AMANUENSIS? EXHIBITIONIST? VOYEUR? READ ON...

AMANUENSIS

I like that word.  It tells you a lot about me.  It describes me quite well, but not too many people know the word any more.  It is one of those old fashioned realities that  have gone bye-bye and only show up in blogs by pseudo intellectuals.
It is a Latin word that has been adopted by many languages to mean what it says, a worker-at-hand.  In French and English it generally means one who is adept with language and hired to write from dictation or hard copy so that the originator of such dictation or copy can continue producing at a higher level and better quality things.  It is also generally applied to a person who assists an author, a scientist, a composer who is incapable of writing things down because of some physical incapacity.  As for me, I am my own amanuensis.  Mainly because I can't afford to hire one.
Along the road of life I have often asked myself what it would take to write a book.  At one point I knew that I wanted to write a book, but I didn't have the foggiest notion of how to even begin.  At another moment I was able to ask an internationally well known theologian and author how he had written so many books.  He said that it was simple.  He said that he could never write just one book at a time.  He had such a head-full of ideas that instead of keeping himself focused, he just let'er rip and filed them in writing rather than silencing  those that did not fit. He was, he said, always simultaneously writing at least four books. All this time I was asking myself if people who write a lot are really exhibitionists.  So full of themselves that they had to keep themselves out there in front of everyone.
At one point, I asked myself why it is that I read books like "Vanity Fair", "Pride and Prejudice", "le Misanthrope", "Tartuffe", "King Richard III" and many more.  I often asked myself if I am really a voyeur, prying into the lives of the authors.  I am convinced that when it comes to Umberto Eco, I am definitely a voyeur.  I am also a voyeur when it comes to Moliere.
What does that say about me, the writer and the reader?  I love blogs.  I love the Internet.  Everyone who writes on the Internet has no clothes on.  I have to admit, amid all that nudity of heart, soul and mind, you still can't give yourself the comfort of trying to deceive the players by putting a bag over your head.  That's the way it is on the Internet.  We're all Voyeuristic Exhibitionists, or vice versa.  
Therefore all of you who read and don't write, know that we who write also read and we know why you keep coming back.  The raw personal unveiling that takes place here is too much to ignore.  It is down right
interesting and enjoyable at the same time.  
I am glad I have lived this long.  This one thought of mine has found a place to rest.  There are many more denizens of my cerebral cortex (vortex??) who are still restlessly bloodhounding their way around in search of the prize of firm conviction which brings comforting satisfaction.  
Join me.