I've never done a blog before. I do believe that opinions are like bowel movements: everyone has them and they all stink. However, multiple sources have said that if I want more people to read my books, I must blog. It's required.
Don't get me wrong. I believe writing is a wonderful release for the soul. That's why I write stories. These stories contain my thoughts and opinions. They're just in a more palatable form. I put in some weirdness, a little sex, and some violence; and, viola! You now have my point of view. I think this is one of the reasons Jesus Christ preached through parables. They're much more attractive to the mind then simple facts or bare opinions.
Hmm...I just had an idea: I should write a story for every blog entry. It'll keep my creative juices flowing and won't bore my audience to tears. Well, let's give it a shot:
There once was a boy in the middle. Everyone else in his small village was either really, really left or really, really right. The really left people wrote with their left hands, drove on the left side of the road, and would only kiss their loved ones on the left cheek. The really right people would do the same things, but on the right side and with their right hands.
The boy in the middle could write with both hands and would kiss people on the lips instead of their cheeks. He didn't drive though. When you live in a village where people aren't sure which side of the road to drive on, it's pretty dangerous to get on the road.
His friends wanted him to pick a side, so he could be like everyone else, but the boy liked things about both left and right. Of course, there were things he didn't like about left, but he could say the same thing about right. Thus the boy decided to stay somewhere in-between, where he was happily ostracized for the rest of his life.
Ooops, hold on. My opinion needs some more decorating.
...and the boy was dragged out of his home one night, laid on a stone slab, and tied down. Then the villagers slit the boy's wrists. As the boy's life slowly ebbed away, the villagers circled around the boy, holding hands and singing songs. At midnight the villagers dispersed to leave the boy's corpse to rot on the stone slab. In the early morning, vultures came to pick at his carcass and returned his body to the natural world. Thus the boy who refused to pick sides in life united the town in death.