(no subject)
Jul. 24th, 2003 04:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
htothehSo. Trevor's blog is dead. I'll miss it a little, and I wonder how many times I'll automatically go to check it, and realize "oh, wait, it's dead."
This thing will keep going for a while, even though it has degenerated a bit into a mere record. I still need something to write in at least once in a while, and rant to. I don't actually know who reads this thing, so I can't be bothered by who reads it/doesn't read it. I know my parents don't, which is good enough for me. I do self-edit a bit; most of my entries borne out of the depths of PMS never get published on this blog. I have another one for that, where I write all the depressing things I try not to feel at all, and the things that irritate me about the people who I know read this one, and publish my quizzes. It's impossible not to self-edit when one knows that others are reading. I know my first entries, from before I went public, were decidedly more open.
Also, I need/want to write something every day. Eventually, I would like to get up the courage to write again, even if it's very bad writing. Bad can always be improved; ideas, on the other hand, are nothing substansial at all. Things don't become real until they are said, or written. They may sound more ridiculous than you thought they were, but they become something realer. My problem is that I have no faith in my ability to tell a story properly. Before I started worrying about silly things like that, I wrote all the time. It wasn't very good writing, perhaps, or very good ideas, but it was putting a little bit of myself out into the world for all to see. Well, not all; most of it stayed private. It was creative, and it was mine. I have no outlet for that anymore. For whatever reason, I've squelched myself. I don't draw, I don't write. I could, there is no doubt in my mind that I could, but I don't.
So this is an attempt at getting over fear, and not caring what other people think of who I am. Me is not so bad a thing to be, after all. At least, I didn't used to think so.
I have no idea how this ramble got here from there, but hey.
"No blog is an island entire of itself; every blog is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main.... Any blog's death diminishes me because I am involved in Blogging; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."--freely adapted from John Donne
This thing will keep going for a while, even though it has degenerated a bit into a mere record. I still need something to write in at least once in a while, and rant to. I don't actually know who reads this thing, so I can't be bothered by who reads it/doesn't read it. I know my parents don't, which is good enough for me. I do self-edit a bit; most of my entries borne out of the depths of PMS never get published on this blog. I have another one for that, where I write all the depressing things I try not to feel at all, and the things that irritate me about the people who I know read this one, and publish my quizzes. It's impossible not to self-edit when one knows that others are reading. I know my first entries, from before I went public, were decidedly more open.
Also, I need/want to write something every day. Eventually, I would like to get up the courage to write again, even if it's very bad writing. Bad can always be improved; ideas, on the other hand, are nothing substansial at all. Things don't become real until they are said, or written. They may sound more ridiculous than you thought they were, but they become something realer. My problem is that I have no faith in my ability to tell a story properly. Before I started worrying about silly things like that, I wrote all the time. It wasn't very good writing, perhaps, or very good ideas, but it was putting a little bit of myself out into the world for all to see. Well, not all; most of it stayed private. It was creative, and it was mine. I have no outlet for that anymore. For whatever reason, I've squelched myself. I don't draw, I don't write. I could, there is no doubt in my mind that I could, but I don't.
So this is an attempt at getting over fear, and not caring what other people think of who I am. Me is not so bad a thing to be, after all. At least, I didn't used to think so.
I have no idea how this ramble got here from there, but hey.
"No blog is an island entire of itself; every blog is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main.... Any blog's death diminishes me because I am involved in Blogging; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."--freely adapted from John Donne
