Bloggerelle

Ah, I'm back to blogging here again and what a relief. Yesterday, for some reason, I found myself off Google. That may sound petty to many but not to me. I need to write. It isn't just a way to pass the time of day, I actually am addicted to it. I am one who makes comments on news items, does reviews of what I purchase, make emails that are both welcomed and abhorred, but all in all, c'est moi. Everyone has a habit and mine is word-smithing. Love of the English language is what gave me the high marks in Literature classes and earned scorn, that I hoped was envy, from fellow students who didn't get Shakespeare as the bard when I did. But that's another Subject subject. To be cut off from writing would be, for me, a major crisis. The little eye blind spots I have off and on these days, make me terrified that if I go completely blind, will I be able to use the keyboard adequately when writing. The rest of all that isn't so bad. Writing came upon me when I hit Grade Two. I read before starting school thanks to a father who sat me on his knee when he read the newpaper from end to end each day he came home from work. He taught me to read the headlines to begin with, and later, the wee words he pointed out on the pages he read to me. I began to see a lot of similarities in those little symbols and soon when he pointed out each word, and said it, day in and day out, I could read. I knew more about Mahatama Ghandi and WW2 than any other five year old on the block. But when I got to Grade Two, my teacher dear Mrs. Coatham, showed us how to make sentences. I was hooked. I could actually communicate even to adults, just about anything I wanted to using words on paper.  I was never very apt at physical printing or handwriting, but I did all right with expression in word form. Later on, it got me onto school newspapers, top marks in English classes and even dabbling in journalism while polishing up that degree in Education. Essay writing was a snap and still is. I cannot see why it is such a chore that some hire other students to write theirs. Wow, that would have made me well off and maybe I could have given up my after school hour jobs a break penning illicit essays. But it would be unfair and in those days, most people had scruples unlike today when anything goes. When the schooling ended and the career took over, writing was a luxury. Along came marriage and family and only after the empty nest, so dreaded by many, happened, was I once more into and onto the keyboard. Now there were computers and passwords and spell checks and grammatical advice at hand and writing became so easy that my hand written letters to friends far away turned happily into emails. Along came the terse advice, however, that said emails were to be chopped down to few or little non-words to save everyone's time. Apparently, when time flys in, verbal elegance zooms out. The local paper tolerated me as an erstwhile columnist and travel article submitter. I was even paid a bit for it. Of course, the day job continued as well. On joining the local Writers Forge as it was then called, I met people who understood how vital it was to write and write we did. We exchanged our agonies in novel writing and read our efforts to each other. We were very a close group until we all went separate ways: poets off to Elysian Fields, novelists into the Romance genre, the adult only venue folk slinked off somewhere and those who just had to write anything anytime about almost nothing important or particularly significant turned into bloggers. We just had to write. When blogdom came along. even though it actually existed in its form during the Dickens era, we found our place. Bloggerelle is mine. I'm back wishing my Dad was around so we could discuss current events and I could blog them off.