Why is it that we have come to blog this day in age?
What gathers our confidence and tells us that we may divulge our secrets to the world, and be reassured that we are behind pictures that are used as avatars to denote who we are?
What makes it so different—so alluring—from telling a friend the same information?
Perhaps my dreams have the answer.
Giving this blog a post is like giving it a defibrillator, the machine that makes your heart pump back to life when it’s dying. It’s a machine crackling with electricity, like the dry winds outside my house that make me twitch after I hear a snap! as I reached for some door handles and feel Mother Nature pinch me in her oh-so-clover way.
I told myself last year that I was going to do it this year. Well, this year has come around. And knowing that there are going to be others cheering me on and doing the same thing with me has made me wish to feel the beautiful experience all over again. And if I truly want to be a writer, I can’t wait around to write my novels. I’ve got to do it myself.
“The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.” — Stephen King, On Writing
I need to get a copy of Steven King’s book. I like him as an author, and he knows what he is talking about in every review I’ve ever seen him write for a book. I just didn’t know I’d be hit this hard with his words, because I think I have found my scariest moment yet.
It’s been awhile since I’ve come to this dusty blog. how have your summer’s been? Mine has been filled with writing with a good writer friend of mine.
But then I ate cookies.