I may not be Hemingway, but I love to write. Maybe I always have. I don’t know. It really didn’t occur to me until I was in Iraq and felt that writing home was my only way of clearing my head. My family and friends loved the letters. They were posted in blogs, were published in newspapers and even got me and my family on the news a couple times as the hometown hero or something.

Now every chance I get I am writing in some blog or something. My wife thinks it weird, but she’s supportive. My original blog was getting so congested with content, that I started having spin off blogs to keep things more concentrated based on subject matter. I’d see one thing interesting online and post it with a comment, or I’d just take that article and rewrite it to my own view point. writing writing writing. thats all I seem to do these days.

Even at work, where I have to make phone calls that people never answer, ends up being just another chance to write an email to them. Yes some of the emails are templates, but you have to adjust them and make them personal so the reader doesn’t open in up and say “WTF..another piece of spam.” It’s an art really and Ive been working on perfecting it to the point where my boss has been asking me to help put some together for the team.

I don’t post too much in this blog, but that’s going to change as part of the new regiment I’m starting. Since writing seems to be therapeutic or something, I’m going to use this as a creative outlet to figure out what I want to do when I grow up. that’s the major topic of discussion these days at the house.

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