True story: In the five months since I graduated with a professional writing degree, nothing has frightened me more than... writing.

The bedrock of this fear was laid during my first semester at college. All through high school I had blogged my life away, letting every Tom, Dick and Harry (or, you know, my friends, youth pastor and mom) know my outer-innermost thoughts--and then my professor told us that journaling and blogging was a waste because we were wasting the energy we should be using on writing marketable copy. It's not entirely why I stopped doing fun writing so much, but it is a part. I bought into the pressure of writing perfect copy every time, and I forgot that my writing was enjoyable before I started working on a schnazzy degree.

Recently, a lot of my friends have started blogs, and I've thought, "Golly, it would be fun to join in on that." But like I said, my fingers have been paralyzed with fear. That I won't be witty enough. That I won't be thoughtful enough. That I won't be fantastically poetic. (See how I didn't follow the rule of three completely there? That's what I'm talking about.)

The truth is, though, I love to write, and I've had about 80 bajillion things I've wanted to write about while I was wondering what people would think about the way I wrote the things I never wrote. So, I'm going to. And if it's wonderful, I will make all kinds of money off the ads I sell and the book deal I get. And if it stinks... Um... I've already got a degree in this stuff, so let's just hope it doesn't.