My very first entry! (No applause, please. Save it for the end.) I’m thinking this blog should be subtitled, “Yet another excuse not to be working on my latest novel.” See, I’m one of those slow writers. We’re talking turtle-with-a-head-injury-covered-in-molasses slooow. When I’m really knee-deep in “the writing zone,” a half a day can slip by completely unnoticed. Meals are skipped. Showers, too. Exercise? Forget about it. (It’s kind of surreal because I’m usually pretty regimented. Lunch at 12:30; mid-afternoon snack at 2:30; lights out at midnight on the dot.) Anyway, when I finally snap out of the zone and assess what I’ve accomplished, if I have few decent new pages, I consider myself lucky. And it’s not like I visit the zone on a daily basis either. I go through phases. Which is why devoting precious writing time to a blog is completely out of the question.
AND YET a guy like me with a lot to say isn’t necessarily going to find a way of expressing it all in his books. Not that any of it is all that brilliant, or funny, or even comprehensive. But keeping it inside might be hazardous to my health – rupture my spleen or something. So maybe I’ll give it a shot, this blog thing. I mean, there are no rules, right? No minimum word-count requirements like short stories you’re submitting to magazines. I know! I’ll just keep my blog entries lean and blurby. Twitteresque. A bloglet. Short and to the point.
AND YET a phrase like “short and to the point” and me don’t even belong in the same sentence together. Obviously. That’s what editors are for.
AND YET a good editor is never around when you need one.
NSA, NSA, NSA! (Non Sequitur Alert) Okay, this is such a harsh non sequitur you may get whiplash, but a woman named Yetta came to my door on Saturday. She was running for City Council and gave me a flier, a button, and a handshake. I wanted to say, “Yettanother spry 20-something running for office?” or “Yetta, you’re a real go-getta!” or suggest “Yetta? You betta!” as her campaign slogan as opposed to the uninspiring “Yetta, Yes!” she had printed on her buttons. But did I? No. It’s called self-restraint, people. AND YET her unusual name probably subconsciously inspired this “AND YET” thing I’ve got going on in my new bloglet. Hardly a big hairy deal, but it just goes to show how everyday life can weave its way into one’s writing – even in the teeniest way.
Whoa. That felt sort of cathartic (which here, Lemony Snicket, is a word that means freeing and oddly revealing) – AND YET a bit inane at the same time. Maybe I should keep on blogging. Maybe I shouldn’t. Who knows? The world is filled with unanswered questions: To be or not to be? To blog or not to blog? To vote for Yetta or just forget her?