That's okay, I don't mind. It's almost like talking to myself, which I normally do anyway. The only difference is that some day, someone else might comment on what I wrote and make me feel like a giant ass for putting a comma in the wrong place. Everything in moderation, I like to say; which is why the delete key is my favorite one on the chain to my desk.
The whole reason I started this blog was to see if my writing was worth the paper it was written on; in my case, a flat screen monitor that isn't a stranger to the word echo. For as long as I can remember, my mother has been hounding me to do something with this unproven and counterproductive skill. "You need to get off your ass and do something with your writing!" She'd shout into her phone, while proceeding to unleash her yearly sales pitch, "Why can't you at least tryand get published? Did you get that email I sent you last week from Reader's Digest? They're alwayslooking for good articles. You need to send them your blog!" *Sigh* "Yes, mother."
What she doesn't understand is how hard is. Not because I can't think of anything to write about or because I'm scared of rejection; but because it's a little nerve-racking waiting on comments that never seem to come. The only thing worse than finding out that you suck as a writer, is NOT finding out all at because no one is reading a word of it! But regardless, I keep writing and waiting to see if some jackass is going to call me out for poor sentence structure or a couple of mispelled words (yes, that was intentional). And I keep hoping, that if I wait long enough, some honest schmo is going to shoot me straight and tell me what I've been waiting to hear... "Your mother was right!"
After all, isn't she always?