Bloggy Bloggerings

Now I have a blog and I don’t know what to say. A weblog. Captain’s Log. I shall join the ranks of captains all over with my blog. I’ve kept a diary since I was about 7. Rather, I started my first diary at 7ish. I would write every day but then I could only keep that up for a few months and after I’d skip a day, then a week I would just give it up because catching up with everything that happened since the last entry was too big a chore. Chores equals no fun, and who wants writing to be a chore? Not someone who enjoys it.

So here’s my blog. Do I just write and never correct grammar and spelling? Just let it out sounding the same as I speak? Being the grammar nerd I am, you KNOW I have to go back and fix it. Sometimes even before the sentence is over, I can’t go on without fixing that THING! That GLARING thing that’s wrong.

Interesting that I say “you know” as if I’m writing to someone. Who is this you? This invisible audience. Look at me assuming someone might stumble upon this and be interested in what I have to say. Isn’t that part of my secret dream? Other people do it – why can’t I? This may very well be something to use to keep in touch with family scattered all over the US. Hi Everybody! I miss you, hugs and kisses! It’s odd that I would even want my words out there in the internets for all to see, because I’ve always hated it when people read my words. I get embarrassed and squirmy and expect a critique I don’t want to hear although they might be right. Even writing in my childhood diaries and then adolescent journals, I would wonder if anyone would stumble upon them and turn my life into a book or a movie, like Anne Frank. It’s just an example, of course. Settle down.

So what am I doing with a blog? A world wide screen into my thoughts? Here’s where I get squirmy. It’s a need to write as expression and art. Maybe it’s practice for something I can do for a living. Maybe it’s because I’ve been told since I was in grade school that I’m weird and I’ve always taken it as a compliment. I do think some odd thoughts, and sometimes there’s just no one around to say them to. I would hate to waste it! And because I call this art I feel like I’m not good enough, I don’t express myself very well, I don’t have anything to say, there’s nothing creative about it. Suddenly that cripples me and I don’t even start since I’m scared I’ll fail. I can’t be an artist in theory so here’s where I’ll practice and grow and make note of my observations. Here’s where I shake my fist at those who say I can’t, even if all those people are versions of my own voices. This is me right now listening to my future self who said I had to start somewhere. I’m not yet there creatively and professionally and I know just doing something will start the chain of events that get me somewhere. Here’s where I start. Hello, internet.