So many of us like to write, and read, I often wonder about that. I know there’s an innate desire we all have to be involved in stories, to hear them and live them, to share them and reflect on them. In cultures where writing doesn’t exist or is rare, verbal storytelling is the norm. In our modern, connected world, we’ve moved further and further from the verbal ways, but our tribal instincts still exist – can you really expect millions of years of evolutionary momentum to just suddenly stop? So we read, and some of us also write. I used to avoid writing for pleasure – usually I had my hands full writing for school, for work, for “duty” like family correspondence I felt obligated to write. I never had the drive to BE a writer, and it shows. But as I get older, and more leisurely in my time, I begin to feel the urge to tap the keys in a certain order such that the little squiggles come out in an orderly fashion and others can read my ideas, thoughts, feelings, experiences… stories. Even if no one actually does.
I look at the stats on my new WordPress blog every morning with some trepidation. I actually like the fact no one is looking at it. Yet. Eventually I suppose I’ll feel the same about blogging as I felt about writing in a physical journal knowing no one would read it or interact with me about it – waste of time. But for now, it’s a nice way to exercise my mind and fingers, tapping out some squiggles.
In that spirit, I started a page in my blog called the Witches’ Bridge Project, so I have something other than my random ramblings to tap out.