100

I logged in tonight. Blogspot told me this would be my 100th post. I thought about that for a few moments. 100 posts starting with number 1, as I check, almost two years ago to this day. Part of me is surprised to still be using this things. Another part of me thinks about how many broken thoughts or unfinished entries I've registered in this half-journal/half-confessional. What is this thing to me? A place to share what I've created? Is it sharing when you don't even know if people are reading? Only recently have I been able to answer that question, or have felt validated by asking it. I suppose, to me, this is a place where I can externalize my own fears, my own personal desires (secret or not), or a brief dream, the components of which fly faster than my ability to take them down. Or maybe it's just a place for me to put myself up in front of it all, to be the center of attention. "Lay upon me all your critiques, be they of pillory or praise." I suppose none of that really matters if there is nothing here to read, right? So maybe I'll start there. With a fresh credo: To write more. Period. Were you expecting something more? Well, yeah, maybe I was, too. But that's okay. It's a good start. It's A start, no? And then from there we can expand to greater ambitions, stimulate the creative juices that have come down to a simmer. Let's boil that sucker back up! Or maybe we can just start first. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Yeah, I think that will be better. Finish some of these deserted shorts. Flesh them out, so to speak. That's a good start, a second place to start. Look: options already! This is great. This is an adventure. "Go forth into the unknown, young creator, for this life is an adventure."