digitalphiltrum

at 16, i wrote because i wanted to be heard. at 19, because i thought i was important. at 21, because i had a story to tell. at 24 i think i began to forget why i wrote at all.

i don’t write much anymore. all of these motivations having dissolved into something else.

as a freshman in college, one of my first assignments was to read the book bird by bird, by anne lamott. its a book on writing. i read the first 4 chapters or so, and maybe one in the middle and one at the end, and called it a day. i liked her writing, but i had more important things to do than homework assignments. i never sold that book back though, something about it made me want to keep it. i read it all the way through a few years later, after i had graduated. and then i read it again last week. i find that it comforts me. not because i harbor a secret desire to write a novel and i’m looking for pointers (i don’t, i’m not), but because it reminds me that, while my teenage ego-centric self-important phase is…mostly…over, i do in fact have a story to tell.

everyone does.