Le Mot Juste

I had no idea how liberating writing a blog would be. I write down all my inner thoughts and fears, launch them out into cyberspace in perfect security that they will never be read. It's more secure there than in a diary with a little key. There it joins the vast tsunami of personal info that's sloshing about all over the blogosphere to the extent that no one ever looks at any of it. This is tremendously freeing. No sense of writing for an audience, no possibility of hurting anybody's feelings. And no sense that anything I write down on these little screens will ever come back to bite me in the ass. I see now that I had a last remaining magical notion that some opinion of mine, once written down in cold black ink would somehow clang through eternity as a given, rather than a talking point. If I had written more when I was younger, perhaps I would have abandoned this silly notion earlier. But I suffer from a common malady among writers: I think words are important. I think the right word is very important, sometimes even crucial. Le mot juste and all that, when perhaps le mot juste pour maintenant is a more workable notion.