Brain (s)Craps

Yeah, so I think Blogging is ridiculous. I've told my friend Chad this before. There's nothing as fatuous and tenth-rate as spewing your vitriol onto a weblog that no one reads but you and the two or three other pathetic folks that suckered you into writing the damn thing in the first place.

If I sound angry, well, Kudos to you, Sherlock! I have been dragged kicking and screaming into the world of the Blog and now, much like Randall McMurphy after the lobotomy, I can only sit in stupified wonder and drool, as I watch myself type out...a blog.

It's really not that bad. There's nothing like opening up your private life to any passing motorist. In many ways, it's like walking down a crowded street and asking every tenth person to kick you directly in the bollocks.

I suppose it satisfies the frustrated writer in many people. This of course includes me. When I was younger I could sit down at the old Apple //e and fire up the trusty old Borland word processor and bang out what I thought were fairly good short stories. Most people I showed them to enjoyed them and this was, of course, encouraging. So what happened? Did the well of creativity just dry up? Had I squandered my talents by the tender age of twelve?

Nah.

I went back and read the damn things. I suppose that in some ways, they might have found an audience if ever published. Much the way the old Mack Bolan serial novels used to sell. If you have never heard of or read the Bolan series...well...you're probably better off. Lots of guns, gratuitous violence, hot chicks...hrm...maybe they weren't so bad after all. Anyway, the stories I wrote made Mack Bolan look like masterpiece theatre.

So.

Here I am, 20 years later. Have I learned anything? Probably not. Ask my wife and she'll confirm I still act twelve years old. Now I'm just a married twelve-year-old frustrated writer.

And to Chad for sucking me into the world of Blog...

"Poo to you with knobs on!"

-J