To Blog or Not to Blog

      Perhaps I should start by asking forgiveness for my audacity. I'll mull that over for a bit. I mean the gall, the arrogance of me assuming anyone wants to know what goes on in here. I'm actually cringing as I write. But you don't have to read it. A blog is not a book. There's no story, no characters that are lovable or despicable, nothing I can claim is worth your time without feeling a bit megalomaniacal. But still, here I am, blogging my first blog and hoping.

     That's the whether, now the what. Maybe language I love, (thanks for the inspiration Shakespeare, if that's your real name). Perhaps on writing; I'm the proud new mamma of my first literary bundle of joy, surely that qualifies me to advise everyone else who's ever had a yen to put pen to paper. The trials and tribulations of a spanking new professional writer? That's sure to have wide appeal. 

     The problem is I don't even post on Facebook. I share and I like, but I almost never comment. When I do, it's something glib and inoffensive. To everyone except my mother. To me, there is something vulnerable about committing thoughts to paper, or to server, or to wherever these thoughts of mine will go to lurk patiently until it is time for me to run for office or accept my Nobel Prize, at which point they will come winging back through the space/time/internet continuum to bite me on the ass. 

     But, fear has no place in creativity. So to better serve my creativity, I will embrace the thing that scares me, I will pursue and practice until I no longer writhe with embarrassment at the thought of clicking the publish button.

     So, I'm not sure what I will blog, but I will blog.    
   
      If you didn't hate that too much, the link to the book (and yes, of course there is a book), is: www.iwenttopalmsprings.com.