It's about I (and Me)

    I  Me My

        When I began writing this blog, I made a conscious decision to write about how I write, what I've discovered about writing, what writing means to me, what entertains me and what's funny to meI learned a long time ago that I can't please everyone.
  
        In this blog, I don't instruct and I don't give "you" advice.  I avoid the word "you," as in "you should do this" and "you should do that."  My ego is fairly intact, but I do not believe I'm in any position to tell the readers of The American Writer what they should do to write well.  That's why the word "you" is not found in this blog, except in quotes or some other unavoidable point of view, but never to tell "you" what "you" can do, should do, might do.
        I began to think about this approach to blogging after reading blogs where some writer and blogger carried on for two-thousand words about what he thought I should do to accomplish this or that, what I should do to write better, what I should do to get an agent or market my books.  And I wondered, Why should I listen to this guy?  Who the heck is he?  Does the by-line read "by Ray Bradbury," or "by Sandra Dijkstra (Dijkstra Literary Agency)"?  If not, why should I accept what this guy tells me as the best way, the best advice, the best course of action?  
        My answer: there is no reason, except that he acts like he knows what he's talking about.  Well, anyone can start blogging and telling everyone what they ought to do to be a better writer.  
        So what good is reading these blogs--including this one?  I don't know.  I write it for me and not for anyone else.  I know, I know, I've railed in posts about not getting comments, but that's just my own little demon asking, "Why the hell spend all this time writing this blog two or three days a week?"
        Here's my best answer:  it's about me.  Not "you"; not even "us."  Before I discovered that half-naked women with great bodies hung out at gyms and were just too distracting for me to take working out seriously, I actually worked out.  Before I discovered that I could save money by "practicing" my golf swing on the first nine holes rather than spending time at the driving range, I used to hit a bunch of balls before playing.  And now, before I begin publishing everything I write, I'm writing this blog to train my mind, sharpen my creativity, and keep my perspective tuned in to the correct way to write.  
        I used to teach private investigation at a couple of trade schools in Los Angeles.  I discovered that when I taught wannabees how to follow someone, I first needed to figure out what I did to do it successfully without losing the subject, "burning" the subject, and without killing myself in a major traffic collision as I ran red lights and drove like a maniac to keep up and not be seen.  By figuring out what and why I did what I did, I was able to fine tune my skills and have instant recall in difficult situations following my subjects.  So "teaching" something to someone else helped me to be one of the top surveillance specialists in southern California.
        I began blogging after I self-published my novel, Worlds Apart, because I'd learned from a wealth of research that it was a good way to market my novel.  But it didn't take me long to find out I had fun writing it.  It didn't take long to realize that it forced me to research writing techniques, workshops, approaches to writing, and I began to re-learn things I'd forgotten about grammar, punctuation and other writing techniques.  And, best of all, the commitment to write this blog motivates me to write. That's a huge benefit for me.  
        I'm committed to writing.
        I decided to write this piece today, because I want my readers to know that I'm not an expert, I'm not some writing guru, and I'm never on some quest to tell everybody how and why and what and when about writing anything.  In fact, I'll bet I've been wrong about a few things.
        If I like it, I write it.  If I believe it, I write it.  It's about "I."  And I never forget it. 
        
 

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