Unexpected Compliments

While catching up with a distant friend on Friday, I got told that my blog was “GREAT”. I of course questioned what she had been drinking or smoking, and immediately dismissed her appraisal. I suppose self deprecation is a way of life for me – in the real world I’m one of the quiet people that makes things happen for others – I’m not a social butterfly, a blow-hard, or an attention seeker. It therefore comes as something of a surprise when anything I do is noticed or liked.

Receiving a compliment got me thinking – about the amount of effort I (don’t) put into writing this rubbish. Sometimes I look back at old posts, and realise that now and again I do seem to be able to string a few words together, and sometimes it’s even entertaining. I read a few of the more famous blogs from time to time, and can draw parallels between the way I write and they way they do. Of course the major reason I’m not famous is because I was never fired for writing the blog – and of course I have also moved the blog between every damn blogging platform in the known universe over the years. I think the only people left that still know where to find my words are those that I’ve either told, or those that harassed me into telling them where to look.

I suppose it would help if I had any clue why I write any more. I really don’t – it’s just something I do. A hobby. Somebody pulled me up a few weeks ago, and said “you’re such an idiot – you’re a WRITER!”. Maybe writers don’t really choose to write – they just do it? Does the simple act of writing make you a writer? I very much doubt it – but then again, is that the self-deprecating “nothing to see here” gene kicking in? When I think of writers, I think of Earnest Hemingway, and F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Anyway. I’m trying to embrace the compliment for a change, and forging ahead with this idiotic hobby of writing one word after another, and occasionally standing back to see what I’ve written. It will surprise nobody to learn that I often publish posts before proof reading them, and then return three or four times to correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation. When you write something, and then post it, it feels like you’re being spontaneous, raw, and true – and then you read what you’ve unleashed on the world and think “oh God no – let me just change this, and that, and that”.

I wonder how many times I’ll have edited this post before you read it?

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