The Joy of Blogging: Why I Write

My father was a western artist.

I remember him at his easel painting scenes from the old west. Sometimes it took days, even weeks.

Dad doing the painting was my equivalent of writing of novel (mine takes a lot longer). That’s where you put the best you got out there.

But then I recall him sitting at the kitchen table. We had one of those large oval chrome and white Formica tables for years. He’s sit there for hours drawing with a lead writing pencil. Sometimes, what he drew had something to do with whatever he was working on. Most of the time, it was just him messing around. He’d sketch cowboys. He’d sketch soldiers. He’d sketch airplanes or horses. Whatever he felt like drawing, he drew.

It was just enjoying the process of creation.

Sometimes the tabletop would be covered from one side to the other with his sketches.

And then the table would be cleaned off and the sketches would vanish down the drain with the dish water.

Blogging to me is a little like dad sketching on the table.

It’s doodling except with words. It’s trying this and that. It’s telling a story.

It just enjoying the process or creation.