For a few years I had another blog. But I had stopped writing there. Over the summer I tried to change the name and leave the posts. Then I deleted all the posts. Which at the time seemed the right thing to do, but it made me kind of sad. Because as I was deleting them, I was reading them. And while they didn't approach any kind of literary standard, a lot of them really honest and pretty good. And once I had obliterated all evidence of my previous blog, I found that I was bummed not to have a place to write - you know, just in case I wanted to.
'Cuz as Joni Mitchell said, "You don't really know what you've got til it's gone."
Also, I think much of what I'd previously written was falling into the category of cute/funny/smart things my kids had done or said. And they're getting to that age where maybe they don't want their foibles (however cute or funny or smart they may be) splashed up on the Internet by me. Some people do that, and while it's fine (and lucrative apparently) for them, it's just not my bag (anymore).
Plus, I don't want to have my personal, identifiable business out there for the world anymore.
But I do want to write. I want to sound off about things that annoy me or effuse about things I like. I want to tell about that really great book (My Name Is Mary Sutter, for instance) that I just read. Or how absolutely cool it was that the author responded to my emails (not once, but twice) when I wrote to her about how much I loved her book. I want to write about music that moves me. Or about how I watch way too much television.
It's been brought home to me recently that life is too short. Maybe it's been this that has led me here. But Joseph Campbell's mantra of, "Follow your bliss" has been going through my head today. And maybe bliss begins with a barbaric YAWP! Or, in my case, a few hundred keystrokes...