What's this for?
I'm attempting to use this blogging tool as a way to practice writing. This is in the hope that if I flex my brain's creative node often enough, I'll be able to start (and in one or two rare cases finish) some of the short stories that are lurking in my head. I have already been blogging approximately 500 words weekly on Myspace (the posts from which I'm going to start sharing here from now on) but I am beginning to suspect that it's not nearly enough. I'm going to aim for approximately 500 words a day on here. Wish me luck.
So here I am wittering away about nothing in particular. I doubt that anyone is going to read it. Which is lucky really - reading this kind of thing is liable to be the literary equivalent of watching a very unhealthy flabby person's first visit to the gym in years. Which is something else I should really be doing.
If only there was some kind of shortcut to all this - if I could get back the physical body I had fifteen years ago I probably wouldn't find the gym nearly as much of an ordeal, and it would be a good habit to get into. And a less decrepit brain would no doubt find dashing of a couple of thousand words every morning a breeze. So by the time I actually got back to the physical equivalent of 41 (albeit at the chronological age of 56) I'd be fit and prolific!
It's shame this isn't going to happen. In the real world I can only hope that all the freelance work I've got to do at the moment means that I'll be casting about for some displacement activity (that doesn't involve playing computer games, watching DVDs and reading internet forums). Of course it all depends upon what I really want - or need - to do more. If the freelance work is more important (after all the hopes and expectations of third parties are riding on the results) then at least I'll get some writing done. And if it turns out that the writing really is more important to me, then well, at least I'll get that pesky freelance work out the way.
Maybe in sixth months time I'll be mentally fitter and therefore reading my outpourings will be more the equivalent of watching some kind of amateur sport - enjoyable enough but obviously not as good as the real thing. Not that I don't want to aim for the real thing eventually, but at this early stage in the proceedings merely contemplating it seems a little presumptious.
I'm not sure about committing to the gym at this point though. It is, after all, at the top of a hill. And I do still manage to half convince myself that cycling to and from work every day is more than enough exercise for anyone. It probably would be if I put some effort into it, but for some reason I seem to cycle more slowly than almost everyone else on the roads. Whether this is laziness or just some residual timidity from being knocked off the thing and having my arm broken a year ago I'm really not sure. I'd probably be safer in the gym. Or indeed knocking out 500 words a day in this blog.
So here I am wittering away about nothing in particular. I doubt that anyone is going to read it. Which is lucky really - reading this kind of thing is liable to be the literary equivalent of watching a very unhealthy flabby person's first visit to the gym in years. Which is something else I should really be doing.
If only there was some kind of shortcut to all this - if I could get back the physical body I had fifteen years ago I probably wouldn't find the gym nearly as much of an ordeal, and it would be a good habit to get into. And a less decrepit brain would no doubt find dashing of a couple of thousand words every morning a breeze. So by the time I actually got back to the physical equivalent of 41 (albeit at the chronological age of 56) I'd be fit and prolific!
It's shame this isn't going to happen. In the real world I can only hope that all the freelance work I've got to do at the moment means that I'll be casting about for some displacement activity (that doesn't involve playing computer games, watching DVDs and reading internet forums). Of course it all depends upon what I really want - or need - to do more. If the freelance work is more important (after all the hopes and expectations of third parties are riding on the results) then at least I'll get some writing done. And if it turns out that the writing really is more important to me, then well, at least I'll get that pesky freelance work out the way.
Maybe in sixth months time I'll be mentally fitter and therefore reading my outpourings will be more the equivalent of watching some kind of amateur sport - enjoyable enough but obviously not as good as the real thing. Not that I don't want to aim for the real thing eventually, but at this early stage in the proceedings merely contemplating it seems a little presumptious.
I'm not sure about committing to the gym at this point though. It is, after all, at the top of a hill. And I do still manage to half convince myself that cycling to and from work every day is more than enough exercise for anyone. It probably would be if I put some effort into it, but for some reason I seem to cycle more slowly than almost everyone else on the roads. Whether this is laziness or just some residual timidity from being knocked off the thing and having my arm broken a year ago I'm really not sure. I'd probably be safer in the gym. Or indeed knocking out 500 words a day in this blog.
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