I’m stepping out tonight!
Gonna take my first class ever on how to connect and sustain a blog.
I am finally going to enter this new millenium and try something I always thought was beyond my ability, writing from the heart about any thing in the whole wide world.
Now, what should I focus on? Sports? No, too many blogs on that. Sex? Don’t know enough to give sound advice, and all of what I do know would probably make up one good post but fail to keep up a daily, full driving blog.
Religion or Politics? Neither turn me on anymore. Religion simply brings me down, and politics just stresses me out with so many moral inconsistencies.
How about art, music or dance? Who am I kidding. My best dance steps went out with that oldie called the “Mashed Potatoes,” and songs by the Four Seasons still highlight my musical listening choice. Never was any good at art.
Well, what the heck am I going to blog about? Maybe the teacher can suggest something. Maybe the students in the class will give me some idea.
I mean, how hard can it be to find something to write about, to get inspired day in and day out?
There are lots of things to say, and many ways to say them.
You mean, I may have to actually come up with my own ideas? You telling me there is no set format that I can copy? No fill-in-the-blanks approach to pitching a post?
Writing should appear new and fresh to the reader?
What fun is that? That’s sounds more like work than play. Who is supposed to get more out of this endeavor anyway, the writer or the reader?
It ain’t fair that a reader simply sits back and takes it all in without lifting one finger to the keyboard. The writer has to do all the work. Writer? Hell, I can’t even call my self that anymore. I ain’t “writing.” I am not moving a pen across a paper miraculously connecting one word with another in some sort of coherent and informative fashion. I TYPE. I’m nothing more than a typist who simply presses these half-inch black square keys with corresponding white letters that somehow make words appear on a white background on a thing called a computer. Where is the artistry? Where is the passion? Where is the essence of who I am, and what you, a person reading such dribble, would ever come to expect of me?
I think I better re-think this blogging business. Sounds a little more complicated than how the teacher described it in the brochure.
It could be that blogging isn’t cut out for everybody.
Maybe not for me.
I wonder though.
Could I possibly get my money back if I blow off the class?