Like many things, it started with this girl. (And I'll leave you to puzzle on what her name was). As with many things, I wasn't so sure what I was doing, or why. At least at the time. But when it ended, as it was probably always going to, I was left with over 50,000 words that I'd written, with nowhere to put them and nothing do with them.
Let me backtrack.
I tried to impress a girl. My motivations were not too ambitious, I honestly just wanted a friend. A friend with whom there was little chance of ongoing contact any other way. She was talented, she was pretty (it goes without saying) and she was smart. What could I offer? Relatively little, I would say. She (said she) needed motivation. Meanwhile, I'm a fast typist, and I'm an analyst, and I have time. Why, then, wouldn't I take up the challenge of writing about motivation, twice a week, every week, to see if I could motivate her to doing all the things she was already going to do, but maybe sometimes found it easier to put off doing.
Did I work? Well... I don't think so. But then again, I've got 50,000 words written on motivation, so why not put it somewhere on a disregarded corner of the internet?