Intentions
Right, so I’ve completely failed to write even a single word on this blog. Permit me to rectify that. Actually, it’s kind of funny – I used to write all the time. I was good at it. I enjoyed it. If I may be permitted to say so, I had a sort of dry, darkly humorous voice and a quick wit. So, if I was so good at writing, why the fuck haven’t I done so here, on this most soapy of boxes?
Well, to understand that, you have to understand something about me: I don’t like to make a Big Deal out of anything. At all. And I like it even less when other people make a Big Deal out of something I do. See, word got around to my well-intentioned, yet cloying family that I was a good writer, and immediately, I couldn’t go a week without some relative asking me to write things for them, to read what I was working on, &c, &c. It became, over the course of a year, a Big Deal – and turned me off of writing forever. Seriously, I’ve made many fitful starts at putting pen to paper (or fingers to keys) in the two decades since – and not one of them has been successful.
So please forgive me if this particular blog sputters and falters from time to time as I try to get over myself and actually produce something worth reading.
