I like to call myself an artist. This shouldn’t infer that I’m any good at the arts that I dabble in, just that I take them seriously. I write poetry and lyrics. I sing and, once upon a time, played guitar (quite well, I’m always proud to point out). I draw badly and paint horribly. And I write.

I write a lot.

Again, I’m not especially good at it but I do take it seriously and do consider it an art. I started this blog because the one I previously worked on is now gone. I’ll refrain from telling that story because I’ve no doubt it would degenerate into a displeasing rant against the web service in whom I so foolishly placed my trust.

Obviously I’ve nothing against ranting but it should provide the audience some measure of pleasure.

It occurs to me that if I accept writing as an art then I must accept blogging as such as well. I have a strict rule about the works of art I produce. No matter how good or bad they may be, once they die they don’t come back. I’m very strict about this because there have been particular pieces I’ve worked very hard on or come to love intensely that were later destroyed, lost or otherwise gone bye-bye. Attempts to resurrect those pieces always proves futile and the heartbreak magnifies. When it dies, it dies and you must let it pass away in peace.

To that end I begin again, despite all the backup copies of this and that I have from my previous blog and all the associated material from that site. That child has passed away. I’ll store the pictures and keepsakes away in a special place and carry on with her sibling. It truly wouldn’t be fair to treat this new creation as anything less than a completely new creation.

And so we begin again.