I'm not sure if it's because I'm back in Winnipeg and consequently thinking about the past, but I've been reading some old things I wrote and one entry in particular caught my attention. I guess it's something that's been on my mind passively for a while, so it's interesting to read how I thought about the subject two years ago.
Originally posted as a Facebook note, edited for boooring:
When I step back and think about who authors things, especially on the internet, I figure that if these people had good friends, they would not have created what they did. It seems to me that no matter how much people say they're writing solely for themselves, what they're really doing is searching for that one person in a million that they can really connect with. Sometimes I'll have a great conversation with someone, and I'll think that the ideas we talked about were just so interesting that they could really fill an entire book. But in reality, that book would only really appeal to the two of us. Most of what gets created nowadays sits unread and unappreciated.
If I was a truly self sufficient being, I wouldn't even end up publishing this note. I'd just feel relieved to have satiated some need in my brain to verbalize what I've been thinking for the past half hour or so. If I really didn't need other people to get by, I wouldn't feverishly check my facebook profile over the next few days to see if anyone had commented on this note with their insights.
But I know I'm going to do it; I'm going to click the publish button, and for the next few days I'm going to see if my inane ramblings click with anyone. Luckily, since I've referenced that inevitable fact, I can mistakenly feel above the people that do it opaquely.