It seems that each time I return to use the platform on which this website is built (i.e., WordPress), it is in need of an update. Although the update should be automated, that has never worked, and still does not. The reason for this is lost on me, and I don’t care to take the time to find out. Instead, I’d prefer to write and to think about what I am writing.
I am contented to say in this post that, at least for the time being, I am more interested in writing to write than to share with you. When I started blogging in 2004, and in each of my restarts since then, I have felt the need to reach out to an audience – even if that audience was a limited few. Writing publicly allowed me to share many thoughts and visions that I otherwise wouldn’t have had occasion to share. And I received feedback from some folks that they liked what I write, or they found it sad. Most often, people wonder if what I write is true. They usually wonder this about those entries that blend what is left of the truth when it’s pecked by my fingertips with the thoughts dangling about in my head like cured meet in a butchers meat locker.
I want to write short stories now because I have many ideas to write about. They’re bigger than blogs, and will take more time. They’re bigger than me, and that I don’t mind. They are what they are, and they’ve been sitting around like pickled eggs in a jar. It’s time to go down, go ’round, go back before I forget what I’m good at.