A Blerd's Dissertation

This entire blogging thing continues to amaze me, blerd that I am. One of the coolest things to me is the fact that people I have never met read what I have to say, and even offer feedback and comments. And vice versa for the blogs that I read. And so, after awhile, I feel like I do sort of get to know Cindy, and InterstellarLass, and Crys, and OC Girl, and Pia, and Lindsy, and the Blonde, and the Brunette, and JC, and others. In some small way. Perhaps we have a desire to peer into the lives of others. Maybe that is why reality TV is popular.

When I first began blogging, it was mostly just a recap of the events in my life, or lack thereof. I have always expressed myself by writiing, in some form or another, whether anyone was reading or not. Usually not. Blogging has provided another avenue for that. But more and more, this has become a way for me to exercise my writing skills. Or... lack thereof. After all, surely the more one writes, the better one's writing becomes.

Once in awhile, I will read something from my archives. (Still haven't gotten around to a 'favorite posts' section yet.) I think that I was much funnier then. Funny has not come as easy to me lately, for some reason. I need to get that back. Somehow.

I have realized some other things about my writing. Or I think I have anyway. I tend to write about feelings and thoughts and emotions more than I do about physical things. I have a hard time remembering details, such as what clothes someone was wearing. But someone pointed out to me the other night that perhaps that is because I don't really notice such things in the first place. I am more apt to notice that someone is sad or troubled, or remember how someone made me feel, than I am to note what kind of shoes they are wearing. I remember how being on a certain street makes me feel, but I have a hard time recalling any of the stores, cars, or people I may have seen there. I need to work on the details. And so much more.

I have never been able to write fiction, either. Good fiction makes you forget that it is fiction almost from the first line. The two or three times I have attempted to write fiction, it sounded made up. The names sounded made up. It all did. Maybe I could learn to do that one day. I think that I would make a good columnist though. I applied for a job with a newspaper years ago. Didn't get it. But I think that I write much better now anyway.

I would love to be able to make someone feel an emotion simply by reading words that I have written. To bring back a memory. To take them to another place and time. Like all good writers are able to do. The thing is, I have never been very proactive with certain things. And career and relationships are two of those. I tend to let things happen naturally, in those areas at least. For example, I have never been one to really go out just looking for a girlfriend. Yet somehow, they always find me. And I have always been fortunate in that area. For the most part. Same thing with the career. Other than applying with the newspaper. Of course, ninety percent of everything depends on who you know. And I don't know many people.

The bottom line, I suppose, is that I have always wanted to write. Although I have not always admitted that, to myself or others. Maybe it is time that I did. No. On second thought, that is way too scary. I'll just continue to keep that to myself ;-)

Now I think that I am just rambling about some nothingness. Silly, crazy dreams. Maybe every blogger secretly wants to write. I am certain that a good number do. And many of them write much better than me. That, I am also sure of.

So, there you have it. A blog entry... about blogging? How sad is that. Of course, I still hope that you will comment, blerd that I am.

"Do you wanna be a poet and write? Do you wanna be an actor up in lights? Do you wanna be a soldier and fight for love?"