Why do some people write?

I'm looking over my blog and I'm starting to wish I had used it more. I have plenty of notes scribbled in my Eng. 383 notebook on tutoring sessions and research and other thoughts that really ought to have made it on to the world wide web. But they didn't. They are confined to the space between the cardboard covers of my 3 subject, college ruled, spiral-bound notebook.

As an adolescent I never did the Xanga thing. I kept a journal and wrote in it sporadically, but the pieces of my life are not well documented. I'd make a poor historian. I was also never comfortable sharing the intimate details of my life on the web.

Granted, this blog is very different and is geared towards a collaborative learning and research process. I definitely could have done a better job with this blog thing in terms of its usage and intended purpose. But I'm thinking and wondering about whether the intended purpose of the blog lines up with my own core values.

Why didn't I use my blog? Maybe I have a little something in common with Monsieur Novas. I wasn't motivated enough. But it wasn't because I didn't think I could do a good job--I know I could have if I tried. Other things just always seemed to take priority. I'm also a very slow writer. Punching out a quality blog post takes me a solid 45 minutes at the very least. All semester I had trouble putting in the time I require to write posts I'd be happy publishing.

Another thought that keeps running through my mind was inspired by a French film I saw at the VCU French Film Festival. The movie was called Les Amitiés maléfiques (Poison Friends). It told the story of a group of friends at the Sorbonne lead by one manipulative but brilliant student, Andre. The philosophy he instilled in his friends was the idea that the only men who write are those who are too weak not to. He saw their small literary attempts at poetry and short stories as pretentious, revolting scraps that insulted the literature of the masters. He detested men who believed they could write without reading and who tried to write when they had utterly nothing to say.

As an English major this came like a smack in the face and it still sort of stings. I don't write very much as it is outside of class, and I'm almost afraid to. Part of my agrees--I do not want to abuse the beauty of literature.

But I'm torn--can't self-actualization be found in the act of writing? Isn't there so much it has to offer the individual? Can masters become great without suffering through the learning process of writing shitty poems and stories? Or is literary mastery inherent in some individuals?

The entire blog process is directly opposed to Andre's philosophy. It's tearing me up on the inside. To write or not to write?

This doesn't really pertain to my blog portfolio anymore. That's done and done. But I've been considering keeping my blog even when the semester ends and using it to reflect on my daily life. I've read really cool blogs and I think I could create something interesting and worthwhile. But is keeping a blog a sign of weakness? Is it pretentious and unjustified to publish something that doesn't truly merit anyone's attention? How do I know if I've written something worth reading, and who decides?

I haven't made up my mind yet. When I do maybe I'll let you know.