For me, my blog is totally egoist. I write things to share and there it is ready to be read. I think I have two or three readers so far. Because I am an educated person, I have done many kinds of writing– academic papers, presentations, shopping lists, journals. letters. My blog is more for me than anyone else, but at the same time I am pleased if someone reads and likes or thinks about something I have posted. The topics are random, but a lot are stories I want to tell.
I am not a wordsmith. I have been fortunate in having been able to share time with many other wordsmiths– John Ash, Mel Kenne, Jeff Kahrs, Julie Doxsee and so many more. I know they work on their writing, tune it and turn it. I just write and if I occasionally come up with a nice turn of phrase, I am pleased.
I was thinking about writing in general. Animals mark their territories and we humans do also. However, since I believe we as a species fear death, we want our marks to last forever. There is a sanctity about the written word. Certainly archaeologists are happy to find writing, even if it is an inventory list from ancient times. Once something is written, it seems that it is indeed written in stone. It is almost sacrilege to throw out books, even crappy ones. That is partly because they have been made from such industry for so long, even though now they are printed by the millions, many as basically throw away books (paperbacks for travelling comes to mind, though now I suppose it would be a kindle for many people).
I have kept a journal since I was about 14. My first ex husband threw away the two years of journals that we were together but other than that, I have a box of them. I rarely read any old ones, though I might read back in the one I am currently writing in. I am not sure if I will ever read any of them again but I keep them. I told my daughter that when I die, she can just throw them out, though I may do that myself if I know when I am dying. The journals are not logs so much as exploration of the emotions I am feeling strongly at the time. Of course many of them are about love, some about loneliness, anger, thoughts and reporting of events of the time. They are about me.
When I first started to live abroad, I wrote group letters . Unfortunately, the ones from Japan are long gone. A few from Turkey have gone astray, but I still have several. It is interesting to read the enthusiasm and wonder as I tell about places and people. That kind of went away as life just became normal.
My writing style is probably more stream of consciousness. I rarely fine tune it much, though I do let something settle before I put it on the blog. I have seen some things recently that my father wrote and I would say I write like him only better. I used to teach academic writing, which of course is different from other writing, but I have realized that I don’t often take my teacherly advice regarding transitions and other devices.
My aunt recently sent me a copy of her version of a memoir, which I found very interesting. She is a Zen teacher, so it was good to see how she explained getting into it. When I called to tell her I had received it, I told her that my blog was my version of my memoirs. I feel it is important to share the stories I have written, to tell some new ones, and to explain some of the many photos I have. Luckily the days of putting people through the hell of slide shows are long past, so with a blog I can expose my stories and hope they are read. If they are not, so be it. The price is right! And it is all about me anyway.