The madness of writing
I am not what you might call a prolific blogger, I barely get 200 blogs out a year. At times, I may not blog for a week, and this not because I have nothing to write about.
There are ideas buzzing about in my head, many like the end of an orgasm, billions of sperm rushing to a destination of sorts, but only one getting to fertilise the egg.
Yet, that is just the beginning, there is a period of incubation or gestation, the thinking, the crafting, the suffering and yet sadly the miscarriage or the abortion. Ideas that will never come to term, formed but never fully, deformed and sometimes silly, or informed and probably dangerous.
There is a whole editorial panel of advocacy and rivalry trying to gain ascendancy as the black wall of Writer’s Block becomes the constipated discomfort to creativity.
Nonsense, sometimes, all I have to do is start typing and what materialises is nothing like I originally imagined or thought I wanted to write. Like a man possessed, the subconscious takes over from the inner recesses of the mind to the fingers and my eye watch with amazement as I begin to understand that what I have written is that bit of crazy that you have just read.
However, this blog had to be written because it is my 2,500th blog, it has taken just 11 years, 2 months and 24 days to get this far. No, I am not a prolific blogger, but I think I can say, I am a consistent blogger.
In all, I want to thank all who have read my blogs, some have commented, some have disputed, some have supported, some have excoriated – that is the story of life and I hope I can get better at this, it is first personal and really, I like it that way.
Thank you, all.