My muse.

"It never works to write for someone else, or to do something because it's something I think I should be doing" a fellow blogger recently wrote. While I like to think I've never had a problem with the latter, the former made me examine the question, "Why do I write?" If I am not writing for someone else, for whom am I writing? When attending writing workshops, I am told to "know my audience." Is it for them I am writing? It is TO them I am writing, but is it really FOR them? That's an important question for me to answer for myself. If I write to impress someone I will not be writing with honestly or transparency or vulnerability. If my writing lacks those things, it is not a true reflection of myself. It is shrouded in pride and vanity and not worth the time in takes someone to read much less me to write. A few days ago I wrote the most honest, heartfelt words I have written in months. I was feeling lost, defeated, and at the end-of-my-rope. I did not try to edit my words or worry about how the person to whom I was writing would interpret those words. I was writing for myself - not selfishly - but for myself. I needed to vent, to de-stress, to pour out my emotions. My intent was not to impress or persuade or even send the words I was writing. And as a result, I let my guard down and simply wrote. In fact, it wasn't even a conscious decision, my situation that day stripped away all the facades I've carefully crafted and left behind only me. And I wrote.