“Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.” ~Meg Rosoff
The other day a friend inquired if I was blogging. My initial response was, “No.” Then I paused for a moment pondering the question. I have been blogging for years. Yet, I have never really considered myself a blogger.
First and foremost I consider myself a writer. Then an essayist. A novelist. A storyteller. But a blogger? I had never given that label much thought.
Writing is and always has been therapy. A way to either escape into my characters, whom in many ways are a part of me, whether it be traits I have, or who I have dreamt of being. It is also my way to channel thoughts, make them coherent and sensible in my jumbled up head.
Writing has and is my best form of communication. The way I express my emotions. It was during a dark time, just as I was beginning to heal that I began to actively chronicle my life and thoughts, publishing it for others to see.
Thanks to Facebook’s “On this day,” those old blog posts have been popping up making me stroll down writing lane. Those posts were as much a source of therapy for me as well as I hoped, open up doors for others. It did. I was touched by how many people responded. In many ways it was cathartic to my own healing process.
Perhaps that does make me a blogger. I have a blog. But as they say, anyone who writes, is a writer. And that is what I am, first and foremost. A writer, novelist, essayist, even blogger, those are just an extension of putting pen to paper. They expound on the label, like a writer distinguishes between fiction and nonfiction. Someone whose vulnerable ponderings are put out there so others can read in what ever format they so choose.
That is a writer in the truest sense of the craft.