This site has been a long time coming.
I've been online since the mid-nineties. At about that time I coded my first program, a text-based blackjack game, and wrote my first short story, a thriller about evading a stalker. I was eleven. Let's just say I was enamoured with probability theory. And not at all trying to keep death at bay.
Since then I've spent a hefty chunk of my life writing and designing, though not always whole-heartedly and not without digressions.
But somehow, in the nearly two decades I've been a resident on the internet, I've never set up a personal site for myself. Not that I haven't reached this brink before. But always, at the last moment, I would recoil.
Because I can't just write about things, you see. Not under my own name. That would be preposterous.
"Who would want to read it?" said that voice inside my head (you know the one). And in so doing, skirted a more interesting question: "Who would dare write it?"
Because though I write at length, I do so for my own amusement. None of the thousands of words I crank out every year are intended for publication. Let's just pretend that this is about procrastination.
And not with keeping death at bay.
To begin, begin.
William Wordsworth, unsourced
To begin with, this design I cobbled over the weekend will suffice. And this entry will be the first text. Half statement of purpose, half evasive malarkey. A good start.
The tricky part for me is to transition from writing in a private mode to a public one. But compelling goals should take you out of your comfort zone. Just not so far out that you abandon the effort and crawl back shell-shocked.
So my gambit is to stick to a simple publishing schedule: once a week, probably late on Sunday evenings, I will post a thing. I won't impose a word limit or any requirement to be profound or to contribute to knowledge or even to amuse. And if I'm lazy or busy that week, it will largely be plagiarized. But there it will be.
Small wins, delivered weekly.
Maybe I should come up with a jingle.