The truth of it is…

I have spent too many hours trying to define what this blog functions as in my life. When I began it, I was thinking it would be a portfolio, a collection of everything that was my ‘best work’, so that when I applied to jobs, I could easily shoot off a simple link that pointed critical eyes here. The only issue with ‘self-publishing’ your ‘best work’ on your own blog, is that it becomes just that: published work. It sounds completely absurd to think that writing some blurb about your feelings and posting it online counts as ‘published work’, I know.

The truth of it is, if I posted all of my best works on this blog, I would never have anything but second-hand garbage to send out to publishers. Now, not all publishers are opposed to dealing with work that has been published to blogs or some other social media outlet, but it does throw a decent size wrench in my idea of turning this site into my ‘ultimate portfolio’.

So where does that leave us? Well, I think a less formal touch is needed to make this blog gain any sort of life. Most of it has all been disconnected, disjointed work that is random, sprouting from many of the different classes I was taking in college. There is a sea of blog-length essays that I have thought about writing, toyed with in my head, but ultimately, never started. I always made an excuse to myself that this was for completed work, perfected work. Because how could I ever share work that was unfinished or rough around the edges? How could I dare to be informal or open with myself on here?

These are the words that I have told myself; the words that have prevented and barred me from ever making something more out of this. And now that I think about it, ‘this‘ doesn’t only have to be the blog. It can be writing all together. Ok, ok, I got carried way with the italics, I know. But they put in work for me.

Pacing circles around my passion, poking it with a stick, seeing if it will do something extraordinary. Seeing if it will bloom and grow into something beautiful right before my eyes. Waiting for it to change me, mold me into something better. Waiting. Waiting.

And that’s all that is ever going to happen–waiting. Stagnation. Plateau. A dead end. Unless I stop thinking and start doing. 

While it is impossible to do without thought, it is all too easy to think without action.