I rather like a good blog. It's much in the way of enjoying a good piece of chocolate or sliver of cheese. You nibble a nosh here and a munch there - digesting someone else's philosophy, words and images. It's voyeurism, in the sense of popping into the page of someone else's open diary.
I write in my head. All the livelong day. So it's something of a relief to have a blog. A place where I can write the thoughts out loud and read them back one day. When I feel I've nothing to say, I'll be able to come here, peruse the nonsense and pieces of importance that I allow to filter out.
My own written time capsule. Pieces of Paige, bits of -ism. What an extraordinary concept.
This past weekend I painted, read, researched, growled, studied, blushed and devoured. I'm still steamrolling along my own little story wagon -- slowing down enough to enjoy the scenery, but not so much that the breeze draws me away.
The words matter. The lessons are vital, and the truth is somewhere in between.
If you'll excuse me, the characters, dream and unraveling are calling me now. Happy creating all.