Ok, so ten thousand people on the big bad Internet have answered this question, in words more eloquent than I can ever churn.
But I need to answer, because in this case, the only answer that matters to me is mine.
I blog because I love words, and fancy myself as a bit of a writer. Also because for years I’ve written things and hidden them in drawers, tying whimsical ribbons on the top and letting them die under the dust.
I blog for the ten-year-old who penned a highly- Red Riding Hood/Russian folktales -inspired fable that prompted her mother to joke if she was writing the next Mahabharata. That book still exists, yellowed with age and stapled into a nice booklet, without a soul having read it.
For that best friend in sixth grade, who took a poem I wrote (which, by the way, she had sworn to keep secret) and showed it to a teacher so she could use it for a sports day production; and for that teacher who gave me a fine smack on the head and said, “What ever you do, come out with it. It could be good or it could be terrible, but you have to let it out.”
(Or something to that effect. I’m not really good at recalling things people say. The smack on the head, now that I remember.)
It’s good to write. But as a blogger, you never know how far is fanciful boasting, and how much is giving room to something you believe is worth nurturing. Blogging terrifies me, because not only do I have to let strangers into my muddled, mixed-up head; I have to go out, grab them by the collar and yell, “READ!”
So if sometimes you see posts here which later disappear without a trace, my apologies. I’m still thinking about what I want to say, and trying desperately not to make a fool of myself. And if you are a writer/artist/photographer hesitant to share your work, find some kindly schoolteacher to give you that much-needed smack on the head. It doesn’t matter how it is, just put it out there.