Read Me

I've been thinking about writing. My writing to be exact.

I learned I could write in second grade and the idea that I could create something the way I wanted it to be was tantalizing even back then. While I was in school, it was enough to write for the classes I took and get a good grade. Of course it also pleased me when I wrote something my friends liked.

Once I wrote a satire of my seventh grade teacher's class and someone gave it to him. I was so terrified when he called me in after school that I thought I would die. He liked it!

I have written volumes in my lifetime. Some published, most not, but I realized a long time ago that I would continue writing even if no one ever read one word of it. I write because I love to do it and, honestly, I also love to read what I write.

For a long time people convinced me that I shouldn't give things away. That if I considered myself a "real writer," holding out for money was the only way to go. I don't believe that anymore.

If it were the only way to be read, then maybe that would be true, but I have discovered that being read is far more important to me than being paid. I have enough money to get by, so why deny myself the joy of being read?

I no longer do that. Knowing how many people are reading, or have read something I wrote can turn a so so day into a pretty spectacular one. That something so simple makes me this happy, is important to remember.