I am not sure when I first had the notion of being a writer.

I think it was maybe sometime after grad school.

The job market was awful and I was spending 95% percent of my time reading.

Eventually, it occurred to me that with enough effort, I could do this too.

There are gatekeeper at traditional publishing houses and large websites – but I realized that I don’t need permission to blog.

Of course, there are other reasons to blog too.

Though I didn’t gain entry to George Williams’s writing class, the notion of being a writer, even a creative writer, had taken root in me. I couldn’t read Melmoth the Wanderer, but pretty soon, I made contact with the work of another wanderer, Jack Kerouac, whose effect on me, not to mention American letters, I’ll get to in good time.

-Larry McMurtry, Literary Life

Uh, yeah – especially blogging.

I mean, thank goodness each and every post stands on its own.

If this blog were a book, you would realize how big of a charlatan I am.

Writing is the art of repeating oneself without anyone noticing.

–Nassim Taleb, The Bed Of Procrustes