Why a blog, why my blog?
I guess I should kick this off with a bit about me and a bit about why I’m blogging and why anyone would want to read what I have to say.
I’m not a famous author, I’m not a famous musician, I’m not an amazing bass player, I’m not the world’s greatest fencer, flute player or police volunteer. I’m not the most devout Catholic nor am I a learned philosopher. I am not the best humorist, comedian or poet. But I am not the worst of any of these, and I like to think I am better because of them.
I am a writer. I play bass and flute (and any other instrument I can get my hands on. I fence and I am a Deputy Sheriff’s reserve. I am Catholic, and I wax both philosophical and poetic. I like to think I have a well-developed sense of humor, but I have to admit sometimes, it’s just odd.
People tend to paint broad strokes about people my age/gender/belief/nationality but I have met very few people that match or deserve to be pigeon holed. Like most people my age/gender/belief/nationality/ancestry I want to be understood, I want to understand myself and my world.
I like to look forward, and I like to look back, and I think that anything worth doing is worth doing whole heartedly and to my fullest. Sometimes I wake up and there is a story running through my head, and if I don’t get it down it will haunt me until I do.
Sometimes I have something to say, even if I’m the only one who can hear it… I went to bed thinking about how to start this blog, and I woke up with the first lines running through my mind. I’ve learned that very little I write at 04:00 is worth the bother, and yet here I am…
Why a blog? Because I’m lazy, and it’s so much better than a diary. Because I’m a writer, and blogs are writing about yourself, your world and how you fit together in it.
Why my blog? Because I am a writer, and writer’s love an audience. Even if it’s only me, or some insomniac in New York, or Manitoba who stumbles across my musings; even if it’s a friend, or the friend of a friend, or someone in Poland or Lebanon on a lunch break, someone like me, or someone totally different; someone who has a preconceived notion of what it is to be… my age/gender/belief/nationality, or a fellow musician, or fencer or police volunteer happy to learn about someone with the same interests, writers love writing, and even more, they love it when someone reads what they have to say.
But mostly, because I’m a writer at heart and writers must write. It’s what we do, it’s what we are.
And there you have it.
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