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