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Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2

For someone who talks as much as I do, and I’ve been told all my life that I talk a lot*, it’s funny how often I feel like I don’t have anything to write about. I mean, I have a lot of (vague, not-so-vague, super-incredibly-vague) story ideas, but one of the many things that stalls me from writing them start-to-finish is the nagging question “What exactly am I writing about? Do I really have anything to say?” When I write non-fiction pieces for this blog, I try to keep the post on-topic and not just ramble, and it isn’t often I feel like I have something important and specific to say that warrants a blog post.

But in real life, in person, I mostly just ramble and babble. Right now, I’m wondering why I’m okay with doing that in person (not that I can really help it, it’s just the way my brain and mouth work) but not in writing (where I can edit, rewrite, organize, and trim off all the things I don’t think are relevant–but do I absolutely HAVE TO do that?).

I’ve been wanting to publish on this blog more. It’s been nagging at me for at least the past six months. But then days and weeks go by where I don’t feel like I have anything worthwhile and organized to write about. Soooooo…maybe I’ll just babble more? I think it’s okay to do that. Considering it’s my blog and no one is being forced to read it. (If you’re currently being forced at gunpoint to read this blog, I’m sorry. Please read this next sentence aloud: “Dear captor forcing me to read this at gunpoint, you should put the gun down, walk away, and reconsider your life choices. Thank you.”) I’ve looked at my blog stats and I don’t get a lot of hits. This isn’t a bad thing, this is liberating.

Okay so yeah, more blogging about whatever, as well as the usual poetry and rare short story. For reals.

* I’ve only vomited from drinking a few times in my life. One of those times was at a party in college, which is par for the course for anyone in college, right? But this party was hosted by film majors, who walked around the party with video cameras, recording as much as they could. Including me being sick in their toilet. The day after the party, they came around to the house I lived in and showed us the video they’d put together from everything they’d filmed, and there was me, puking into the toilet, then turning to my best friend/housemate to say, “It’s funny that I just threw up because I don’t usually throw up from drinking, I’m usually pretty good at listening to my body and cutting myself off before I drink enough to make me sick.” Watching the video, my best friend/housemate looked at me, shook his head, and said, “Only you would throw up and then just keep talking.”

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