I wrote my last post a while ago, perhaps a very long time ago. It may have been written on my heart, or with my heart’s blood. Either way it’s personal.
I wrote it for myself, remembering my truth. I won’t ever be someone anybody get’s to be with easily. I’m in no way special. But I am an introvert and a writer and fiercely independent. I need triple the amount of solitude than most others.
But the person I wrote to exists even for someone like me. I know she’s out there somewhere.
You see, I don’t just write about writing. Sometimes I just write and I still want to post it, share it with you in the hope that it will mean something to at least one other person.
That is all I can ever hope to achieve.
All writing is personal, but some more and some less. And whilst I write for myself, I don’t simply write about myself. Personal does not mean auto-biographical.
In the end I put it out here on the interweb for a kindred spirit to find.
I find myself doing the exact opposite, writing, censoring, and editing down my work, knowing that it will be public. I rewrite, hoping not to offend anyone in this increasingly sensitive world. And so, hopefully, I can learn to write more like you- in a way that is true to myself, written for myself and then leaked out to the world- in a sense, more authentic. Kudos!
Thank you. If I were to write in the hope or with the aim never to offend, I might as well not write at all.
I find that those who take the offence are the ones with the problem, not my writing. Authenticity is what makes writing original and that is what I hope will keep people coming back.
And good luck to you 🙂