I’m making a concerted effort to blog lately for two reasons–the first is that it’s easier to do so when I have unlimited access to a computer and that I really enjoy doing it as a way to de-stress and do something I love (write). The second is has to do with writing as well, but in a slightly less noble way.
When I was a kid I wanted to be a writer the way other kids want to be firemen or doctors or Batman. I was that kid getting trouble in the back of the classroom for writing stories when he should have been doing his math worksheets. It wasn’t just in elementary school, either–all through my life, it’s all I ever really wanted to do.
I think that when people I knew back then talk to me now they think I stopped writing because I didn’t like to anymore, but that’s not exactly the truth. I didn’t stop writing because I didn’t like to anymore, I didn’t stop writing at all. I stopped acting like I could make it professionally as a writer because I grew up and got cynical.
“You need a real job,” they said, and I worked in a real job, for two and a half years, until Sarah came along and then it wasn’t an option anymore (and besides that, it was kind of soul-crushingly miserable). “Just give up,” they said. “You’ll never make it.”
Of course I don’t think anybody who ever said that was trying to crush my soul, of course, but merely be practical. But sometimes…fuck practicality.
The point of this is that I’m writing again, and this is good “mental floss” if you will, a good way to practice and rehearse. Do I think it’s going to go anywhere? Well…no. I don’t flatter myself in thinking that I’m that good. But sometimes you have to chase your dreams, sometimes you have to do things that you want to do, and this is what I want to do.
(Jeez, Christopher, when did this blog become all about you? Narcissistic douchebag.)