The Broken Computer Hiatus

Blogging is hard without a computer. I really don’t know how anyone does it. So much information to let loose, type, and edit from a tiny iPhone screen? No thanks. So I didn’t blog while my computer was broken. I wrote on paper, and kept my thoughts to myself, or boiled everything down to a paragraph and vented on Facebook.

I honestly enjoyed the lack of a computer. It was less of a distraction from things I’d rather be doing. But then my boyfriend dumped me so I reasoned it was time to stop putting it off, get my damn laptop fixed, and get back to writing and being among the world. So, if anyone actually reads this thing, I’m back. And I see that I left a travel series half finished when I left. I probably¬†need to finish that! WordPress 2.0

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The first rule of Blog Club

Well, there is no first rule of Blog Club. Or any rules for that matter, at least on my tiny planet in the giant universe called Blogosphere. But if you happen to stop by, expect a bit of everything.

As you you can read from the opening entry in my first public blog, this is an avenue for me to continue to practice  something I love- writing. After years of journaling my experiences and short stories in private blogs, I’ve finally decided to share what I’ve got to say with the world.

Expect stories about my life or observations on everyday experiences. Expect me to try, and often fail, at being funny. Expect short stories I’ve written, my take on news headlines, or reviews and thoughts on the latest novel I’m reading. Sometimes even expect a photo from my garden or just a quote that piques my interest.

This adventure has been long overdue. It’s time to rock and roll!

Confessions

For a long time, 27 years really, I’ve never really been able to admit, to anyone else or even to myself, what it is that I want to do with the rest of my life. I want to write.

It hit me tonight just as I finished bombing while doing a standup comedy set. Everything. That I had been denying to myself for years that my truest passion is telling stories- putting out what I had to say, what I thought, verbalizing or dictating fantasies of a better world, exploring the nightmares that jar me awake at night, sharing anecdotes that made me laugh or cry. That I had never fully admitted my desire to myself because I was a coward, scared of facing the inevitable failures I would experience along the way and taking a risk that leaves the few happy and successful, but most constantly searching for that big break, that “Eureka!” moment of genius or inspiration that is constantly sought over the course of a lifetime but never found.

Most of all I realized that I had never believed in myself. My vocabulary was too limited, my prose was too bland… Spending a lifetime reading the greatest voices to ever walk the earth and thinking I’d never be able produce something worthy of collecting dust on a self next to their timeless works of art.¬† Ten pages here, a page and a half there, all never shared but ripped and wadded and thrown into the garbage with the same dignity as an expired package of mozzarella cheese.

Maybe I’ll never discover a passion I deem as worthy of a lifetime of work that leaves me as fulfilled as exploring literature and creating my own. Maybe I’ll never gain the confidence, that “it” persona that it takes to pursue such a Darwinistic path. Whatever happens, I’ve bared my soul for you all to see. This is my confession. I want to write.