Monday, January 22, 2001

Well, it's 1:30. Where else would you expect me to be?

I love to write. I love to share my thoughts. I wish I had more talent, so I could make money writing, but maybe working against a deadline would take the enjoyment out of it? I write to relax, much like someone would settle down with a glass of wine in the evening. Throughout the day I think about my quiet time, with the computer and my thoughts. I guess I'm addicted to writing.

I like to write about things that interest me. So I often write about my children (they are my life), my husband, my family members and friends. I also write about issues that are important to me. So I may write about diversity (that's a biggie for me). I also will write about my past. I didn't have the most colorful of pasts, but it certainly was interesting. What I don't want to forget, I write about.

I started journaling when I was in high school. It was an assignment in both 10th and 11th grades. I wrote about my mother (she passed away when I was 8), about my dad (he physically abused me for years), about my constant depression, and my desire to find happiness. My instructors would put comments in the margins. Sometimes the comments that were written meant more to me than anything they could ever say. Their writing came from the heart, while spoken words were just that, words. Now common sense tells me there isn't much difference there, words are words, whether spoken or written, but these written words were thought out and were put there because the writer wanted them to be, not as an obligation. Does that make sense?

At any rate, your comments on my writing are much like those comments in the margin, they tell me when I am writing something that touched someone else, and why. I value your comments.
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