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Monday, May 2, 2011

A Quick Note

Laters this week I should have a post about Arbor Day, but until then I thought I should let you knows: I started a Spake Blog Here --> In this Secret Link <-- And I have been blogging there regularly. I don't know why, but I have ideas spilling out of my head and I just know I could blog until the wombats and alpacas come home with the cows... (So, if you see someone named Spakedom commented on your blog it's just me under a Secret Guise trying to confused the population of bloggers)

BUT over here I feel like I am floundering just the tiniest of bits. I was talking to a customer at work today and he mentioned that he was looking into self publishing and we started talking and along the way I mentioned I had a blog. He said, "Oh, what's it about?" And I kinda' gaped at him like a fish. Like this fish:

*goes to find picture of gaping fish*

*is disgusted and runs away*

Ugh. *shudders* I forgot that I am Utterly Detested of fish. Grossgrossgrossgrossgross....

You know what. Forget the gaping picture of mouths. I HATE mouths. I have just decided.


So I thought to myself, "I don't know what it's about? Is that okay?"

And I wondered to myself: "Does it bother you?" I mean. It's all well in good to write for oneself, but if I were to write only for myself I would be writing in a journal. In a book. That you did not see. Cause that's the thing with a blog. A part of it is for me, sure, but it's also for You guys. Are you annoyed that there's no structure this way? That I come and go and wander around and dance into the fog while you're still boarded up inside? Or that I board myself up at home while you're dancing in the square?

So I suppose, if you want my Solid Responsible Consistent part of me you can visit Spakedom. If you want my Spastic Colon, Wombat Squealing, Hyper-Active Mocha-Coffee part of me you can visit me over here. Sometimes I think there is too much of me to stay in one place. Which is why I'm always accidentally sprinkling bits and pieces of me into my characters.

Maybe that's what all authors do. They have so much inside of them that they can't keep it all to themselves and they just end up spilling it out into words. Or artists do it through pictures. Or musicians through music.

It is said that creative people tend to have more connections between their different brain parts. Maybe we simply don't know what to do with all those connections. So we throw up our souls onto slips of paper and parade them around in the hopes that someone else can make sense of them. But in a good way. In a way where we're most happiest, most at peace, when we're writing, since that's what we were created to do at birth, what with our messed up brains. And stuff.

I think that makes sense. Either that or my one character, Philosophical Solomon, is just messing with my brain again.