Sometimes I wondered if this was simply therapeutic, confessions to myself. It does very little in terms of making me a better as a writer, it makes me feel better as a person and that really counts. I found my little piece of heaven in my tiny red book where I can retire to and write, ramble, complain, live, laugh, confess and forget. It would be what I call my very own pensive. I can revisit these feelings when I have the time and the inclination.
But I also want to write on my blog, I don't know how much I will enjoy after writing in my little red book! But I will try to write here as well. I need the grammar and the pretty sentences! :D