I’ve always had an issue with blank pages. The potential it holds terrifies me and taunts me, knowing that I could never live up to the splendor that it could hold. So instead of venturing any sort of attempt, I’ve taken to staring at its pristine purity and turning away, effectively, denying myself a voice. Then even when I take that leap and, on occasion, create something that doesn’t make me want to immediately destroy it, I find myself halted by my own compulsion to maintain that level and keep it untarnished.
The moral of the story is: I’m too high strung to ever realize my full potential as a writer. Also, have low expectations for this blog–both in content and frequency of post.
This blog begins as one chapter of my life ends and another begins.
Allow me to propose a toast, “To new beginnings”
Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop.