Writing every night of this month has really taught me something about discipline.  And what I want to put out into the world.

I have to confess something.  I was nearly asleep on Saturday night at my parents house — I could hear the voices of my husband and parents around the table drinking scotch and celebrating Rabbi Burns.  And I realized, in my champagne haze, that I hadn’t blogged.  Which seemed ironic, since I’d spent my writing time on Friday night talking about blogging consistently.

So, in light of all that had transpired on Saturday, I somehow managed to tap out a few sentences on my cell phone and then promptly fell asleep.

I didn’t really remember exactly what I’d written — fatigue and several glasses of champagne are not the best combination.  But when I revisited it, I was a little struck by the rawness, the real-ness.  Writing is such an art — somehow using words to sculpt imaginary worlds — or paint pictures of one’s reality.

If blogging every night has taught me anything, it’s the power of language, the power of words.  Sometimes I’m introspective, sometimes I’m mundane, sometimes I’m full of excitement and energy.  Sometimes I’m just — blah.  But sitting here every night, trying to form a cohesive piece of writing — it’s been so helpful, such constructive discipline.  I’m glad I keep putting the effort forth, even when I think I have nothing to say.