I have always wanted to write.
a book. a short story. a something.
I love (love) books.
kids' books. short stories. novellas. non-fiction (some). fiction (much). articles (of interest).
one of my favorite things to read is the smithsonian magazine - cultures, nature, opinions. interesting, always.
so, I have always had stories creating themselves in my mind. a few times I've tried to write them out. I haven't done so well with that part. it's really hard. I start second-guessing myself. I don't have an education that taught me to write. I struggled immensely in my british lit class in college - I loved the reading, but had a really tough time writing about what I'd read, what I'd discovered in reading.
I love to type. (strange, I know.)
sometimes I do typing tests just for fun.
part of the reason for this blog is so I can write, and type.
it's silly, it doesn't fulfill any purpose other than thinking, getting ideas out of my head, sharing it with the few people who care to stumble across this page from time to time.
once, I started re-typing a book I enjoyed (and still do) just to get rid of the turn of phrase that annoys me that that particular author uses in everything she writes. I never finished (it was a short enough book, but looong to type), and wouldn't have done anything with it - but it was a release. it was fun.
tonight, I found myself wishing I could write better.
maybe I should just start.
even if no one but me ever sees it.
it'll be work.
it'll be a release.
but I think it could be fun.