Return of the Big Fish

Suffice it to say that the last entry took a lot out of me. I was not inclined to look at this page for some time. Busyness, laziness and stress have all played their part in my lack of attention to writing. And a good bit of thought has gone into the question of what a blog is supposed to be, anyway. The concept of a blog, a web log, is something written on an ongoing basis by somebody who is doing something interesting, or making interesting observations on something like politics, right?

I'm not any kind of a pundit or an insider. I'm not doing anything unusual or interesting. But there are two things that made me start writing on the Blogger. One was the slogan, "Push-button Publishing." Publishing! I could be published! And I wouldn't have to find an agent, send off a manuscript, and worry about whether I'd be rejected. Or, worse yet, whether anybody'd be interested in what I'd write.

You see, I'd been writing my "memoirs" for some time, in my head. I'd even written some on the computer and had it saved to a disk. I couldn't work out a chronological sequence, so I had been organizing my life experiences by subject. The working title was "Taking Up Space and Waiting to Die." Pretty good description of a life marked by long periods of severe depressive disorder. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to read it. I couldn't imagine why I would want anyone to. I had burned everything I'd written up to that point, for just those reasons. But I did want to write it.

The second reason for signing up on the Blogger was the encouragement of Kimbuck. "you should write." he said. "You should be a writer. You should be doing advertising for one of these big companies that does TV commercials. You are so creative. You are being wasted!" At least I know I'm in good company. So many geniuses and artists were clerical workers. Einstein, Melville, Cezanne, I can't remember who else.

So, what am I going to do? Just to keep my hand in, I'll post the chunks of my memoirs here, as I'd originally intended, along with whatever comes to mind. Anything that comes to mind, to keep in practice writing and thinking independently and practicing writing at an adult level and utilizing my vocabulary before it all disappears.