At that time, I often thought that if I had had to live in the trunk of a dead tree, with nothing to do but look up at the sky flowing overhead, little by little I would have gotten used to it.
What’s the point? What are you trying to say? Why should I bother reading?
If an author is too afraid to address these questions, then their work will never reach an audience. Who, what, when, where, why? They exist for reasons, although those reasons may either be moot or inaccessible. That is life I suppose. Not at all hard to understand, yet completely incomprehensible.
There is a method to my madness; I promise to let you know what it is once I’ve figured it out. Until then, I figured out the purpose of my blog.
I want to have a conversation with you. The kind of conversation you usually find yourself having with one or two people, in the witching hours of the day, or the breaking hours of dawn. That conversation that stays with you, on a day that means nothing. I think the world has done enough talking, but has failed to actually have a conversation.
My roommate and I were discussing my blog. I want people to read it, but I struggled to answer her simple question: “What is it about?”
I don’t know what it is about. Random asides and perspectives. But I want to have a conversation with someone, anyone, who is willing to do more than just simply talk.
So I changed the title…thing, on the blog. It was originally the title of my book, but I need this to be two separate entities. My book has stalled, and until I figure out where the hell I am going with it, I might as well engage in some dialogue with the world around me. The silence of talking is too deafening to be tolerated anymore.
So, let’s have a chat. Grab something to drink, put on your favorite song. Lay it out with me, for what better way than to converse, than with a total stranger.