Too Long; Didn’t Read

I could probably write an entire blog on the reasons I haven’t done a lot of blogging.

I’m not sure why it’s something I feel like I need to defend. Or change, really, but it is. I guess I have this sense that I’m a writer, and writers should write, and they should love writing, and they should love all forms of writing, and and they should do nothing but write and never have wives or families or lives or hobbies.

Well, I love my wife and family and hobbies, but I love writing, too. And I do write. I just write novels. And screenplays, and comics, and tweets, and even a card game once. I don’t write a lot of short stories, or blog posts, or poems, and I only recently realized why this makes perfect sense: I don’t tend to read short stories, blog posts, or poems – why would I think I know how to write them?

Blogs are especially problematic because I’m over-sensitive to how little right I have to other people’s interest. I think the world (read: internet) is too full of people who think their every thought and action matters, and I really don’t want to be one of those people. But I guess I am anyway.

I also worry, because I take myself too seriously and I don’t want to write anything I could regret or rethink or that isn’t absolutely perfect. So, previously, I erred on the side of writing too rarely.

Now, I feel like I might as well just write.


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