When I was eight years old, my mom sat me down at the dining room table, placed a composition journal in front of me, and told me there would be no T.V. or playing until I wrote an ENTIRE half page of my thoughts.  She knew the importance of journaling. While my parents vary rarely made the dumb mistakes that plague most child-rearing experiments, mom did this time: she thought that equating writing with the lack of fun activities would be the best way for me to fall in love with the task.

Of course, she was wrong.

I pouted and complained and came with all sorts of witty reasons why I was unable to write and why running off to the den was a much more valuable use of my time.  It was futile.  Eventually, I wrote a FULL page about how dumb I thought journaling was.  And for the next month, I wrote every night about how much I hated it.

Eventually, she got the point, and I was released from this torturous and mundane task.  She also told me that I would later regret not writing things down and wish I had listened.

Of course, she was right.

So here I am, mid-20’s and I have never journaled, blogged, or otherwise gathered my thoughts in any one place (other than my brain).  During college, I started to think about it from time to time.  I think I even bought a lovely journal, convinced that a leather-bound cover and gilded pages would help get the creative juices flowing.  Like I said, I “think” that happened.

The point is, I have never been one for writing about myself.  Certainly not as much as I like to talk about me!

I don’t know what best to blog about.  I have been told that any writer starts not knowing where to go, but as a read today, “The pace of your forward motion is not important.  What is important is that you are moving forward at all.”  Wise words.

I am a Facebook addict.  I Tweet so much that with the same effort, I could probably cure cancer.  Now in my ripe old mid-20’s I look back and realize that getting one’s thoughts out there is a good thing.  And as much as I will still hate it like that malcontent eight-year-old ginger kid I once was, I am going to at least make an effort.

Wish me luck.  Happy Blogging.

Don’t do evil. Be good.