Why I write
I got to thinking; Why Do I Write?
I helped a gentleman during a workshop by asking him if he'd ever made a movie for himself, something that he showed no one else. He said no, what was the point of that? I told him that everything he makes should be for himself first. Much of my writing I have shared with few. I have little stories that I wrote down, just to set free from my heart. But now, now I write and put them up here. Once, I got really mad. I put a post asking for people's opinion of my work and got no response. I see the numbers that tell me that someone has looked at what I wrote, but yet still I only get a few responses and I don't know why. I should not think like that. I never used to. I wrote for myself and no one else so why does it matter now. I don't know why I write anymore.
The Celtic people rarely ever wrote things down. They were a brilliant culture and were frequently used by the Greeks as tutors. However, they believed that if they wrote it down, the spirit of the object would be bound and no longer have any power. This culture was all but wiped out with so little left that nearly nothing is known about it's history.
Am I trying to leave my own legacy? Making sure that there is some way that others know I existed? Am I merely a vessel to carry these stories to the next set of people so that greater things are learned and not lost? Or am I trying to dilute the powers of others so that history cannot repeat what has or may be?
I don't know anymore. The words don't always pull at me like they use to, the pictures that I try and paint aren't always as vivid in my mind. I have given much of my time to mundane things and have even questioned my abilities.
I write, for myself. I write, so that the stories that will fade with time are bound to something greater than what I can control. I do not fear rejection or dislike. It does not matter if the listener is a stadium of people or just a crackling fire, the universe still hears the words. I write and that is all that matters.
I helped a gentleman during a workshop by asking him if he'd ever made a movie for himself, something that he showed no one else. He said no, what was the point of that? I told him that everything he makes should be for himself first. Much of my writing I have shared with few. I have little stories that I wrote down, just to set free from my heart. But now, now I write and put them up here. Once, I got really mad. I put a post asking for people's opinion of my work and got no response. I see the numbers that tell me that someone has looked at what I wrote, but yet still I only get a few responses and I don't know why. I should not think like that. I never used to. I wrote for myself and no one else so why does it matter now. I don't know why I write anymore.
The Celtic people rarely ever wrote things down. They were a brilliant culture and were frequently used by the Greeks as tutors. However, they believed that if they wrote it down, the spirit of the object would be bound and no longer have any power. This culture was all but wiped out with so little left that nearly nothing is known about it's history.
Am I trying to leave my own legacy? Making sure that there is some way that others know I existed? Am I merely a vessel to carry these stories to the next set of people so that greater things are learned and not lost? Or am I trying to dilute the powers of others so that history cannot repeat what has or may be?
I don't know anymore. The words don't always pull at me like they use to, the pictures that I try and paint aren't always as vivid in my mind. I have given much of my time to mundane things and have even questioned my abilities.
I write, for myself. I write, so that the stories that will fade with time are bound to something greater than what I can control. I do not fear rejection or dislike. It does not matter if the listener is a stadium of people or just a crackling fire, the universe still hears the words. I write and that is all that matters.