Read the debut of Creative writing blog series LETTERS TO NO ONE - August 25

Dear reader,

I am Jesus...@ThisFunktional. I write. I write so much. I easily write ten times more things than I show anyone. It is how I deal with stress. I also write to no one. I write letters to no one. Well maybe not to no one. I write letters to a person I am not sure exists. But, in my mind I know who she is. I have written to her for more than 10 years. I know this person well and, at the same time, I know I have made her up.

What I write to her are not my secrets, they are but words that I needed to put down on paper. Sometimes I don’t know where these ideas come from. Other times they are stuff that were ignore by the people in my life — some of the people I chose to show some of my more personal writing to but who ignore it. I do not hold anger towards them, I just write and write and write. I write not for them, not for you, not really for anyone. I write because it’s what I enjoy doing. So I write for my own selfish needs.

Some people have read these letters I write. Some letters have made people cry, some letters have confused people, and some letters have been called some of the most beautiful words put together. I have been told I must really love the person I write. When I tell people that these letters are to no one it confuses just about every one.

I am not sure why I started to write my letters to no one, but I know that it has been one of my favorite things to do. I once listened to the Bright Eyes album “Fevers and Mirrors” which has a fake interview — the Interviewer was the voice of Matt Silcock from the band Lullaby for the Working Class and Conor was the voice of Todd Fink from the band The Faint. In the song “An Attempt to Tip the Scales” Conor talks about making up this person Arienette, whom is mentioned in different songs, but that “she is as real as you or I,” and “maybe she’s out there,” which confuses the interviewer. I feel like I understand this because I can write so vividly about a person and have such an intimate connection and not even know if they are out there, if they are real, or if they will ever read any of it.

So what follows are fictitious writing. Writing meant for no one. Letters about no one. Letters written for no one. At the same time, someone I hold dear and I know more intimate than possibly anyone I have ever been in contact with.
I leave you these, my letters to no one.

Always yours,