I’m Writing Just To Write

I asked my granddaughter how this blog thing works and who is reading it.

“Gran…other bloggers read it or, if you’re writing about something that hits the search engines, lots of people can read it,” she answered.

I’ve written a few posts so, I wondered how many people had read my blog.  She stopped and looked.

“Two people have read it,” she said.  “But, a few have liked it.”

I was confused.  It doesn’t take much to confuse me so, that’s no mystery but, this one had me mind-boggled.

“Two people have read it but, a few have liked it.  How can that be?  Do people just like something without reading it?”

“Sometimes, Gran,” she answered.

“So, why the darned hell am I writing down all of this stuff then?” I ask her, feeling frustrated because it takes me so long to type these things out with two fingers.

“Because it’s your thoughts and your words and you shouldn’t be concerned who reads it…just that you’ve done it,” she answers.

I thought about that today.   I already know the story.  Why spend the time to write it all out for nobody to read?

When I was a kid, I used to make up stories in my head and used to talk them out to my dog, Mart.  He’d sit and listen but, mostly the lazy thing would fall asleep and that used to tick me off.  I’d wake him up to listen to the rest.  Poor ole thing used to try to keep his eyes open but, I suppose it was my voice that soothed him so, he’d sleep.

One day, my mother listened to me tell my stories while she hung the laundry on the line to dry.

“You should write your stories down, ” she said, clothes pin between her teeth as she straightened a blanket on the line then clipped it onto with the peg in her mouth.

“I don’t have any paper ‘cept for my school book,” I answered, nudging poor Mart again to wake him up so that I could finish my story-telling.

Maw finished the laundry and disappeared for a few minutes before coming back outside with a notebook and a pencil that she’d sharpened with a kitchen knife for me.

“Here, write your stories in this book,” she said, bending down to hand it to me.

I’d seen that book before.  Paw had given it to her as a Christmas gift one year.  I’d never seen her use it and I peeked inside it one day while she was having tea with a neighbor.  There was nothing inside of it.  Just lines, like my school book.

“This is your book,” I said, looking down at it, feeling surprised.  “Paw gave it to you.  I don’t want to take your gift.”

“Well, I’m giving it to you now,” she said, smiling as she handed me the pencil to go with it.  “It’s my gift to you.  Use it well.”

I thanked her and opened the front cover to find an inscription, written in wobbly hand-writing by my dad.

“To my darling wife Beth who will be a successful writer one day.  All my love, Bert”

I knew then that my mother had wanted to be a writer.

I remember her always reading books at night while we were all supposed to be in bed.  The days were long and she only seemed to get an hour or two at night to do something she wanted to do.

I’d seen her with this book in her hands some nights.  She’d have the pencil in her hand but, her head would be tilted back against the top of the chair, her reading glasses on the end of her nose, mouth open, fast asleep.  I don’t think she ever lasted more than a half hour before she’d close her eyes, always too tired at the end of a day to do much more of anything.

I did make good use of that paper.  I wrote small to make it last longer and used even the non-lined parts of the pages.  We didn’t have money for much more than what we needed to live on so, having a notebook was a luxury.

All of my stories went into that book back then.  I lost them all in a fire a few years later when the stove caught on fire and we lost our little white board house.  We lost pretty much everything we had, including our few pieces of clothing and furniture and had to go live with our aunt and uncle from my father’s side of the family for a year while my dad and uncle built our new house and we got back onto our feet again….more or less.

Life got in the way for me too after that.  I got a job in a factory and met Ernest, married him at the age of 18 and started raising my own family.  My stories went by the wayside as I got caught up in just day-to-day living.  I never did pick up a book or a pen to write anything else again after that.

So, here I sit, at this stage of my life, writing something pretty near every day.  Only, instead of a book of paper and a pencil, I’m typing out my story with two fingers on this computer that I still don’t understand well.

While no one may read my words, at least I’m doing what my mother wanted to do.  I’m writing something even if it isn’t in her notebook.

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3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Ashley
    Aug 29, 2012 @ 21:34:02

    I just found a huge box of my journals from when I was younger. I used to write constantly about the silliest things, thinking they were so important. Now that I’m older and have actual interesting things to write about, I don’t. It’s really disappointing.

    Anyway, It’s good that you’re writing. I’m glad I stumbled on your page.

    Reply

  2. ponderinglifetoo
    Aug 29, 2012 @ 21:46:43

    Thank you Ashley for liking my post and I’m glad to have met you as well.

    I think it’s funny how we think something is so important and sometimes “tragic” in our lives at one point, only to look back on it all and find that it was either insignficant or, simply humorous at another point in time.

    I truly believe that it’s helpful to write things out because we see ourselves in our writing. It’s through that viewpoint that we can see just how much we’ve grown as people as we travel through Life and all of its experiences, both the good and the bad. Everything teaches us something….even what we write in our silly journals and hope no one ever reads or finds.

    Reply

  3. Donald Mccleve
    Sep 07, 2012 @ 03:56:00

    I simply want to say I am beginner to blogging and site-building and truly loved your page. More than likely I’m likely to bookmark your blog . You amazingly come with fantastic articles. Many thanks for sharing your website.

    Reply

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