Imagine this - a world where it's just you and yourself, no one to stop you from writing about anything. The Freedom! you exclaim. Except you have no idea what you want to write about. This freedom, as it turns out, cripples.
This blog has started and restarted multiple times over the years, a graveyard of all my literary ambition. Turns out that when it comes to my own personal voice, I'm too proud to pen it down, too worried that I would make any mistakes in my writing. I mean, nothing is ever forgotten now on the internet - Google is probably crawling it as you read, as is the Wayback Machine.
Did you know I wanted to be an author when I was young? Before I embarked on my journey to be a web designer, and even as I was doing so, I wanted to be a writer - an individual so arrogant, he or she demands time, money and attention! The trinity of all that is valuable in one's life.
Somehow as the years go by, this dream becomes less and less practical. Design and coding became my life, my breadwinner. But something in me still yearns for the opportunity to be verbose, to be flamboyant and coy and bitter and proud and secretive and mysterious and all of those things.
Now there is the tweet, the wall post, the throwback. There are more ways to publish now. More ways to assert your arrogance and demand one's attention.
But here, in this little corner of the World Wide Web, I don't have to care about garnering any attention - I can write anything I want.