For some reason I have the urge to start a blog of my own. Part of me thinks, “What is the point?” Really… I could just journal away in some neverending Google Doc that I refuse to share with another soul on the planet (because Google is so secure) and acknowledge that I have absolutely no audience for this thing. When I think of people who I know and love reading this I feel self-conscious, yet when I think of strangers reading this I figure that… well… they won’t.
Blogging will be a tough venue for my perfectionistic personality, but I shall try to let it go. (Since “perfectionistic” isn’t even a word, I figure I’m off to a good start.) I’ll just keep reminding myself that hitting the “publish” button is not synonymous with sending a manuscript to Random House, and we’ll see what happens from there.
To be honest, the entire culture of blogging is a little odd to me. I’m choosing a public venue for my private reflections… but the primary purpose is to get writing again, and this makes it so gosh darn easy. There was a time when I’d fall asleep, pen in hand and cheek pressed into a simple spiral-bound notebook, on a nightly basis. But those days are over 10 years, 2000 miles, and another lifetime away.
The fact is, writing has always been my way to vent, agonize, grieve, celebrate, and laugh. So here goes… my quest write more, even if it’s only about my profoundly ordinary existence!
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