How the Blog Came to Be

I never thought I was a writer. I wrote for school because I had to. I started journaling and liked it. It was nice to have someone to talk to--no, not someone, somewhere to talk. It was therapeutic. I have since found other places to talk and sometimes even a person to talk to. Expressing my thoughts and feelings has become so important to me now that I can't do any other kind of writing (a gigantic term paper or even small response for class) if I have things on my mind or in my heart. I have to journal first, and then I can perform a literary analysis.

Two and a half years ago my mentors, my Mission President and his wife, had to move unexpectedly, almost over night. I didn't find out until they were already gone. I was devastated. We kept in touch through letters. When I got home and frequently since then they have commented on how much they enjoyed my letters. She tells me I am a wonderful writer, that I have a gift. I guess I do enjoy it.

Maybe I should write, but what do I have to say? I read books and am fascinated by the craft of expression through words. I want to do that, but I don't think I can. I am no Robert Frost; I haven't been to war like Tim O'Brien; I don't have an imagination like Miguel de Cervantes. Who would want to read my writing? These thought paralyze me. I have the desire but never even try. I keep thinking that I should. I am in a class called 'Teaching Composition in Secondary Schools.' The readings for the class are interesting and connect with the desire I have in me.

Could I really do this? It seems like I should try. I mean, I 've got to start somewhere. I consider starting a writing notebook or keeping a folder of writing experiments in my 'Documents' file. That doesn't excite me. It seems sad, wrong somehow. It denies the social aspect of writing. Why pour myself into writing something, creating something, that only I will read? Writing for myself: I do that in my journal.

Saturday night. I come in from work and seated at my kitchen table is a most attractive man who becomes increasingly interesting the more I talk with him. He's an English teacher at a local high school. His fame has preceded him: professors in my education classes told us about problems created when single female students were placed in his class to observe. Not developing a crush on this man would be a challenge indeed. (I met him at my kitchen table, no professional conflict there!) He captivates me as he talks with passion and love about his students. He has them write blogs. He gets online and reads from some of them. Incredible! I really could do that. A blog. Yes! A blog! I never thought I would find a use for a blog. It is, I am hoping, a suitable outlet for my creative impulses and my desire to experiment with writing which does not deny the essentially social component of writing. Even if no one reads my blog, the possibility that someone could is enough to make the effort worth while.

I hope you enjoy my adventures in writing.