I’ve been here before. I’ve sat in this very seat, staring at this very screen, writing these very sentences. (Well, not these sentences, but something akin to them.)
Writing a blog has occurred to me on more than one occasion. I even tried it out once. It lasted through about a dozen posts before I scrapped it. I had decided I didn’t like talking to thin air. It wasn’t very responsive.
So, what changed? A lot of things. But, for one, I don’t care anymore. I’ll talk to thin air if that’s the only thing that will listen to me. I’m pent up with too many opinions not to let them out along one avenue or another. My friends and family can’t sit through anymore lectures about characterization or writing styles or plot holes (I’m looking at you, Glee…).
And, secondly, I want to be published. Like, bad. Like, I-don’t-think-I-can-live-my-life-knowing-I-haven’t-tried-every-possible-thing-to-get-noticed bad. As corny as it sounds, I know this is what I was born to do. I’m not asking for fame or fortune, but maybe just a small following. I just want to know that what I have in my head ends up on paper and that someday someone will read it and be as lost in that world as I was. I want to impact people.
I’m a midnight novelist. I like to write in dimly lit rooms when everyone else is asleep and the only things that are moving outside are the twinkling stars and a family of raccoons. If that doesn’t work, I’ll settle for some overcast weather and a bit of rain. I love to write. I always have. I’ve moved up from those single paragraph “stories” into my three-hundred-plus page novel. My writing skills have changed (thank God), but I haven’t. I still love writing about what I like reading about – fantasy, magic, adventure.
I’m hoping this blog lasts. I’ve got plenty to write about – books, movies, TV shows, life, and writing, always writing. I think it’ll make it – sometimes I have hunches about these things. Even if my biggest fan is the empty air, at least I’m writing. That’s what’s important.