My freshmen English class in college introduced me to blogging. The teacher wanted us to learn how to write, and a way to do that, was to practice, so blogging fit naturally into the goal. The assignment was simple, write 50 blog posts over the course of the semester. There was no list of topics, no proofreading or editing requirments, he actually discouarged it. He wanted us to sit down, set a timer, and write for 15 minutes. If we had more to say at the end of the 15 minutes, then we could continue to do so, but at least write for 15 minutes. Don't edit, correct, re-word, look up facts or figures, nothing but writing. I loved it. I wrote mostly about sports, but also about random activites and incidents with school, girls, the gym, and family, like when my grandpa died during that semester. It was liberating and fun.
I got away from that as I progressed in my college career and after my mission. I became a history major and got tied up in having the right facts and details to support the argument. So, blogging became work, and a lot of it. To produce a simple 3 or 4 paragraph blog took hours to go back and proofread and fact check. I got really worried about my audience, thinking that people might look at my blog and tear it to shreds over my spelling or grammar use. Instead of doing something I loved, like writing, I stopped because I was worried that what I would produce wasn't going to sound as cool as it did in my head. That people wouldn't see the humor in the post, or what have you.
Now I work as a mechanic, I rarely open a book, and without college professors and deadlines, I don't write, like ever. And I noticed I missed school. I missed sitting down in front of a blank word document and writing what I had learned, what I saw, what I felt, what I thought. Not to prove a point or win an argument, but just because I liked it. Because putting words on a paper that formed sentences and paragraphs felt good, like I had accomplished some thing that day. I remember sitting in my dorm as a freshmen and pounding one blog post after another out, because I had so many different ideas that I wanted to get down. It was better than working on chemistry or dealing with the crappy emotions that go with relationships.
A couple of weeks ago I took my wife to Barnes and Noble for a valentine's date, I know, lame. But we hadn't really gone and looked at books together in our 5 years of knowing each other, so it was fun. She always tells me that I don't talk to her, and that is true, I would rather write, it sounds better to me. But we stumbled across a book, "642 things to write about". I said we should get this and we can write and talk about random things and get to know each other better. She wasn't to fond on the idea so I bought it and I started writing, it was random crap, like "Write a Facebook post from 2020". I wrote a few, and then my wife told me a few days later, "I've been reading a few of those things you wrote and you should become a writer, your really good." I'm not sure how good I am, but I do know writing can be fun. I think a lot of laugh can be fun, if we would quit worrying about what others think and do what we actually like.
I got away from that as I progressed in my college career and after my mission. I became a history major and got tied up in having the right facts and details to support the argument. So, blogging became work, and a lot of it. To produce a simple 3 or 4 paragraph blog took hours to go back and proofread and fact check. I got really worried about my audience, thinking that people might look at my blog and tear it to shreds over my spelling or grammar use. Instead of doing something I loved, like writing, I stopped because I was worried that what I would produce wasn't going to sound as cool as it did in my head. That people wouldn't see the humor in the post, or what have you.
Now I work as a mechanic, I rarely open a book, and without college professors and deadlines, I don't write, like ever. And I noticed I missed school. I missed sitting down in front of a blank word document and writing what I had learned, what I saw, what I felt, what I thought. Not to prove a point or win an argument, but just because I liked it. Because putting words on a paper that formed sentences and paragraphs felt good, like I had accomplished some thing that day. I remember sitting in my dorm as a freshmen and pounding one blog post after another out, because I had so many different ideas that I wanted to get down. It was better than working on chemistry or dealing with the crappy emotions that go with relationships.
A couple of weeks ago I took my wife to Barnes and Noble for a valentine's date, I know, lame. But we hadn't really gone and looked at books together in our 5 years of knowing each other, so it was fun. She always tells me that I don't talk to her, and that is true, I would rather write, it sounds better to me. But we stumbled across a book, "642 things to write about". I said we should get this and we can write and talk about random things and get to know each other better. She wasn't to fond on the idea so I bought it and I started writing, it was random crap, like "Write a Facebook post from 2020". I wrote a few, and then my wife told me a few days later, "I've been reading a few of those things you wrote and you should become a writer, your really good." I'm not sure how good I am, but I do know writing can be fun. I think a lot of laugh can be fun, if we would quit worrying about what others think and do what we actually like.
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