To write or Not to write?

My answer is simple: history is what I strive to be apart of. Yes, my family will remember my chicken scratch long after I’m gone and the irritating nights where I could barely squeeze out a non-fragmented declaritve sentence, but what about everyone else? Other than my teacher and a few of my fellow classmates, will anyone else even see this blog post? Will anyone else even care about it? After all, its just a bunch of words in my particular order.

I have this theory that one day in 2073, this young buck, because old people will know more about technology than the wish to have, will stumble upon some of my ancient nonchalent articles or creative columns I’ve hand written and realize, I did exist. See, I’m old school (hint: my Journalism major) and I refuse to allow good old-fashioned newspapers and pencils (the wooden kind) to be created in vain. I would leave my non-traditonal writing style to this young buck, who may hate it or possibly love it. And because they would live in a society where pens and scrap paper are non-existent, they could appreciate my love for college-ruled paper.

I write in mass to confirm my identity or in a futuristic context, my name. History is only allowed to those who put in the work to be apart of it and my work is my writing. Without it, my single story doesn’t survive.