There’s probably nothing more cliché than a writer writing about writing, but here I am. A writer I admire a great deal - Scott McGlothlen, author of Breaking Glass Balloons - is closing down his blog, and asked me if I’d be interested in his sharing my blog with his loyal readers as another blog to follow. Thank God for the age of social media when you can connect with people you admire, and I’m honored that Scott wants to include my blog as an option for people. I was thinking about what I’d want new readers to know if they came to my blog, and I was also sort of feeling introspective on a long drive back to Ohio from Buffalo, and it seemed like it made sense to write about why I write.
I’m realizing I’m a complete stranger to most people in the world, including the potential new readers I might be getting, so the Welcome Back to DCL post is probably the place to start for anyone who doesn’t know me. I am not going to re-introduce myself here, because … well, because I know who I generally write for, and I’m not going to change the way I write now.
I’ve always loved writing. I was the kid who, on exams in high school, LOVED the long answer questions. I’ve kept a journal for as long as I can remember, and I’ve always been a bit verbose when I write. Those long answer questions gave me a chance to share all my thoughts and feelings and “insights” on the topics at hand. I had a teacher in high school who almost exclusively gave essay questions on her exams, and a lot of my classmates hated that, but it was one of the many reasons this teacher was my favorite.
I started writing for other people to read in my high school newspaper. I had an editorial column, where I usually drew a cartoon (because I also love to draw) and wrote about a topic that was relevant to our day to day lives as students. Sometimes the things I wrote earned me some grudges from some of my classmates, but for the most part my writing was well-received. And it was fun!
My writing really took off in college. I was an angry young queer in an era where being LGBTQIA+ wasn’t as accepted as it is now. The most common questions about gayness I remember receiving in college were, “Are you more a Will or a Jack?” or, in regards to who I was dating, “Which one of you is the girl in the relationship?” My anger at the world, combined with my feeling oppressed as a queer kid, led to a lot of passionate writing. I, once again, had an editorial column in the school newspaper, but this time I earned a lot more grudges than I did in high school. I also wrote poetry (because what angsty queer college kid didn’t write poetry?), and had one of my poems published in our college literary magazine. I also discovered Livejournal in college, and formed my own little community of bloggers who all followed each other.
The year I started college, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. His fight with cancer lasted 12 years, and during that time my family asked me to write a blog about my dad’s illness on CaringBridge. We used that platform to keep friends and family informed about dad’s health, and also about how the family was doing. I felt like my writing had purpose, and people who hadn’t read my writing up to that point - namely my parents’ friends and my extended family - became exposed to my writing style and started encouraging me to write more.
After college, I was briefly a writer for Change.org, back when they did blogs about topics for petitions to be signed. That was probably the biggest audience my writing ever had, and again, it felt like I was writing with purpose. It was powerful to be writing about such big topics.
Someday I’ll write a blog post about the curse of my “7’s” (ages 7, 17, 27, and 37 have all been terrible years for me), but for the sake of this post, I’ll write about the birthday gift my husband Russ organized for my 28th birthday. 27 was a devastatingly hard year, that included some time in a psychiatric hospital. As a way to give me a fresh start, Russ put together an album of recordings of him playing my favorite songs (Russ is an INCREDIBLE pianist) alternating with recordings of people I love sending me birthday wishes. It was such an incredible gift. At the time I was working in the field of services for people with developmental disabilities, and here’s the message my dad recorded for me for that birthday.
My dad lost his battle with cancer in December of 2015. This recording of him is one of the things I cherish most in my life. You’ll notice, if you listen, that he specifically mentions my writing. Ever since he passed, I’ve held onto the fact that my dad - one of the most incredible people I’ve ever known, if not THE most incredible - wanted me to continue to hone my talents in writing and art in order to bring peace and joy to my life. I have thought many, many times through the years that continuing to write - even about silly, weird, nerdy stuff - is a way of honoring my dad’s memory. I feel close to my dad when I’m writing, and it’s a way to stay connected to him after all these years. (Also, side note, my dad is the only person I feel okay calling me “Dan” - I very much prefer “Daniel”)
My dad was onto something. Writing has always been something that brings me peace. When my thoughts feel chaotic (which is OFTEN), writing helps me to organize those thoughts. When I have a giant feeling and don’t have words for what that feeling is, I can sit and start writing and suddenly the words for the feeling will reveal themselves.
I don’t write for the sake of getting a lot of readers. Honestly, I’m honored that ANYBODY wants to read what I’ve written. The power I felt writing for Change.org was cool, but it wasn’t why I wrote. I write because it brings me peace and joy. The fact that it resonates with people is a blessing that I don’t really have words for (although maybe if I start writing a bunch about it, the words will reveal themselves). If you’re someone who reads my blog because you know me and care about me, the fact that you’re willing to put the investment into our relationship (whatever that relationship is) to read what I’ve written is an honor that is not lost on me. To know that people care enough to read what I’ve written means more than I can even say.
This blog is not going to transform into quick, digestible blurbs about hot topics for the sake of bringing in more attention. I’m not interested in becoming a professional writer - I think if writing were my job, it would no longer bring me the peace and joy that it does. I make absolutely no money off of this blog - in fact, I pay a fair amount of money for the blog, and I do it because I love doing it, and I’m not interested in making money off of it. I generally feel pretty critical of a culture where our attention can only be paid to something if there are sexy pictures or funny 10 second video clips or super sharp biting wit. This blog will continue to be verbose, and I’ll continue to wax philosophical, and you won’t see me saying much about a pop star who is dating a football player unless her lyrics really hit me in a way that inspire me to write. (And I LOVE that pop star’s music - I just couldn’t care less about her outfits or any gossip about her.)
If you’re a new reader, welcome. If you decide to stick around, I’ll be honored to have the privilege of sharing my writing with you. Hopefully this post has let you know what you’re getting into. If you’re not interested, there’s truly no harm done. I write because I love to write, and for the peace and joy it brings me, and I’ll keep doing it whether the same 5 people who have read this blog from the start are the only people who keep reading it, or I get a million new readers. Thanks for taking the time to read.