I've often had people tell me that I should write something. Perhaps that sounds a little arrogant, but they have. I suppose it makes sense. I'm reasonably articulate. I love reading. I enjoy writing things when I have something to write about. And therein lies the problem I suppose. What do I have to write about? I don't have any ideas for a novel. And God knows, I don't have any grand scientific theories or revolutionary socio-political discourses floating around in this head of mine. I guess that just leaves blogging.
I've always been a bit dubious about this whole blogging thing. I know there's nothing wrong with it. Not really. I suppose I've always just wondered what kind of narcissist feels the need to share their trivial thoughts with the world (and who'd be bored enough to read them)? But that seems a bit dismissive really. Who am I to judge someone for something harmless that they do in their spare time? Especially if I'm not willing to try it before I knock it (anyone who knows me knows that's not really my style).
Even so, that thought is still floating around in the back of my head 'Am I really going to be a blogger? One of those people who thinks total strangers and friends will give a shit about whatever mundane thing happens to be on my mind at any given point'?
I voiced this question to my friend (albeit very drunkenly in the early hours of the dawn) to which he drunkenly slurred back 'Might as well'. And so I shall.
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