Writing and Dreaming and Reading...

Every time I come back, it has been a while. There are always reasons for this. Excuses.

I don't really know who reads this anymore. It is now a silent act of vanity. A self publication, to ensure myself that I'm still trying. I'm still writing. And in some indirect way, I am building a history. Maybe indirectly, I am building an audience. But that doesn't seem likely. My chatbox is a travesty. It is filled with goo and nonsense of the internet spambots. My entries are not commented upon. And my pageviews this month is paltry. It just means that I've got to find reasons for doing this. Obviously I would not be a commercial success.

But when I look at my dashboard again, I can't help but wonder of the folk that do end up at my blog. For some reason my pageviews are not completely zero. And I'm not sure whether to be gratified or just curious. I've got nothing almost here. Do you really want to see?

In the end I do want to become a writer. And there are no short-cuts to this. The only way one could achieve that is by writing. Even better, creating. But since I'm not doing much of either it makes me question, do I really? Don't people that want things just do it? None of this fumbling about and skiving off. If I want it won't I just grab it with eagerness, with both my hands and every bit of my bleeding heart? If not, then what else do I really want? I don't understand everything yet. I hope I will.