It was a dark and stormy night....

I'd love to write.

Since the age of 12 I've kept a journal of some kind. Most of my pre-teen writing is of the "woe is me" variety, and would be laughable except that I remember something of the truth, or my truth, of what was scrawled on the pages. Through highschool I wrote more fiction than anything else. The drama began again in my early 20's, as evidenced by yet another link to the Germany chronicles. Currently it's mostly right here, in whatever form this blog has become.

I always did well in english. In highschool I was placed in the GAT programs. But to be honest, I chalk this up to my private-school days rather than any natural aptitude. We were well prepared for public highschool, and I was able to coast through in a pot-induced haze. Of course I had to read the books, but this was never an issue for me because I love to read. Plus, we re-read many of the same books in the first three years of highschool that I had covered in my 8th grade english class.

When I was 14, in the early days of AOL, I joined an on-line writing contest. I still have the unwieldly "encyclopedic dictionary" that was awarded as first prize. I'm not sure that my story was better than anyone else's, but it was longer...

By 12th grade, and into the college that I took, I noticed that my writing was often dry. It sounded better as "just the fact's, ma'am" journalism than the fiction that I hoped to write. If I became engrossed (as often was the case) in a particular author, I would hear he or she turning in their grave as I badly emulated them. But I've never had an original voice.

The thought had never crossed my mind until just now, but maybe this is one of the reasons that I love the movie Amadeus so much. I had always thought of mediocrity in broad strokes. While I applied it to myself, it was as a gestalt, not any particular issue. But when I think about the great authors, past and present, I ask myself "why even bother trying to write?" It's been done better by someone before.

There's something to be said about words, and bringing order out of the chaos of letters; diminishing the entropy of the universe by some insignificant degree. But that's probably the rationale for "reality" TV. Some order, as some orders, should not be blindly followed.

So I sit. And I blog. And I think that maybe someday an idea will burn itself into my head, an idea that must be born. Then I think that this sounds like I'm waiting for divine intervention. Then I think that God helps he who helps himself. Then I think that I don't necessarily believe in God. Then I sit. And I blog about not necessarily believing in God. Then... it's like a mobius strip. I believe that the technical term is a "rut".

I just read over this drivel before posting, and it occurs to me that it would appear I'm fishing for compliments. The idea makes me blush, and I assure you that this is not the case. I just wanted to share, let you know a slice of what makes me tick.