Writing On

Once, I read an essay that announced there was no topic more dreadful than reading a writer writing about writing, except for reading a writer writing about NOT writing. I’m here to break you out of your comfort zones, folks. When a person’s got nothing else to say, and s/he has to say it, what happens? That’s right. They start a blog, and all their friends suffer.

I’ve had the desire to write for the last seven days, but no topics. Most of the things I’ve assembled in my blog thus far are op-Ed pieces or autobiographical reminiscences. Eventually, a person exhausts the topics that are vital or pressing enough to keep the fingers moving. It looks like I have about 50 topics before the well runs dry.

It’s an odd thing, needing to write, but having nothing to say. I dream about writing, you know.  I’ll be asleep, and think, “This is a fantastic story – I should write it down.” And in my dream, I sit down at a computer, or with a pen and paper, and begin composing, sometimes for a long time: form and function seem to mold themselves to my words, and I create. Then I wake up with a deep pang of shame because I know I could never really do that when I’m awake.

A friend told me to blog. Well, here it is: it’s the best I could do. Feel free to move about the cabin.

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Books and Writing, Linguistics, Christianity and whatever else I feel like talking about at the time…

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