Oh, yeah. This old thing.

Odd coincidence, this. I recently thought about starting a blog (for NO ONE but me). This blog would be a means to put words on a page (again, for NO ONE but me ... and my future biographer). The original thought was because I wanted to write more -- "needed" to write more, much like I feel as though I "need" to be a better person. Having a blog was, somehow, going to make this "writing more" happen.

But my persistent procrastination was doing a number on my original inclination. Yeah, I need to write. Yeah, I need to get in the good habit again. I need to open myself up to the creative outlet. But registering a domain. Ugh.

Then. I catch up on the still nascent blogging efforts of a Writer I Admire. (I haven't been writing, but I have been reading a lot about writing, which seems like it should count for something.) Chris Jones asked the congregation for interview subjects to further explore the craft. I jot down three of my four favorite magazine writers (the fourth being Chris Jones himself), and am prompted to post under my GoogeID, which links to THIS. (Oh, technology of wonders.) This thing. This thing I started when I was laid off from the magazine world so many years ago.

And now, I can sputter to a start of the thing I meant to begin so many times before. Whatever it was meant to be.

So Much To Say And Little To Do

And vice versa.

In fact, very much vice versa.