I am/not what I write.

Writing. It’s one of those cathartic practices that many people engage in. While not always a means to work out whatever is going on in your mental world, writing often starts this way. Think of the poems most people try to write as pre-teens. Angst-filled, overtly emotional, semi-rhymed verse that often gets characterized as “whining” these early forms of writing are most peoples first experience with letting their private mental world out. For the person who has a love for it, it can become an obsession.

I decided when I was 12 that I wanted to be a novelist. While that hasn’t yet come to pass, I have surrounded myself around the written word since then. Presently, I am pursuing an advanced degree in literary studies from a, I suppose, quasi-prestigious university. Mostly though, I am just finding myself in love with the written word.

I’ve had a couple blogs before, one that lays dormant and one that I post on fairly regularly. This is another attempt by myself to create a blog that will be a vehicle for my writings. Or thoughts. Or to just engage in that cathartic practice I talked about before. You might not find a whole lot of commonality between the posts, but then again you might. We’ll just have to see how this goes.

With that said, I want to say that I see myself as both an extension of and not composed of whatever I write. When it comes to personal blogging, We all are putting ourselves out there, but there is always more to the one posting the writing. We are/not what we write, and I think this is the beautiful, enlightening thing about the written word. Hope you all enjoy my mental wanderings on this blog!

 

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3 thoughts on “I am/not what I write.

  1. When I was in my late teens I started to write poetry. The only poet I knew about at that time was Robert Frost. I suppose his rhyming, fixed-form, stanzaic style had been antiquated decades ago, but I didn’t care; it spoke to me. That was all that mattered. Did I try to emulate Frost because his poetry was akin to mine or because I wanted my poetry to be like his. Billy Collins’s poetry doesn’t rhyme but his also speaks to me in some deep yet simple way. Leaves are green and bullies are mean! ??

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