In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Morton’s Fork.”
Well, the question was: if you could only do either one or the other, would you rather be allowed to write a blog or read other people’s blogs? To me, hands-down: I’d rather write. Let’s assume all the narcissistic reasons for it are there and dig deeper for the rest of the reasons, shall we?
- Practical reasons: While reading blogs is a means of expanding your horizons and learning new points of view, it is by no means the single one: there are newspapers, magazines and books, to name only a few. Let’s not compare the price of books with the price of self-publishing one book, ok? And where else can you write this extensively and get such a broad public? You can only write so much on public toilets, and then you’re mostly stuck with a single gender…
- Personal surroundings and feedback: No one ever told me I have to read more (I do, quite a lot) but more than one person insisted I should write and spread my gospel. True, most are overly-eager good friends and members of the family who can’t seem to grasp the fact that just because they love, that doesn’t mean the rest of the world will. But they’re not the type of people who will tell everyone “ZOMG! Yuo need t00 express ur-self! Life iz art! w00T!” so I still count that as a reason.
- The right prompt: 10 years ago, learning German in a Summer course in Heidelberg (Germany), I asked my handsome literature teacher if he’d ever let me read his short-stories. He promptly agreed on the condition that I let him read my works first. “But….” I said “I don’t write. I’ve never written anything outside of school.” He was shocked and urged me to write because “you have the gift of word”. He said when I speak, people hang on my every word. Honestly, to this day I think the class only paid attention to my stories because they found it weird that a 23 year old from ANY country in Europe wouldn’t be allowed to date and they liked to hear my antics on how to fool my conservative mom while I dated and screwed around. That, and that the teacher was trying to get in my pants and not trying nearly hard enough.
- Because Sex: Don’t ask me what it has to do with my writing, but sometimes I feel like sex is everywhere, so I’m gonna leave it here. Plus, the warm breath of that literature teacher while he obscenely wispered in my ear in front of everyone “Rosaleen, may I offer you a mozarella-tomato bagel?” still buzzes from my ear to my stomach sometimes, even after ten years. So maybe that too.