This is my 501st post, dear readers. And, uncork the bubblies, because I am moving towards the 10,000 hits marks soon. Sure gladdens the heart, makes me go all mushy and gushy.
Friend and fellow blogger John Baker had asked me to list the reasons why I blog. Thinking back, this is what I should have written then:
To think aloud, reach that point when my writing style matches my thought flow, achieve certain subtleties of prose.
To create links to my scattered writings on several forums and networks.
To create a community of friends, who also like literature, writing, reading, same as I do.
To create an online diary, which, on my deathbed I can revisit and know exactly what phases I went through in my life.
To create reference material when writing my next big novel (provided I can get my first one into print!).
To be a citizen's journal and document things that no newspaper would consider worth publishing.
I don't know if I have achieved any of these things. Friends do read my blog but seldom comment. What would it take you to comment. To slightly play with the words of an Elton John song, "What do I do to make you read me? What do I do to make you comment?" and then, "Blogging seems to be the hardest work. It's sad, so sad, it's a sad, sad, situations. And it's getting more and more absurd."
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