Would that I had words that are unknown, utterances and sayings in a new language, that hath not yet passed away, and without that which hath been said repeatedly — not an utterance that hath grown stale, what the ancestors have already said.
This week marked eighteen years since I first pushed off from shore in my little blog-boat. When I think of how little I know and how little I have to say about it, I’m amazed I’ve kept going so long. I’ve never really felt like I suffer from writer’s block per se, because I’ve never had to write on a schedule, but there have certainly been many times when I’ve felt lacking in inspiration, wondering if I’d ever have an interesting or amusing thought again. And yet, somehow I’ve managed to pile up all these tiny writer’s blocks and assemble them into a miniature pyramid. Something to be said for sheer diligence, I suppose.