You know, I honestly have no idea what I’m doing here.
I want to write. But I never seem to do it. I don’t know what I want to write. In the past, I’ve written essays, I’ve written stories, I’ve written the odd poem. I can make the English language sit up and beg. Sometimes. Or I can stare for hours at a blank job application, trying to think of a way to imply how amazing and fabulous and generally employable I am without boasting.
Or I can do what I usually do, and grab a book, dive in and hide myself for hours, for days, in someone else’s words. It’s becoming an addiction. But I’m sick of hiding. I’m frightened of this. I’m scared I won’t have anything to say. I’m terrified the things I do say will be boring. Or just badly written. Or nobody will read them. Or I’ll start this, as I have so many things, with the best intentions, and then just quietly forget about it.
It could happen.
Let’s find out.
Hello! *waves*
Look forward to seeing what you do with the place. I like the colour!
*Waves back* Thank you! Kind of looking forward to it myself 😉
Welcome *waves*
I shall add you to my list of things to read and keep an eye on. My writing blog is http://gemmarobinson.wordpress.com/ in case you wish you read it
*hugs*
You know good writing when it makes you both laugh and cry within 2 paragraphs…you managed to achieve both (the poem just made me laugh though)