Why am I not blogging?
I want to blog. I think about it at least once a day. Admittedly while reading someone else’s blog which helps to remind me . . . of blogging . . . And that I’m not blogging.
Sometimes I wonder if I have enough to say. I should, I’m a writer, right? I tell stories. I make them up. Should I put that on the blog? Or should I blog about the struggles of telling those stories? Should I blog about the process? The stumbles? The progress?
Should I blog?
I mean, I’d only do it once or twice a week. I would want to plan them out (not like this. This is just me typing out my thoughts while I wait for my frozen pizza to come out of the oven) I could tell true stories. Stories that inspired the ones that I make up. I don’t want to bitch and complain about life and all that jazz. Although, I do. I guess I don’t want to want to, if that makes sense.
Something I admire about some people, Kevin Smith comes to mind. They can be so completely honest. Spilling their thoughts and feelings out for anyone to see, hear, or read. I have trouble doing that. Not that I’m not an honest person. I guess I have trouble being an open person. (Oops I just did it) I’m a private person. I’ve had close friends that don’t believe that. I guess I’m open to a point, but there is so much that I don’t let out. I guess everyone is like that to a point.
I’m getting way off track here. Was I even on a track?
Oh, yeah, blogging. Well here’s one. We’ll see what happens next week.