Introduction

Turnip.

It is an odd sort of word to begin with, I suppose, but to me it is as good as any other. Beginnings are much too stressful  So much, in fact, that I believe the desire for an adequate beginning outweighs all else in the creation of a blog. This may account for the numerous times I have tried and failed to keep a blog. After the beginning is established, the thrill that comes from the first words to impact any reader that may stumble across such a sacred thing is quickly dispersed, and I am left with endless pages to fill, but no particular desire to write down any of the mundane events in my life.
And yet here I am, typing out these words in complete defiance of my undesirable history in blogging. I find it tedious to sit down at a computer and make any sort of creativity or passion seep out of the mind-numbing sameness of Times New Roman characters. It is a formal and common font, although I fear that many people often abuse it and write as though it were a font as casual and vulgar as, say, Comic Sans MS. I do not mean that Comic Sans is a horrid font- on the contrary; I used to refuse to type in any other font, since none other would suit my purpose. I prefer to write by hand. The absence of any set font is appealing. Disorder and imperfection, in such small amounts, can reveal itself to be quite comforting to the troubled heart. And this troubled heart is what has brought me to write. For the past two years I have kept a notebook, or a diary, as some would prefer to call it, and I have learned that it is never the beginning that is ever recognized or remembered. At times I would find myself aching to take a pen in hand and make an attempt to force my ardent desires and impressions to take shape in the form of ink on a page. Tried, and often failed. Even now I cannot capture the full extent of the emotions and words that boil inside of my chest. Writing is too imperfect. Words limit and hold back true feelings. A brilliantly composed love poem can never be nearly as strong as the passions that brought it to life. Yet however much is left behind in our hearts to be blown away by everyday things and distractions, it is still better to capture a brief moment of suffering, love, or awe, so that our memories may fill in the rest. Which, of course, leaves you at a natural disadvantage. You are not me, nor will you ever be.
I want to write. I do not know how, but I assume that will come with experience and practice. Unfortunately  the sudden and urgent need for me to write often comes when I am in a position that is most inconvenient  When I do find myself in a position to take advantage of any ability to write, my  mind is empty of the various poems, passionate speeches, and fiery sermons that occupy my mind at any other time. And so, my collection of random, yet powerful written thoughts is small and quite underdeveloped.
I would like to fix that.
I have so many thoughts that are fighting for attention that my mind is just now realizing the massive task I have taken up. It is my earnest wish that I may conquer it.

-Ariel Liddell