I quite obviously don't use this blog as a straightforward journal or diary, but it does serve as something of an archive of ideas and impressions and influences. I have mumbled a few times about why I am doing this and what my aim is with it, so this isn't exactly new territory. Specifically, with my writing here it has become something of a cathartic coping mechanism for dealing with political frustration and rage as well as standing in stead of my and Mason's ongoing online discussions about the world and everything. But things aren't always as simple as such easy answers suggest.
My friend C has a livejournal that I don't read quite as often as I might. He writes well and his thoughts on things and experiences are usually entertaining. His is more a running play by play than an online rant, but today he asks that same question:
why am I writing this?
I won't take the time to delve deeply into this question, but I always come back to an André Gide quote when I begin to question the time I spend pounding a keyboard: "If a young writer can refrain from writing, he shouldn't hesitate to do so."
I have found over the years that I CAN'T refrain from writing, so having failed on that account, I try to buckle down and see what I can glean from what my mind requires laid out in text. All other excuses aside, this is the fundamental force behind it, I write because I don't have a choice. Figuring out what I should write and toward what audience and toward what end are all details that I figure I will spend the rest of my life sorting out.
I suspect that, having found himself similarly unsuccessful at not writing, my friend will too.