Where does writing come from? My father was an artist and photographer, but not a writer. My mother would rather be tied to an anthill covered in honey than write so much as a business letter. My mother’s side of the family are avid readers and word lovers, but that’s not the same as loving to write. I used to be a newspaper reporter, and my favorite thing about it was writing something in the morning, and seeing it in print in that afternoon’s edition. Now, with this weblog, the result comes nearly instantly, and it’s addictive. I can’t wait for the next chance to put my thoughts down for other people to read. Where does that urge come from?
I admit that I wouldn’t enjoy writing just for myself, like in a private journal, something many people devote their lives to. (My grandmother on my mother’s side kept a diary, writing out the day’s happenings for about 70 years. After going to secretarial school, she wrote out several years in shorthand that even she couldn’t read years later.) So maybe it’s ego. But I also enjoy the craft of writing – picking out just the right phrase, just the right word. I would much rather write an e-mail than talk on the phone, frankly; if I talk to someone, I’d like them to be there. Why is my brain wired this way? Nature or nuture? If you’re a weblogger or a writer, where does your love of writing come from?