This is the fourth blog post. Number four. The number I thought I wouldn't get to. Bloody wonderful.
I was going to write something anecdotally delightful that would make you laugh and laugh and think, “Man, I can't wait for her to write a book!” But I started and there was no flow. The words were clunky and forced and I realised that I am not yet ready for anecdotal delights. I am still in the purging-my-kak phase of blog writing.
So here is some more kak.
I thought I was going to keep this blog my little secret. Like a diary, but online. And then I realised that it (and I) desperately need to be read. Desperately!
But why? Why this neediness? Why can't I do this quietly on my own? What’s up with the audience?
I don't really have an answer. Just a very grateful acknowledgment to any readers who find these pages that the reading is critical to the journey.
It's not a dirty little secret. It's a public record. To live, it must be read.
I was going to write something anecdotally delightful that would make you laugh and laugh and think, “Man, I can't wait for her to write a book!” But I started and there was no flow. The words were clunky and forced and I realised that I am not yet ready for anecdotal delights. I am still in the purging-my-kak phase of blog writing.
So here is some more kak.
I thought I was going to keep this blog my little secret. Like a diary, but online. And then I realised that it (and I) desperately need to be read. Desperately!
But why? Why this neediness? Why can't I do this quietly on my own? What’s up with the audience?
I don't really have an answer. Just a very grateful acknowledgment to any readers who find these pages that the reading is critical to the journey.
It's not a dirty little secret. It's a public record. To live, it must be read.
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