So, this is a blog...

Does anyone else ever read something that is really well written and witty and feel like they posses the same powers?  You convince yourself that you are that good of a writer and there are people just waiting to read your words because you are a genius. No, just me.  Awkward.  Well this happens to me more often than I am comfortable with and when I go back and read what I wrote I realize that my writing is just sub-par and I simply have poorly written thoughts slapped together on a page.

Now, this only happens with small things, I have never fooled myself into thinking I could write a book.  Me writing a book would be like me running a marathon.  Never. Going. To. Happen.  This happened again last night when I was wide awake at 2 a.m.  I started reading The Sassy Curmudgeon (You should check her out. No seriously, check her out. She is one hot momma.) for 10 hours yesterday and this feeling came back to me. I decided I could keep a blog, it can’t be that hard.  There are so many reasons why this reasoning is ridiculous.

Example A: My diaries from childhood.  They have nothing of importance to say.  Unless the aliens that invade earth want to know everything I ate that day and exactly what I did, those diaries are useless.  They don’t even have any emotion in them, you can definitely tell that I was not a literary genius at age 8.  They also have approximately 10 entries written in each diary before I promptly forgot about them.  Real promising stuff.

Example B: Fanfiction, we used to be best buds during senior year of high school.  I used to read fanfics all the time and I somehow fooled myself into thinking that I could write them as well.  Luckily the first batch of Gilmore Girls fanfics I wrote only exist in spirals in my bedroom, because they are pretty atrocious.  However, by the time I was writing CSI NY and Glee fanfics I had convinced myself that they were masterpieces, they weren’t.  The proof is out there on the internet.  

Two hardcore examples of why this blog is destined to fail.  I simply am not a writer.  However, last night at 2 a.m. I convinced myself that I could do this, so I am going to try. I owe it to myself to at least try.