As if there’s any excuse for blogging but just a whale of explanation.
J. G. Ballard whom I have not shook hands with since I am not besotted with science fiction lamented about novelists not paying their dues. He defended his craft by advising young writers to harness their pens in short stories before moving into meta-narratives.
I am appropriating his advice in this decision to blog outside the sanctuary of friends and wade right into the swamps of strangers. Off and on, I have been blogging in this network called Friendster for almost 3 years. Let’s just say I am the fabled frog-in-the-well bitten by curiosity as to what’s beyond my orbit.
Not to be misconstrued as arrogance, I have expressed without demur, that the writing is the easiest part. It’s the vulnerability of blogging, of sauntering off to unfamiliar grounds that require guts.
I am not saying I am more ballsy now. I just reached an age when I’m past caring how nameless, faceless individuals will take my rubbish.
Meanwhile, I shall be importing some entries from the old blog (as old as May 2005) to bridge my old bivouac and my new camping site. I will endeavor to be a less ornery camper but if I am shown less kindness here, then I can always go back to my mother’s womb.
J. G. Ballard whom I have not shook hands with since I am not besotted with science fiction lamented about novelists not paying their dues. He defended his craft by advising young writers to harness their pens in short stories before moving into meta-narratives.
I am appropriating his advice in this decision to blog outside the sanctuary of friends and wade right into the swamps of strangers. Off and on, I have been blogging in this network called Friendster for almost 3 years. Let’s just say I am the fabled frog-in-the-well bitten by curiosity as to what’s beyond my orbit.
Not to be misconstrued as arrogance, I have expressed without demur, that the writing is the easiest part. It’s the vulnerability of blogging, of sauntering off to unfamiliar grounds that require guts.
I am not saying I am more ballsy now. I just reached an age when I’m past caring how nameless, faceless individuals will take my rubbish.
Meanwhile, I shall be importing some entries from the old blog (as old as May 2005) to bridge my old bivouac and my new camping site. I will endeavor to be a less ornery camper but if I am shown less kindness here, then I can always go back to my mother’s womb.
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