She pondered

I've had cause to reflect, of late, on the veracity of calling myself a writer: what are the requirements of being a writer; what does writing mean to me; why do I do it; can I write; do I really write; what ought I write and so on.


I'm not a composer of deep thoughts, but I do have an abiding love of words and language. I believe they are powerful means of providing information and entertainment. For some people writing is a compulsion - as for others it is necessary to heal, to teach, to protect, to sing, or to build.

For years, I've been drawn to a passage from Isaiah 61, and believed that in some way it revealed my purpose. The prophet speaks of bringing good news to the poor, binding up the brokenhearted, proclaiming liberty to the captives, comforting those who mourn - these are things I hope to do with my writing. I want to tell the truth, impart beauty, encourage those who struggle, and hopefully provide little moments of respite, joy, and laughter in hard or tedious times.

Those are lofty goals, to be sure; I know I have much to learn, and am still finding my way. I've stopped fretting about whether this experiment will ever 'come of anything' and how many of you are out there. These months of blogging have taught me much about myself, including how important writing is to me - from processing and pondering to being a creative need.

The following is a quotation from the poet Rainer Maria Rilke:

"There is only one single way. Go into yourself. Search for the reason that bids
you write, find out whether it is spreading out its roots in the deepest places
of your heart, acknowledge to yourself whether you would have to die if it were
denied you to write. This above all - ask yourself in the stillest hour of your
night - must I write?"

Food for thought.