The earliest record I have of my own writing is a diary from elementary school. I was probably about 8 or 9 when I started it. As I re-read my own words from so many years ago, I can’t help but laugh, cringe, and generally shake my head at my own prose. I’m thankful that no one (as far as I know) aside from me ever read it.
Now, however, I write content that has a life of its own. I publish my writing on the web, and it gets indexed, syndicated, and distributed in a variety of places. If I write something bad, I’m not just wasting electronic paper—I’m letting a lot of people down with my content. That’s absolutely the last thing I want to do…
