The write stuff

I find the blogosphere quite intriguing. I suppose it feeds my narcissistic belief that all the world needs to know what I'm thinking, or perhaps I merely find it a creative outlet for the many random thoughts in my head, but I seldom stop to think about why I blog. I just do.

Whenever I'm gliding along in my ultra-fashionable and exciting life and have a profound thought, I feel the need to write it down. Share it with others. Impress you with my wit and insight. So I publish it on the "interstate" (as Peyton would say) for all the world to read. Occasionally even Google finds me profound enough to track, for the G-girl does love her some fresh content. (Yes, Google is a girl, because she gives you options and lets you choose what you want to do instead of making a decision for you and then dismissing you. But I digress.)

This past week, on the one day I actually showered, dressed and went to the office, I found myself on a conference call discussing how I use social media. Do I tweet? Way too often. Do I Facebook? Too many hours to count.

Am I published? Not in a traditional sense. But I do write a totally thought-provoking and informative blog, and I have over three faithful readers.

So no. No hardbound leather book exists with my name on the spine, but thank you to the handful of folks who diligently care what I think, what I say, and how I am.

Publish, smublish. I am a writer.