Poor writing is unbelievably cringe-worthy in my mind. Perhaps I have my mother the english teacher to thank for this, or perhaps it was the hundreds of books I read as the ultimate introvert child, but I was taught how to use commas, and how to construct a well-written sentence, and how to spell.
So it is with writing. You have to know not to write run-on sentences before you decide to use one on purpose. You have to know not to start a sentence with "and" before you make the choice to say it. If Miss Chamer in 2nd grade hadn't taught me the basics of paragraph writing, I most likely wouldn't be typing this now and choosing to utilize one-and-two-sentence paragraphs.
Maybe this is why I take writing seriously. Why I choose to publish what I write online. Because I've been told and persuaded and convinced by people who I trust that I somehow got this writing thing down. Don't ask me how, because I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't set out to become a "blogger" or a "writer". This is also why I read so many blogs- because there is a beauty in their words that no other person can reproduce. I have some sort of link, connection, with those who know, really know, how to write. Even if I met them after I had read every post they had written so far, or if they live across the country and don't even know that I exist, or if I knew them personally for months before they shared their writing with the world.
Sometimes I wonder at the whole concept of language and how wonderful it is. How a couple hundred words on a computer screen can put a big ol' lump in my throat, or some text on paper stuck between cardboard covers can make me feel like I've witnessed the live event right in front of me. Something gives those people the ability to convey a complex and unrepeatable, individual message, and something gives me the ability to accept it from them, like a gift.
You don't know where those ideas will take you and where they'll land, but it just may be somewhere wonderful.