No, my name isn't really Guess. Nor is my last name really just an "M". My location isn't Pittsburgh, but rather a close suburb of the city. I didn't specify these things because I don't want anyone to be able to search for me and find out who I am. I do have a regular profile, but it doesn't work for this. I don't want to be spied upon by those from my past. For some odd reason I find the need to protect feelings and protect the easy going way of life of those that have slighted me. That's who I am. I care, even for those that couldn't care less about me. But I also care about myself. I care about my right to say what I want to say without having to worry about how somebody will take it or process it, or use it against me. That fact brings me to the purpose of this. I'm a writer, and as a writer I draw from inspiration. That inspiration stems from things that have happened to me in the past. I use that inspiration to craft my work. I won't make myself sound like a professional because I'm not. I won't say that my writing is good, because I honestly really don't think it is. Regardless of that, I'm tired of having to hide the things I want to write and want to say because of my constant worry for the feelings of others. I don't want to make people angry. I don't want to make people sad. I don't want my actions to cause them dismay, even if those people are the ones that might deserve such feelings. This is a place where I am not known and those connections cannot be made. No one can make assumptions because I may as well be a shadow here. A mystery. Mysteries don't have first and last names. Mysteries can't hurt nor can they be hurt.
These blogs won't contain anything about my life. It's just writing. Just me doing what I like to do. Some things that you assume from the writing might be true. A lot of it won't be. A lot of it will just be ambiguous references to aspects of life long forgotten. A lot of it will just be about lessons having been learned. A lot of it will just be about what I felt in the moment those words were being written. Every emotion you can see and take from the phrases here is real. The sadness on paper is marked with the tears and the anger with the jagged rips where the pencil tried to give more emphasis than simple words written could ever give.
That in itself truly is me, and truly is real. The emotions of a shadow. The emotions of a mystery. The only evidence of the man behind the mask.
