People often ask me why I write for a living. The truth is, I never thought about it much until recently, and I’m still working on it.

Aristotle said, “Knowing yourself Is the beginning of all wisdom.” It’s the beginning of good writing as well. Any fool can know, as Einstein said. The point is to understand.

Awareness is the gift of every great writer I have read to those who read them and those who come after they are gone. Writers have always been my companions throughout life, just like dogs.

The writers’ insights used to be the morsels, beacons, and talking points of writers. Most people look elsewhere now.

New books by famous writers were big news, reported on front pages and magazine covers, and dissected and devoured nationwide.

The influencers now are different – video makers on  Tik Tok, ideologies and conspiracy theorists on social media, and ideologues in publishing.

Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and Tucker Carlson are all influential, none of them can write well.

None of them would have made it as influential writers, but all three are potent voices thanks to the Internet.

When Tucker Carlson finally set himself on fire, it was big news nationwide. That would never have happened 30 years ago.

Heroes don’t last long; famous writers have much longer careers than modern media stars.

I saw the Internet coming and switched from book writing to blogging, which was a good decision. I’m still a writer, but in a different way and on another medium.

I am not nearly as prominent or influential as writers once were, or even then I once was.

But I’m a lot happier and more creative and a much better writer from my twisted perch. And I have a large audience that has put up with me for years.

Writing is still critical, and many people still read books, but it is very different, as most things are. And I am different, as most things are. The future is murky. Young people are intelligent and literate, but few buy new hardcover books.

Just about every person under 30 is online, and all the time.

I am not a literary writer, and I don’t agonize over every word, as is evident. I worry about ideas. This drives traditionalists and stuff pots insane. Writers are supposed to obsess over words, not opinions.

I am supposed to flatter and satisfy my readers, but I don’t want to. I don’t want anyone to tell me what to write; I gave that up when I left publishing.

I was mainly a commercial writer, commissioned by my publisher to write about the rise of dogs and pets as emotional supporters. That kept me writing for most of my life, but while I love writing about dogs, I also write about other things, and I can do that on the blog.

Publishers love niches, but in some ways, I was choking to death creatively. Once, they cared about money and writing. Now, they only care about money.

When I started writing my blog, my idea was to write a lot every day. I wouldn’t spend all day proofreading myself and worrying about typos. I was right about that.

I’ve argued with every English teacher I’ve ever had and with many blog readers that writing is not about words or spelling. Grammar and spelling have nothing to do with good writing.

Words without meaning or power to challenge, provoke or enlighten have no meaning for people. The latest generation of book banners and Mussolini’s (think Trump and DeSantis) believe good writing is writing about ideas they agree with.

The war against different ideas or “woke” sounds just like oppression and censorship throughout history. Every writer in the world, left or right, will be fighting that in that conflict.

Dictators always go after writers early on; they want to manage the ideas people read and see.

If influential people don’t like writers’ ideas, they ban or burn the books and ban or burn the writers. It never seems to work. They claim conspiracy or danger to the public good when they refuse or burn books.

Good ideas are more resilient than an Octopus. They have countless testicles or ovaries,  change colors and form, and live longer. Ideas can never be killed; they just hibernate or hide for a while.

My writing is neither elegant nor polished. My writing is all about ideas.

For me, writing is what’s inside, and when it’s relevant, what’s outside. But in one way or another, my writing is all about me and my life. That’s how I designed the blog, as a living virtual memoir, a groundbreaking idea when I started it.

My role model and inspiration was E.B. White, one of the great writers of the past century. His best-selling book “One Man’s Meat,” about his life on a Maine farm, inspired the Bedlam Farm Journal.

My territory is my farm and my life with Maria, but it’s not just about my musings and reflections. It’s about my soul and what is inside of it, and it takes a lot of pain and digging to get to it. It is never easy.

My observations and experiences are meant to plant in my readers a new consciousness, a seed of rebirth, a shared understanding of what it means to be alive, to live, grow older and face the end of life if it gets that far.

I’m not running for office. I don’t need people to agree with me or even like me. If I make them think, then I’m a good writer in my view.

The great writers are not the ones who navel gaze, but the ones who open up the minds of readers, provoke them into thought, “open our minds to hear the heartbeat of the world,” as Joan Chittistere puts it,  and offer genuine insight.

I wrote 26 books, and as a writer, no one ever said they read my writing even though they sometimes disagreed with me. On the Internet this happens at least once a day. Our culture is so polarized we have stopped talking to people we disagree with.

That is tragic. How can we learn.

This is new territory for me. I never expect or need people to always agree with me; what would be the point for anybody?

I used to write in peace, but the Internet is a new environment for people like me, and I am still getting used to it. Writing in the open in America in 2023 means you will be cruelly savaged and challenged daily in almost everything you write.

One day, the motto of social media will be official: “We Mind Everyone’s Business…”

It’s not natural to be assaulted like that every day, but I am figuring out how to handle it.

What I’ve learned as a writer is to know myself, face myself, and share myself, no matter the conventions or consequences. I promised to be open. I’m open up every day.

This hard work demands all my attention and strength, challenges, confronts and adjusts my expectations and sense of self.

My guide is myself. My judge is myself. And all I can do is hope that my shared experienced will have some relevance, meaning, and value to others.

I’ve been writing since I was eight years old and loving every minute of it. There is no space between me and it. It is just who I am.

As I see it, my job is to bring color and light to the world in my words and, now, my pictures.

I hope to expose the mundane, the shared experience and challenge what I have gotten wrong, misunderstood, or been too frightened to explore.

My writing forces me to be authentic. I have no secrets.

My genre is the insights of life. Above all, good writing requires good readers.

I am blessed and thank you.