It dawned on me today that the legends and heroes of the literary world aren't just great writers, who come in some abundance, but extraordinarily disciplined workers. It is is the distinguishing feature that I fear will render me avearage, as I am beholden to my laziness. I am in love with it. That is to say it is an addiction that I embrace, that I aspire to. Anything that can be put off till tomorrow, IS, for I am a man who seizes the immediate. This unfortunately has dire consequences for future immediates, and consequently life gets progressively stale, progressively the-same if you will. I put in mediochre efforts and I reap mediochre harvests, which I have become accustomed to, and even grateful for. Perhaps I should be more anal about what can be derived from my existence.
So in light of all these pre-discovered revelations, I have decided a daily blog is the best thing. Not for readers. Being the audience to my daily ramblings I think would merely confuse or exasperate most. But for me. For my own growth, for my own skills and for my own work ethic. Because I can write. I articulate gooder than them guys there. I pride myself in it. But what good is it, if it never produces something of worth? It becomes a mere self-indulgence. A uselessness in which to delude myself with worthiness.
Let's see how I rate.
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