First

The End

Well, it's official. Wait, no it isn't, because I'm writing this a full month before I leave BVS. But, soon enough, when this is published, it will actually be official. Being part of the Elgin BVS community taught me many things; the greatest lesson was: Blogging is for winners!

While I feel I have less exciting happenings to talk about, I have greater freedom to share my mind. Holy cow I've read a lot of books in the last two years, and I don't just mean Bill Bryson. I'm no expert, and I would cringe to call myself a literary person, but I spend too much time sauteing ideas not to serve them up to friends somehow.

Writing

Disguise your ignorance with laughter,
and hide your wisdom in wit,
until none can tell between the two
and you lose both, bit by bit

I write a crap ton. Seriously; if it were all printed out on cardstock and laminated, it would weigh a ton. I never thought much of it until two things happened.

1. Driving to orientation, I heard an interview on NPR with a writer <NAME>, whose book <TITLE> follows a middle-aged man with an interesting life. Once upon a time, he had a dream of becoming a rock and roll legend. After failing, he did what any normal person would do: deny the truth and pretend things had turned out as planned. This man (actually) continued to create music, record and produce it, then (fictionally) chronicle the history of the music and the band he was a part of. Rather than move on, or try again, he invented another world.

This scares me. I write, but what keeps me from sharing it with the world? I've been too afraid of failing, which is a joke. I don't write to be popular, so what difference does it make if it's not popular? Do what you love, and if people like it, cool!

2. Somebody actually liked something I wrote. Maybe it even happened twice. It's funny that the only way I succeed in life is in doing things that I or others force myself to do. In setting up the house, we decided to blog every week. I naturally enjoyed each time it was my turn. Incidentally, there was an audience to be had!

Once upon a time, I apparently wrote something poignant, and the rest was history. I will be the next Donald Miller, with speaking tours lined up across the country and an ego the size of my enormous brain. Except I'm better. Whereas it took Donald thousands of people calling him a writer to convince him that he was, it only took me two or three. The irony, i believe, is that your identity comes from outside of you, but only if you're a writer. Everyone else can know what they are by doing it - you don't have to have people tell you you're a cop if you're busy arresting people. Butchers don't need customers raving about their tenderloins (yeah, I said it!).

Now, writing is not my profession. God, no! I could not wake up in the morning and schedule chapters to books on deadlines with my publisher. I don't work that way. I don't work it out, it just happens. And while I don't do this to please others, I think that the key here is that writing is communicating. Butchering and copping are active careers - you get results. Communicating is a two-way street, so the only "results" you get are confirmation from the other half. The only way to know you're doing your job is to have someone respond!

The Beginning

This is a very stupid time to start this blog, as my final reflections for the house blog are not yet published. I promise that that will be way more interesting than me complaining about not having a job.

Without the community house blog, I have no choice but to begin writing on my own. I hope I can keep up the quality, screw with some perceptions, and keep myself and others thinking. So, here's to you, internet! I do hope we'll see each other again soon!