, Friend?
Like what you’ve read? Visit my website at The Life and Times of the Postmodern Bluestocking.