All that I want to do is write.

I am unsure as to just how wise this whole online journaling idea is, and yet I feel drawn to it time and time again. Why on Earth would I want the world to read what I have to write? Why do I not just write it in my [other, paper-and-ink, bound, real] journal? That’s where I’ve poured fourth my ramblings for these many years, and I don’t see why I should feel that this is a better medium; and indeed I don’t feel so. Rather, I am drawn to blogging precisely because the world can read it, and it is something new to me to have an audience.

I’ve never considered myself a particularly good writer (whatever I might mean by that!), but I have always enjoyed it. In school I was told that I was no good in English Class, and I assumed that that meant that I was no good at writing—after all, that’s what one is taught in English, isn’t it? I think not now, and I’m happy to say that I was not overly deterred from pursuing my own creative writing as I’ve grown older. I get such huge pleasure from writing—be it on paper or screen—and just wish that I did more of it. Prehaps I’ll off now to 2602 (our local wearing-a-black-beret-and-sipping-a-short-black place to be) and ponder the laziness of life…

Retrieved from ‘