I like to write. But like many people, I also hate to write. It’s sometimes intimidating to look at a blank screen and see that there’s nothing there and realize that it’s my job to put something there. And I’ve only got twenty-six letters and a few punctuation marks to work with.
And most of the time—I’d say 75% of the time—I don’t feel much better at the end than I did at the beginning. What I plan to write, and what I end up writing are usually two different things. Much to my chagrin, what I end up writing usually doesn’t measure up to what I thought I would write.However, sometimes I surprise myself, and I finish writing something and think, “That’s really good.” Those moments are the reason that I write.For the morning edition of this month’s ChicagoNow collective writing exercise, we were challenged to answer, “What's the favorite thing you've ever written?”The short answer is: I don’t know. But I’ve got to write 550 more words to finish this post, so “I don’t know” won’t cut it.Perhaps my favorite thing that I’ve written is my journal. I started keeping a journal in May 1994. At first I wrote in a notebook, and consistent with my time obsession, I’d enter the time that I began and ended each entry. I don’t know why.I’ve written in the journal off and on—sometimes with gaps of just a few months, sometimes with gaps of a year or so—ever since. I haven’t written in it for about a year-and-a-half, but I’m sure I’ll resume at some point.I won’t link to it here, as suggested in the writing challenge, because I’m not dead yet. But if you’re around after me, maybe you’ll be able to read it. And trust me, if you can get through the mundanity of it, you might find a few bits of interest.I’ve written some good blog posts. You can find many of them right here at ChicagoNow. However, I wrote a couple hundred more “blog posts” back in the late nineties before blogging was even a thing. I sent them out to a small list of people by e-mail. I’ve still got them on floppy disks somewhere, and I’ve toyed with the idea of going back to them to see if twenty-year-old Brett has anything to teach thirty-eight-year-old Brett.I published a novel on Amazon. It’s called The Death Market. You can purchase it for your Kindle here. Or e-mail me (brettbakerwrites@gmail.com) and I’ll send it to you for free.I like it. It’s good. But I should have worked on it more before I published it. I’m touching it up now, and I’ll release a new, cleaner, tighter edition of it soon.Overall I’m proud of my writing. It’s hard to do. Not everyone does it well. Most people hate to do it, and don’t even try to do it. But other than spending time with my family, it’s the thing I do that makes me feel the most accomplished.My writing is best when it’s personal, but shared. The journal is personal, but it’s not shared, so I suppose it can’t really be my favorite. Someday the important people in my life might read it, and it will serve as a reminder of me after I’m gone.But better than my journal are the things I’ve written about loved ones right now. While I’m alive and they’re alive. The most basic purpose of writing, after all, is communication. And the most basic reason for existence is our relationships with other people.So it makes sense that the writing that resonates the most with me, that I’m most proud of, that I go back and reread, is the writing that communicates to the important people in my life how much I value them and our relationship.And if I’ve communicated that well enough so those people understand, then what else can I ask for?Now, if anything I write makes me rich, then maybe I’ll have a different answer, but until then…(This blog post is NOT my favorite thing I’ve ever written. But an hour ago it didn’t exist. And now it does. So that’s something. The first step in creating anything great is to make it exist.)Subscribe by e-mail here! IF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: How A Tiny Book Made Me Feel SpecialPREVIOUS POST: What A Cubs World Series Means to Me