Preemptive Retaliation

Between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, I blogged a lot. It was part of that time when everyone on the internet had a blog. We used livejournal, or xanga, or myspace. I started out on blogspot with a website that I still pay the url for. I spread out eventually. WordPress for when I grew up a little and left behind childish things. I ran a couple of those – playing with pseudonyms and identities – before going all hipster and switching to livejournal, claiming I had been on it all along. I blogged a couple of times a week. I don’t know how I spent so much time on my words.

The thing is, I know they’re there to look back on. I could just go and check them but… I don’t think I’m ready for that look into my younger psyche.

I made many new years resolutions at the beginning of the month, and one of them was to blog more. Well, that’s not true, it was to increase my presence online. I still have twenty or so books sitting under my desk ready to sell – spelling mistakes and all – and I won’t sell them unless I make myself more of a thing. And entity. A commodity. These days they say that half of being a writer is selling yourself, and I think selling yourself sounds easier than writing.

So what should I write about? The mundanities of life? My job? My quest to lose this stubborn gut? I don’t know, I feel as though I should only write on topics that are tangentially linked with writing, or I should link them back to writing in a deep and meaningful way. 

Or maybe I’m over thinking it.