Welcome to the Tublogger. I named it so because I am lhbtubajon, and the first two parts of that name are important to who I have become.I mostly created this blog because I've never used one, and the idea is fascinating. In these times every man expects to create a kingdom around himself, with him as the king. I am not so foolish as to suppose that every person has it within them to create something on the web that other people want to read, but I am also not so self-depricating as to not try.
Still, my track record for journal-istic (not to be confused with 'journalistic') consistency is a poor one, and if I were to attempt to create a viable blog, it would be with considerable pressure against my natural tendency to just have a beer instead.
I am a writer by education, and often by trade, and I love to write. However, I do not love to write when I have nothing to say, which has long been the trouble for me. The 'muse' is difficult to find. I mean, how many people have had lives that contain enough of life's spice to make it interesting to someone else?
Imagine a series of well-written passages that all basically say, "Hi again. I woke up today, noticed something vaguely interesting, kissed my wife, went to work, suffered a bit, succeeded a bit, felt guilty and worthless a bit, struggled against the masses coming home, shared my day with my wife, and am blogging as I type." What dreariness and despair. What can an average person's blog say that a million, a billion other people's diaries wouldn't? Or is that the point, that when we read the writings of someone else, we prefer to identify with their struggles to the point of boredom within boredom?
I don't know the answers. I don't know that I'll even bother to fully explore the questions here. But as I've read the growing number of blogs, I'm asking myself, "What is the point of this, ultimately, and what does it say about my life if I, as a writer, have nothing to say?"
To be continued.
Maybe.
