Why blogging about an ordinary dog’s life? I ask this question every time I sit down to write about us. Is this boring? Is it insignificant? Or is this relevant? Helpful? Entertaining?
Last week, I met up with an old friend, who knows I’m a writer.
“What’s happening with your novel?” she asked.
“Well, it’s still in progress,” I mumbled. “It needs editing. And some more chapters. I lost my enthusiasm to tell you the truth. But it’s fine,” I told her (lied to her), “it’s only a hobby for me, I don’t want to live off of it.”
It’s only a hobby. Innocent enough words, aren’t they? They make it sound like writing is not an innate part of my soul, like I hadn’t been creating stories even before I knew letters.
Every time I create, I am me. I feel free, I feel connected, I feel complete for a second.
Then the anxiety is back again: why am I doing this? Does anybody get it? Can anyone relate?
And then I remember: it doesn’t matter. Because while it’s public, it’s for me. It doesn’t make a difference if you read it or not (but thank you for being here!), if you agree or not. The joy is in the creation.
My purpose is to write it down, to create, to remember – because our life might be ordinary, but it’s the only life we have. And man, does it have great moments!
Wish you all the same.