Really, it's been just under four years since we started this blog. 50 bits of stories each year for that long. What is it that makes up a life, anyway? Are most moments dull and drab and just a handful are worthy of telling about? Is it just how we see them?
These are questions that I have. I've also wondered if, when I'm writing, I'm missing out on living. One thing I am sure of, after asking these questions for two decades (that's about how long it's been since I was sixteen!) is that I spend too much time on surfing crap on the web, hanging out and (most of this next one is past tense) inebriated to worry about the entirely constructive activity of writing.
Dying to tell. That was what Mark Flanigan called this drive. Driven by it and away from it. The muse is a fickle mistress.
- Steve
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