"Oh, I've always wanted to be a writer!"
They smile or laugh it off in the moment. Their next thought, invariably: No, you haven't. Or else you'd be a writer.
I'm not a writer, and I wouldn't say I've always wanted to be one, because that would be a lie for the sake of solipsism and this isn't a Xanga. I do, however, have a planet full of respect for the guys and gals who are and more than a little bit of envy. In my wildest dreams, I'd be able to write feature-length stories with the verbal acuity of Esquire's Chris Jones. I'd pen pieces that whipsaw between emotional resonance and self-effacing humor like the great Joe Posnanski, a man for whom the title sportswriter does a deep disservice.
But I don't do anything that approaches that level and, outside of one college course with a professor whose first and last names rhymed, really haven't ever tried.
The only way to get good at writing is to write, and there's not a day that gets torn from your Jeopardy! Clue-A-Day desktop calendar that doesn't contain something worth writing a sentence or paragraph or quatrain about. I haven't been able to write a daily blog. I made a bid in college, but it was more marketing vehicle than concise thinking.
I'm in a new city, though. It's a virtual guarantee that for quite sometime, I'll be seeing something (or multiple somethings) that I've never seen before.
So this seems as good a time as any to try. Though don't be shocked if nothing pops up for a couple months.