I am a bad writer. I can string words together into sentences, and for the most part get my point across when I have to. But rarely am I ever happy going back and reading my writing. It’s why I don’t write a journal, don’t write letters, and why I loathe long-winded emails. I have a college-era LiveJournal account, locked behind privacy settings as it’s not fit for the world to see. Writing, to me, is a chore, and best left to the professionals. Or at least those who enjoy it.
So why, then, would I do something as silly as start a writing a weblog? Mostly because I have been looking for a convenient way to post some of the things I come across, silly stories that I get tired of re-telling to friends at the bar, and pictures that don’t belong on Facebook. But I also am starting this because I want to become a better writer. I figure if I have the tools, I can bumble my way through finding my writing “voice.” Practice makes perfect, right?
I read plenty of blogs that I love, some by strangers, some by friends, and I find inspiration in them. I admire the free-ranging topics my dear friend and colleague John Tolva writes about (how you can go from SXSW to prairie fires to Legos to wine making is a feat in itself), the succinct but always amusing link lists Craig puts together, and the sheer absurdity that was Aaron’s (now defunct) candy blog. The “big” bloggers out there, like Kottke, Gruber, or Sullivan show how finding a unique voice and sticking with it pays off in the end. I can only hope that what I write will be fraction as interesting as the other stuff out there on the Internet.
Oh, I refuse to call myself a blogger, so don’t even start with me on that.
