About ten years ago, before I really understood that very few people are lucky enough to be able to make a living doing something they love, I had aspirations to become a writer.
I was a bit of an “artsy” child; drawing, music, creative writing, clothes making…you name it, I’ve dabbled in it. I was never really great at any of it. Well, music, but that’s probably a topic for an entirely separate post. I would have killed to have a blog space to express myself and write my crappy stories and articles. I did do a few submissions for magazines and was politely rejected. Now I see why. See, I’m just not very good at it.
I can happily ramble on in my blog about the Toddler or the OH but, having read some other absolutely fantastic blogs, I understand why people aren’t really interested.
I’m not going to stop, I just wish, as my school reports used to say, I could do better.