Bloggers fall into two categories: those who have something to say and those who think they do. I suppose I find myself in the latter but I can’t help it. I like words. Mostly when they come out of my mouth/pen/keyboard.
I have written things before. My claim to fame is a very conformist poem about hunger in the world that I wrote as a kid in East Germany and that was actually publicly recited (by me, of course) at some half-important politico-cultural event. Along with a few fancily non-rhyming teenage outbursts of lovesick poetry and 4 1/2 hand-written pages of a never-completed crime novel this comprises my early work. I decided that a good writer has to have experienced a few things before she can write stuff that others might want to read.
My next attempt some of my friends will probably remember with nostalgia or horror, depending on their tolerance of lengthy sermons. The Memoirs of a Globetrotter were my way of keeping my family and friends in the loop during my two years of travelling around the globe. They were kind of a travel blog although, in my ignorance of modern little online helpers, I sent them as emails and attached the photographs. Well, you live, you learn.
After my travels I went back to university, and four years of writing scientific papers, essays and theses thoroughly dampened my desire to produce anything written in the near future. Obviously I have now entered the somewhat more remote future which means I feel the urge to write stir inside of me again.