Sitting in my study looking out at the setting sun. Reflection comes at this time. Mellowness. This night came there spooks and ghouls. Like winter solstice painted pagans they danced around my imagination saying farewell to youth and summers possibilities. Melancholy slips in easy and optimism becomes a struggle. This new blog takes on a new hue and seems like such an empty gesture. Shouting in the wind, yelling in the din of thousands of clamouring bloggers. Read me! Read me, pay attention. It’s so undignified. Why am I doing it? I can’t go abegging, visiting, saying: “yes you’re wonderful now come read me.” These get-numbers-games are not why I did this.
Play the game; agents like to know you can play the game – the ‘how to blog,’ blog I read said so. Therefore, here I am. One kind soul said good things and made me glow a little. That sooths but mostly I expect silence because I will not go blogging the way you are meant to. I’m not here to be that. That is a different thing.
I slip in to a circle of thoughts that come to me all night in the wakeful times.
When the sun comes again I look out the same window at the same view with mist beards clinging and bright new day there to shave and all that goes. I’m blogging because I must write, always I must write. When I escape from the current novel or the grind of editing and I must wait. When waiting I’m better writing so here it is: another yell in the void.