Upon launching one's self into uncharted waters

All blogging is vanity.  In some cases, it can be as subtle as etching your name into a brick on a wall behind a trash can at the end of a blind alley.  You know it's there.  Will anyone else spot it?  Unless you draw attention to it, will it remain as anonymous as the page in a teenager's locked, angst-filled diary?

For some people that is enough, just to know that it's out there - somewhere - and the little adrenalin jolt you feel when you consider that someday someone may come across it and recognize you for the literary lion that you in your secret heart of hearts know you to be.  Even the tiniest post is like a meek finger lifting in the air quietly whispering, "I'm here."

I've never thought I'd be one to start writing a blog.  Blogs are for people with a mission, a message to share or an ego to inflate. I don't have a discernible mission; I mostly stroll through life, occasionally lending a hand to some cause deemed worthy by my loose standards.  Most of my messages are more momentary rants that can be mumbled from the ground and don't require the elevation to "soapbox" status.  My ego is wide, but rather shallow.  It's usually enough to give myself a pat on the back for a clever turn of phrase or especially clever (to me) pun.  Blogging is just something at I never thought would appeal to me.

I have always had an interest in writing.  I can remember as a child creating little books based on the little brown mouse stories my grandmother used to make up.  I would show my childish publishing talents to my grandmother, who of course thought they (and I) were clever.

In the third grade, my neighbor and friend Shirley decided to publish her own "newspaper".  This involved three or four sheets of notebook paper, with some "news" and a cartoon she drew.  She named the paper "The Wyatt" because that was the name of her teacher, Mrs. Wyatt, on whom she had a teacher-crush it is now obvious.  Shirley was two years older and I had to do everything that she did, so I made up my own newspaper and called it "The Bateman" (Mrs. Bateman was my teacher - I liked her okay, but I was merely following precedent).  Once we had our newspaper, we had to "print" it; this involved hand-copying each page, then binding each issue with yarn through the notebook holes.  I don't recall either of us selling or even giving away a single issue.

But apparently this was enough to give me the writing bug.  I've always been a voracious reader, and now I had the idea that I could actually write something that others would read.  My first little, meek, 8-year-old finger had risen.

The next 40-odd years would be filled with various attempts at literary self-expression (why does that sound so dirty?).  In my late teens & early twenties, I was involved with fan fiction; not the now-popular t.v. "slash" fan fiction - we looked down our noses at such trash, although I'm sure some of us participated in the privacy of our own homes with the shades pulled down tight.  Ours was the more literary type (you know, books) creating our own characters to play among another writer's universe.  In our case, the Dragonriders of Pern series by Anne McCaffrey, a popular science fiction series (don't you dare call it fantasy! Those dragons were genetically created by Terran scientists).  A few of our group even tried breaking out and creating our own universe (yes, original fiction - like real writers) and I even managed to complete the first draft of a novel.  I think I still have it - somewhere.

My hard drive is stocked with story ideas, notes, outlines, first drafts, character sheets, plot lines, etc.  The point is that nothing is finished.  I have no shortage of things to write about.  I have ideas for short stories, novels, novel series, non-fiction articles, non-fiction books.  What I do have a shortage of is discipline, persistence and finishing things.  I like to think I'm objective enough to be critically self-aware without beating myself up or glossing over unpleasant shortcomings.

Which brings me now to the reason for this blog.

My immediate goal is to write and publish something every week.  The best (and most common) advice I've heard from other writers is that if you want to be a writer, you have to write.

• I will give myself a deadline - Sunday evening, 9:00 pm -  every week.  
• I will do this every week for at least the next three months, ending on Sunday, August 17, 2014.
• I will write about anything.  Anything.
• I will post my newest entry on my Facebook page. 

What do I hope to accomplish with this?  First and foremost, I hope to gain some discipline.  I'm hoping that by having a schedule and hopefully - hopefully - knowing that someone out there in the great Internet Cloud is waiting to see what kind of entertaining (again, hopefully) rant I produce next will give me the incentive to produce.

Another goal is feedback.  I know, it's a pain when someone asks you to "tell me how you like it".  But seriously, I do want your opinion.  I like to think I'm fairly objective about my writing, but no mother thinks her baby is that ugly.  If you don't like it, please say so.  I have no objection to constructive criticism.  If you don't like something, please don't just say, "you suck!"... tell me why I suck. I want to know this.  If you don't want to leave it in the comments section, you can send me an email.  Or drop by the house and say it to my face.  I promise not to hit you, or to pout too long.

Another tool I'm trying is peer pressure - on me.  One of the rules when you're going on a diet or trying to quit smoking (or break any other bad habits) is to tell everyone.  You know this is just setting yourself up for peer pressure.  Once you tell everyone, you can't let yourself fail or everyone will know you're the slovenly, lazy, undisciplined person they always thought you were.  Or at least that's what you think they will think of you.  And wouldn't you (I) do anything, at any cost, to avoid that?  Darn right!  That's why peer pressure is such a formidable force.  Ask any parent of a teenager!

So I hereby commit myself.  If you see this post, that means that I've stuck my neck out and launched my ship into uncharted seas.  Scary as hell, right?  But I'm also anxious to see how I come out on the opposite shore.