This Blog. This Dreadful, Laborious, Obnoxious, Magnificent Blog.

87 days ago I made a new year’s resolution to start a new blog.

This blog.

I vowed to post every single day for one year. It was a commitment made – in haste – without much any thought.

At the time, I had a lot on my plate.

A lot.

Much more than the average bear. But that’s a saga for another time.

Let’s just say that on January 1, 2018, the very last thing I needed in my life was to add another item to my already overwhelming daily “to do” list. But for some unfathomable reason, that’s exactly what I did.

Maybe, I’m just a glutton for punishment. Or, perhaps I’m terrified of running out of things to do. I once read that it is physically impossible to die until all of the tasks on your “to do” list are checked off. Right now I am so far behind that I’m sure I will live forever.

The truth is, I felt that daily blogging might make me a better writer. My goal in writing every damn day was to get the creative juices flowing and give me the impetus to finish my book.

When I began this undertaking, I asked myself, “how hard could it possibly be to capture a random thought and throw it into a short blog post? And, would it even matter if I skipped a day or two or even four? I mean, who would even care?”

As it turns out, I would. I’d care.

It’s not in my DNA to do something half-assed. So, here I am, stuck blogging every freaking day until December 31, 2018.

Although I pretty much write for a living and even though I’ve been journaling for decades, I was petrified about bringing private thoughts to a public blog.

Petrified.

So much so that some posts are concealed under password protection.

But exposing myself is something that I must do, for I will never become the writer I want to be by placating my fears and holding back.

I need to reach deep – to boldly venture into places within that even I never knew existed. I need to extract whatever it is that I find and turn it into words.

88 blog posts later, I’ve concluded that this blog is far from a mere exercise in futility. This incredible inconvenience has turned out to be one of the most cathartic experiences of my life.

While I don’t know if I’m a better writer today than I was 88 days ago, I am certain that I’m a less fearful one. And maybe that’s enough for right now.

88 blog posts down – 277 more to go…