I have returned from exile.
I've spent far too much time conforming. I only ever started to write in the first place because of insomnia amongst other darker reasons. An easy creative outlet with no pressure or expectancy. Sit, write, publish. Never mattered how good or bad or how grammatically screwed up my musings were, it only mattered that every time I punched the keyboard it was real and I enjoyed it. I can quite easily admit to the fact that I haven't enjoyed writing for a long time now.
I guess I keep on doing this because I'm obsessed with chronicling all my thoughts on this magnificent club we belong to. The problem is my delivery has been sideways rather than killer.
When I say writing is therapy I mean it, but I've done myself a disservice. Sure, life has changed in the past six years. I've had to change half a dozen times because of it. None of this will be relevant to most of you but the truth is if I didn't need to blog I'd have quit by now.
Lost my way. Lost my edge. Time to sharpen up.
This is one of those self-serving moments where I publicly smack the life back into me, so the hope is if I start to enjoy it more then it might have a knock on effect, one that you'll notice. Regulars will understand. Everyone else that's gatecrashed can go stand in the kitchen.
Too many writers/websites/blogs read the same. There's differing degrees of flair and insight but for the most part, what with the source material being identical, there is so much any given person can read twice. It's more congested out there than the Spurs midfield. Much like our team, I'm left seeking an identity.
So, here I am. At the beginning once more. A bottle of rum, a battered keyboard and any set of words I wish to share.
I'll stop short wanting Spurs to be midtable again.