Preambling

*knocks*

*pokes her head through the door*

...Hello? Anybody there?

5 months of no writing; I feel rusty.

A friend of mine once told me that true artists are at their best when miserable; once their misfortunes reach an end and they're happy again, like Jane Austen heroines, Inspiration eludes them. Could it be true?

I realize I'm flattering myself, implying that I'm a “true artist”. Were I more realistic, I'd just admit I'm not this generation's Kundera or Salinger or Wilde – I'm not even the next Helen Fielding. I'm just an average girl (woman?) with Internet access at home.

Still, if I don't flatter myself, who will?

And I like to think my writing better than Stephenie Meyer's.

Moving on: maybe my friend's a cynic, I don't know. But I do know that it does make an awful lot of sense, from my point of view. And perhaps it doesn't have to apply solely to true artists; perhaps the same goes for average people with Internet access.

Well, I'm happy. Life has turned around in the most unexpected ways since March, and I didn't see it coming – not even when it was less than a foot away.

Not that I was unhappy before, far from it, my life was already pretty good. I just wasn't this happy.

And in being this happy, I, sorry to say, forgot all about this blog.

That is: until a chance remark by my great friend M.H. made me think; that remark, along with one of his own posts on his blog, and a comment by my other great friend Rick provided me with writing material.

Maybe I'd hit a writer's block because I was happy; maybe I'd hit a writer's block but didn't care about it cause I was happy. Maybe I was happy because I'd hit a writer's block. How many more combinations of “I'd hit a writer's block” and “I was happy” are there? Can I say “I'd hit a writer's block” and “I was happy” three times fast?

...no, I can't; in my defense, English is not my mother language.

The word we're all looking for now is: anyway.

Anyway, I now know what I want to say here, and I shall soon say it. Not right now, though, cause this preamble is far too long already.

But I've found my will to ramble about life again – whilst being happy, which I had not thought possible.

Alas! I may not be a true artist after all!

*shrugs and closes the door*