There is no greater satisfaction than filling up a page. There is no sound more rewarding than the rapid stroking on the keyboard. The quick tapping is reinforcement that it’s going, it’s writing; the machine is working. Quantity and quality aren’t as important as the physical act of stretching the muscle; like exercise. For a writer, to get the words out, to document, to annotate, is to breathe or eat.
Just like many writers, sometimes I measure the worth of a piece of writing by its monetary value, which is hypocritical and counterintuitive to my belief system. With writing, I gain sanity and happiness, but because the money may not match the worth, I may not value it as much. Maybe my values need reshuffling. Upon further inspection, of the great joys in my life, how many are derived from money? Very little.
I value my health; the ease of breathing while I have it. I value no pain. I value the sunshine and its warmth on my face and chest. I value my children and their health. More than anything, I value them. They do not bring me money; they bring me love, pride, and purpose. I value my husband. He crawled into my heart as if a snail into a shell. He fluffs my feathers and tells me I’m beautiful and lets me yell like I’m the lion of the jungle. He gets me; more than I get me sometimes and finding your missing piece in this great big world is invaluable.
When I read back my old writing, it’s more than a flip through some old diary entries. It’s a time machine which mentally teleports me to the headspace of the old me. I read my words, which can sound so familiar, and yet phrased as if written by someone else, usually a much better writer. Entering these pages I seemed to have magically created, lets me reconnect with me who comes alive only at the keyboard; the one who types faster than she speaks. How can I not value this magic? A writer is often a performer who channels their dramatics through the written word, but our applause is silent. It is as if writers should have a special sense which picks up on the electric charges of the positive praise from their readers.
Writing is vision and love. There are no shortcuts to destiny because it is on the road there where you collect the richest treasures of life: the stories of your journey. Every day, another story. Stop thinking, JUST WRITE.
HeartsEverywhere 
I find writing on a blog different to writing in a journal. Even though I might write about the same events, my thought process in different. In journalling, it’s more like a word vomit. Just letting out all of my thoughts in a rambly order and trying to make some sense of it, but still quite emotive. In blogging, I find that I have to write succinctly, have clear structure, summarise… but also think about my purpose whether it be for entertainment or providing information or creating interaction. It forces me to analyse things properly before letting my words run wild. And though this takes so much more time and energy and skill, I think it forces us to do our “inner work” and grow. And a fortunate byproduct of engaging in writing is that it creates a product, a trail of evidence of our growth, concrete words that we can revisit.
Of course in my “journal” I use the word, “that” much more than in my published work – but any words where there were none before, is a success! Go Jess!