What does Your Writing Mean to You?

My brilliant and talented (if too far away) friend Miss Midwesterly recently shared an essay she wrote for a writing grant, answering the question, "What Does Your Writing Mean to You?" In part, she wrote,

I am about the fine sense of gratification I get from the quick panicked scratch of pencil on cheap newsprint in a jotting of a thought in the middle of the night ("quickquick before it goes away"), or the swoop of liquid ink that expresses a note of thanks ("What a lovely housewarming—and an equally lovely home!"), or the banging of my fingers on the keyboard when I am particularly moved by something and have found a good turn of phrase with which to express each shade of the moment ("I stored his business card in my bag, where I stumbled across it often, by accident, on my way to look for my keys, or sunglasses, or wallet"). I am lucky and determined enough to choose a path that places an onus on me to share with others what I see, learn, and experience. Life comprises these moments, details.

It's a gorgeous essay, and I was inspired to answer the same question myself. I invite you to consider it as well!

For me, writing is about sharing. Sharing a world that I envision, or that appears to me in a burst of inspiration, sharing how one character's reaction to a situation may speak to others. As so much of what I write now is personal, though I yearn to get back to fiction, in all of my writing I share myself -- my thoughts, my dreams, my wedding plans -- and welcome comments from others. It is a kind of companionship, writing. Sharing words with others, we can each experience them, take them into ourselves, and see how they fit -- like trying on a pair of shoes in a store, buying them, and wearing them around indoors to see how they feel, careful not to scuff the soles by walking on hard pavement, but knowing that just by taking them into my home, into my closet, they're already a part of my life.

Words are meant to be read, to be heard, just as shoes are meant to be worn.