Why I write

A couple years ago I sat through an open mic/poetry reading in Boulder with a friend of mine (Chris). After the reading we enjoyed assorted party snacks and socialized with other writers & readers before driving back to Denver. As we got in his car he asked me why I didn't read anything that night. I didn't have a good response and spent most of that night thinking about why I didn't share anything.

My friend & I had attended a few open mic sessions, slam competitions, and various readings where anyone can read what they have written. Most of these venues don't require a fee or anything to make them appear exclusive or like some sort of club. In reality they are the exact opposite, as a sign up sheet for people who want to share their work is passed around to every & anyone. There is always some sort of applause after anyone reads and everyone is friendly. The atmosphere is pretty laid back with coffee or food served at some places.

I enjoy the open mic sessions at coffee shops and small venues where open mic sessions are offered. They are the polar opposite of academia's literature classes, poetry classes, and anything remotely proper. They don't seem to care anything about how you are dressed or where you are from or what your political affiliation is, race, culture, or religion. The most important thing is the spoken word or sharing what one has written. In doing so you connect with all the other writers there and become part of a larger community of people who write (just like me).

No one is required to share anything they have written. There are many people who go to listen. I had been writting off and on for a few years while attending open mic sessions with Chris. He frequently read and I attended open mic sessions for years before reading anything. The funny thing is with a Speech Communication degree so you would think I would be use to public speaking & have mastered my fear of it. No one ever gets over it and that wasn't the reason why I didn't read that night.

That night I took a couple pieces with me but left them in Chris's car. We heard a little bit of everything that night! One writer wrote in old English and listening to him reminded me of shakespeare. Another writer was sharing exerpts from a novel he was working on. One writer had this free flow structureless style, and another sounded like Dr. Seuss. We heard pieces about the beauty of nature, the pain of unrequitted love, how someone learned to accept themselves, a couple touched on racisim, one about well cooked chicken, the terrors of public schools, some political pieces, and even a piece about moths. One gal couldn't read without putting on a paper hat & grass skirt, she said it helped her get into Character.

After watching the gal in the hat & grass skirt I realized I could do anything in there and be accepted but that was not enough to get me to read. Langston Hughes said, "the prerequisite for writing is having something to say." and most people write because they think they have something to say. That night I had something to say but didn't have courage or confidence in myself. I came up with a hundred great sounding & well rationed excuses but at the end of the night I knew they were just excuses.

It has been years since that night and not much has changed. Chris moved to California and we still talk & share what we write from time to time. One thing I realized since that night was Chris believed in me, or believed I had something to say and it was worth reading. It has taken me a long time to believe in my writing and read at open mics, or send friends something I have written, or create a blog & post my thoughts. This post & blog is part of that journey and my own way of showing Chris that he isn't the only one who believes in me.