Sometimes I like to pretend I’m a writer.

I pack up my laptop in the bag I bought specifically because I thought it fit the image and head over to a local coffeeshop, where fellow wannabe writers and undiscovered literary geniuses alike sit with their screens casually (read: pretentiously) tilted so that everyone knows they’re the real deal. WordPress, Blogspot, and Tumblr are all tabbed, Microsoft Word is up, and various scraps of paper and pens are artistically scattered around the table.

I carry around a tiny notebook like what I imagine legitimate journalists do and furiously write down any random idea for a story that pops into my head, with the wild notion that when I go home the first thing I’m going to do is sit down at my MacBook Pro (or drag it over to the coffeeshop) and get my idea on paper.

Like I said, I’m only pretending I’m a writer.

I don’t promise daily posts, weekly posts, or even a somewhat-close-to consistent schedule of posts. I don’t promise that you’ll like everything you read. I don’t promise that everything I write is even worth your time to read.

However, as I am choosing to live in my fantasy world of being a writer, I do promise I will continue to write. I understand no one might ever read my posts. With the world of casual blogging, why would you? One day I might be able to turn this into something. In fact, I can’t wait until the day I become legitimate enough that people actually want to read what I have to say.

But until then, I pretend.