Reader Worthy

IndieBloggers has been reincarnated, praise the lord!

It is now IndieInk and you can read it here.

Sorry....

My computer crashed while I was in Florida for work and I haven't been able to get internet access until now, when they gave me a loaner at the office.

I do have a lot of pics and stories to share very soon. Your patience is appreciated!

XOXO
Megan

Doesn't share well with others.

In an age where the "share everything" mentality has become the mantra of all twenty-somethings, I have to think, why?

Why do I feel compelled to churn away at my keyboard, advancing screen after screen of thought after thought. Why do I not feel some sort of satisfaction from censoring the good parts and keeping them for myself?

There was a time when writing was a very private thing for me. When I could sit down, get black on white and come full circle within myself. Some people figure things out with equations or by talking it out with a therapist until it makes sense. I figure things out on paper. With words. With the way they sound. How each one connects to each other. And after I place that last period, my thoughts somehow end up making sense.

That hasn't come as easily to me lately and I can't help but feel that in gaining an audience, I've also lost something.

I think there's something to being transparent. To disclose without fear or favor. But lately, all of this capricious divulging seems purposeless and unoriginal. It seems driven by a motivation that's foreign to me. And I don't feel as close to my thoughts as I usually do.

Maybe it's because instead of coming full circle on paper, I've finally done it out there. In real life.

And now. There's just less to figure out.

I swear I'm not dead.

Just kidnapped and being held hostage by work.