Daily Labor of Love

I’ve decided that most of you must consider my writing to be good because of the content because I sure don’t feel like it has anything to do with my style or my skill at writing; it doesn’t seem to me that it is all that exceptional. But I _do_ write because I enjoy it, because I love the written word, I love the artistry that goes into creating these elaborate word pictures and conveying thoughts and feelings and ideas. I’m learning, too, how to flesh out my thoughts better, rather than just leaving certain statements as assumptions.

I’ve always been something of a master at boiling a lot of complex ideas into one or two sentences. The problem with that is, however, doing so assumes that the person or people with whom I am communicating already know something about the topic at hand so that I can take those kinds of shortcuts. And then I find out not everyone knows what’s going on, so after my all-too-brief summary, I then have to back up a few steps and explain the background, which usually takes more time than if I had just explained everything right up front to being with.

Remember all those English composition classes, where the exams involved essay questions and where you had to answer the question by including it in your response? Well, I find myself doing that more and more in my writing — and loving it! For one thing it helps me to organize my own thoughts by giving me a concrete starting point. I stumble across a topic I wish to discuss, so by writing out a quick synopsis of the situation, by incorporating it into my response, I can then launch right into my thoughts and reactions to it and know that most people who surf through here will be able to pick up the threads of the discussion, understand it, and even (hopefully) engage it.

The more I write, the more I love writing and the more I find that I ultimately want to make my living writing. Also, as much as I am my own harshest critic and feel like most of my writing is utter and complete garbage, I do recognize that I am getting better and better at it, so that I don’t cringe _every_ time I read my own work. It’s thrilling to watch it grow and evolve and mature and makes me more eager to really get started on writing some of the fiction that has been bouncing around inside my head for months now. A different medium, a different style, and that, too, will have to grow and mature. But I am anxious to set forth on it (as soon as I can unbury my office and computer at home) and start sculpting my craft. Ultimately, I should have a writing mold that is uniquely shaped to me and proves extremely satisfying to all my readers.

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