If after I have written it, I do not feel spent;
Tired, emptied, border-line dehydrated;
If after writing it, I do not have the strong desire to hug a child or a puppy;
If I do not desire strongly, to fold myself up and clutch a pillow unreasonably hard;
Then that which I have written is not truly a representation of me.
If I write it and when I am done, do not need a few minutes to re-orient myself with my environment,
Then I was not writing it for myself.
Don’t get me wrong, it is okay to not write for myself.
It is good to write for people.
I write for people.
I make a living writing for people;
Writing for businesses.
I tell their stories
I give voice to their business.
But once in a while,
More than ‘once in a while’ actually,
I need to write for myself.
To empty my thoughts onto a page
To scratch that itch at the back of my mind.
That itchy thought that keeps slipping into my conscious,
but which I keep pushing back because, now is not the time!!
But then the time comes when the thought stops being a mere itch.
It takes shape and becomes an idea that must be put on a page.
And that is when I must write for me.
But sometimes, even when I have set out to write for myself,
I end up redacting it heavily.
Filtering, editing, and making it politically correct
Making it easier to consume,
Easier to consume for the reader, perhaps;
but worthless to me
Because it did not serve its purpose.
Its purpose was, for me.
So I cast it off, and I begin again.
Writing it for me.
Resolving to stay ‘on mission’.