Why do I write?

Today I’ve been a little obsessive about the whole blogging thing. I’ve checked my email way too many times, wondering if anyone has posted a comment. And I’ve checked my stats way too many times, as well.

 It’s not like I’ve been blogging for long and should expect the readers to come flooding in to hang on my every word. And yet I keep checking. This, I know, is wrong.

 And why is it then that I am doing this? (The writing, I mean.) Why do I do most of the things I do? Is it all to feed my ego? I mean, why else would anyone put herself out there for criticism and rejection unless she felt she had something to say that others might find interesting?

 But what if they don’t? yikes. That’s pretty icky.

 I’m not going to lie here: I love immediate gratification. I want the good stuff now. Yes, I know I should be patient and wait for the good stuff. And, yes, so often it means much more when you have to wait for it or fight for it… and then you more often really see God’s hand in it. But I also like stuff now.

 Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I never really made it anywhere in journalism. I went to a great journalism school, wrote a lot, made good grades and did some pretty spectacular stuff in college. But then the real world came, I wanted to be a natural and just fall into a prime spot. But I didn’t. (Who does?)

 Was that because to fall into that spot I would have had to have really worked and put my heart in it and risked rejection? I might have learned that I’m really not that good at what my heart wants to do. That would hurt.

 So, instead, I played it safe, not really searching in the right places for the journalism jobs that could have taken me where I thought I should go.

 Don’t get me wrong, at one point I thought I wanted to do the whole Washington, DC politics thing. (I never could really decide if I wanted to follow the politics route or the journalism route. I followed the PR route and now the mommy route.) I moved to DC and roamed the halls of the Capitol buildings, following leads and going on too many interviews.

 But even looking back at those interviews, I know I was not doing my best. Many of my answers were not the ‘right’ ones. And I could even say that at the most critical one, I was too honest in my response to get any type of job on the Hill. (Not that you can’t be honest and be in politics. This answer was just not the answer which lands you any job. And I knew better.)

 Interviewer: “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” (Such a simple, stock question.)

 Me: “To be honest, I can’t really say. I know the right answer is that I would be right here by your side, working my best for the Congressman. But I cannot say that.”

Did I not want that job or what?!

 I’ve started many stories through the years with the intention of submitting them for publication. But something has almost always kept me from finishing them.

 And when I left the working world to become a mom, I knew lots of writers and reporters who probably would have helped me if I truly wanted to pursue anything freelance. But then I’d be putting myself out there for rejection again.

 So instead, I took the mommy-only route. This, I must say, has been plenty of a job for me, thank you very much. And I am quite thankful that I am a stay at home mom. But that writing thing keeps nagging. And so I will blog. (And I will say that it is quite gratifying that one of my most-visited posts is a story I submitted to a major magazine and never heard a reply. At least a few people are reading it and benefiting from it!)

 So why do I write? I don’t know. I’ve enjoyed writing at least since junior high. I first realized that I considered myself a writer my freshman year of college. Writing is a great release. And I love reading my stuff. I laugh, cry and marvel at how I’ve grown. But that’s probably because it is all about me and I know the story beyond the words. The idea that I might be able to move others or that I can truly help them by sharing what I’ve learned is really exciting to me.  But I have to admit, so is the idea that others might think I’m important enough to read. Ahhh. Vanity.

 Please, Lord, keep my writing pure and my thoughts honest. And let my writing always glorify you. Give me the words. And remind me that it all comes from You. And let my writing do what YOU intend for it to do. Guide me in molding my aims to follow yours, so that I can truly serve and find the joy in service, not in meaningless statistics.