Earth date: November 2, 2020
“I felt I had to write. Even if I had
never been published. I knew that I would go on writing, enjoying it and
experiencing the challenge.” Gwendolyn Brooks
Nine and a half years
ago, I started a blog. I’d met with an editor and of all the advice she gave
me, joining social media and writing a weekly blog were two important ways of growing
a readership. If I ever wanted to impress a publishing company, I needed a good
finished manuscript and a group of people (other than family and friends)
willing to purchase my book. Because publishing companies are all business, I
needed to demonstrate I could be an asset to the company.
So here I am 481 posts
later, 190,000 hits, and a handful of small pieces published to my name. Three and
a half manuscripts sit on my desk, some more finished than others, but –
honestly - I have no desire to see them published. The experience has been more
than the compensation I desire.
Somewhere in the last ten
years, I discovered the process meant more to me than the product. I love the freedom
of writing what I want, how I want, and when I want. I love not having to write
to meet the monetary desire of a publishing company. The 481 blogs represent
that freedom. Some are serious; some silly. Some are technical; others
fanciful. Some are fiction; others the bare-naked truth. But all are facets of
me, my personality without restraint.
So, with that, I announce a break. This year has been
a real eye opener, so I will see you in 2021.
This is my letter to the world,
That never wrote to me, -
That
simple news that Nature told,
With
tender majesty.
The
message is committed
To
hand I cannot see;
For
love of her, sweet countrymen,
Judge
tenderly of me.
Emily Dickinson, 1890
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