On self-expression.

I suppose it's fair enough to start where (I imagine) every writer starts. Take a pick to the walls of the self, excavate and roughly polish every rock with the slightest potential to be a gem. Hone self-awareness without self-consciousness, if you get my drift. Everything's an autobiography.

This holds a certain undeniable appeal. After all, why do I want to write? Why have I, half-heartedly and sporadically maybe, but to the extent of my capacity for persistence, continued to try? Because as a reader, I know how it is to get in touch with another mind. And I can see how, as a writer, there exists the dizzying possibility of reaching out and connecting. Of performing, perhaps in the only realistic sense, telepathy. My thoughts, if I'm good enough, can become yours.

The challenge lies, then, in making my self seem just a little more interesting than your self. At least for the little while that we're together. Truthfully, sometimes, it's hard to convince even myself of this necessary conceit. But things go on, moods change, and the words eventually - thankfully - come.

So, sigh, yes. Self-expression. I've always felt that term to be vaguely distasteful. But, nevertheless, it is a relatively easy default mode that provides adequate practice as I strive for greater precision of language.