Nothing much, really

Nothing much to say as of late. I have had a few disturbing dreams, but nothing to even remember, let alone write down.

I guess I started this blog to start my writing again. Ever since I was little I have had a sort of love affair with books. I can even recall when I was 4 or 5 and getting upset when a Sesame Street book was left on the floor for someone to step on and break the binding on. As a preteen I would check out books from the library based on the smell of the ink, I mean, yeah, I would read some of it, but I loved books and the older, the more I loved them.

I would say that my need to write might be based on my feelings about books. I wanted to be a part of that world in just another way. I would think about stories and would day dream about the adventures that person would have. I even came up with a pseudonym for myself so I could get some privacy as a famous author. Wolfric Wild. That is the only one I can remember and I created it during a time when I was obsessed with werewolves. I think I was 8.

So, this blog is helping a little bit. I can see myself writing a little again. I just get so frustrated because I know what a good book sounds like, I can't do it. Sometimes I have flashes of inspiration and it looks pretty good in print, but it is nothing compared to the great books. So I ask myself: Could I feel satisfied as a mediocre, even pulp, published author? Or, should I better leave it undone and be better off wondering what could have been?

I guess the only way to know is to forge on and see if I have the chops. I hope the Internet society can forgive me if I don't publish it on my blog. That seems taking it a little far. Maybe once I feel pretty good about a work and I am as finished as I will be with it...