I have been a writer (in some fashion) for most of my life. It started with a sparkly Hello Kitty locked diary that I wrote in off and on for about four years when I was six years old, I think. I started writing more when my fifth grade teacher gave us a half hour to journal every day.
Since then, I have averaged about two journals a year. No, I won’t tell you how old I am.
About ten years ago, I started a blog which I wrote on for about…three years regularly and then afterwards…not so much. I have flirted with several different blogs on several different platforms before finding myself here. I honestly don’t know if I’ll keep this up, but what I can tell you is that I miss writing and with the ending of a terrible year and the beginning of a new one, I’ve made myself some promises (not resolutions; resolutions have a tendency to get themselves broken rather quickly).
One was to write more often, on paper and online. Yes, I still write in journals. Those tend to be messy and really is my dumping ground for everything in my head.
So…what was I saying? Yes, about me.
I have a friend who’s tagline says “not a lifestyle blog.” This isn’t a lifestyle blog. I’m much to scattered to focus on one thing. My attention strays and my interests are varied. But I call myself a writer and I’ll write whatever comes to mind. Which could be anything really from what I’m thinking right then and there to responding to a writing prompt to how I’m feeling. I can’t narrow down the focus and for that I’m sorry. To distill one part of my life would be negating other aspects of myself. (Does that make sense? No? I’m sorry.)
If you know me, then hello. Welcome to my new blog; please don’t give me away. If you don’t know me, then hello there. Welcome to the blog. I’ll ramble; I’ll rant; most of the time, I won’t make sense. But that’s okay. If you don’t mind, I don’t mind.