Wednesday, November 30, 2005

The Plunge

How ironic…or something. Here I am, writing my first ever blog entry, and I’m doing it in MS Word. My php/WordPress installation didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, and I absolutely had to write tonight. You see, I’ve been telling myself since the Reagan administration that I wanted to be a writer. ‘A writer writes’ as they say, and by this definition I’m not a writer at all. So, I promised myself that no matter what, tonight I was going to sit down and write something.

Well, at 11:52pm EST, I realized that technically speaking, ‘tonight’ was running out fast, and I hadn’t written anything. Actually, this isn’t entirely true, as I did write an email to my web host support that goes something like this:

“Please help me get WordPress installed and working. I am lame, and as such, am unable to figure out how to fix it my self. Thanks.”

Anyway, I’m sure I’m no different than the other 57 bazillion people on the planet who want to write, but never seem to get around to it. We bumble around every day, doing the things that people do, and all the time there’s a tiny part of us that watches…dunno what exactly, but it’s watching. It’s watching, and storing information, in hopes that when we get around to the writing, all of this great stored-up info will be available for inspiration.. I don’t know about all of the other potential writers out there, but I seem to be unable to tap that store, and the times I feel like I want to write seem to necessarily coexist with the times I’m least able to come up with something that I want to write about.

Why is this? I have no idea, but today, around two in the afternoon, I decided that I wasn’t going to wait for Inspiration any more. When I was 15, I really thought I was going to be a writer of some sort. I’m 38 now, and so far, umm…not so much with the writing…and not to put too fine a point on it, that sucks.

So, here I am, writing about wanting to get started with some writing. And, here you are, reading about it. I can’t decide if this is interesting or tragic, but what the hell. I’m writing, and a writer writes.

Thank you for reading.

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