The pressure of a Blog:

Oh, the pressure of a blog - indeed, at the heart of this bemoanment, is the bane of any writers's existence - the pressure of words. The pressure to have all these ideas swimming round one's mind, hurling themselves and crashing into your psyche on a daily basis; the pressure to know that you NEED to write, that you NEED to be creative, that you NEED to tell the world something, ANYTHING, and do so in precious, intelligent, specific manner - to achieve that which is driving you inside, this mysterious pulse of creativity. The pressure of needing to be read, to be heard, to be profound, to be insightful, to be humorous, to be loved, to be crazy, to be lauded - the pressure to write well.

I feel this pressure like I feel my own skin, wound snare-drum tight around me, creaking and stretching with each breathe, needing to be caressed, needing to be released, needing to be sloughed off this writer's skin, and poored onto a page. Not in some horrific wax-museum-gone-wrong meltdown, not some shellacking of the page with a bombardment of random synopses firing at record speed, but in carefully constructed pieces of composition latched down, so when viewed from afar, the seemingly myopic pieces of wisdom and wretchedness form not a seared landscape of half-assed ramblings and utterences, but a kaleidescope of beauty, a stained-glass version of poetic arrangement of the written word, suffused with a kernal of wisdom and truth.

Oh, the pressure of a blog.