A writerly gesture

In an English class I took, my professor (one of the really good ones) talked about writerly gestures (a term used in Alice Munro's short story "Friend of My Youth" - credit where credit is due). There are writerly gestures and readerly gestures.

For a while I wanted to be a writer. The mechanics of writing come easily to me; not so the creativity required to produce really great pieces. And so, whenever I am struck by inspiration (be it through experience, observation, or otherwise) I usually try to put it down somewhere. This usually ends up being a journal or a quick Word document. 

Then came the blog. I could put down my messy metaphors, clumsy characters, and awkward alliterations, all in the same place, and people could actually read them.

I like the thought of people reading what I write because I sometimes put a lot of effort into writing. And sometimes I'm very proud of what I've written. Sometimes I think I'm downright hilarious and I want people to know. 

But sometimes I don't know how to tell people things to their faces, and those things get written here. And sometimes those people figure out that I've written about them here because the connections are only thinly veiled. This has happened more often than I care to admit, and with more people than I care to list. My love for drama and being dramatic continues to get me in trouble.

Not knowing exactly how to finish this, I'll end with a few lines paraphrased from a story I read ages ago but can't seem to find again:

"Of course you didn't mean to hurt anyone," the old man said kindly. "It just happens that way very often. You see, it's quite impossible to feel strongly in any direction without pestering anyone." 

"Then perhaps I shall just stop speaking to everyone," the boy answered stubbornly.

"Ah, but to keep silent would be far worse."