My life has a way of is getting in the way of breezy writing about life.
The writers I know seem confident that little of interest happens to them; sometimes, their fascination with others' lives has made me wonder if becoming a writer would lend a spirit of the mundane to my overeventful existence.
(A hundred years ago, in a mandatory expository writing class, we had to read an essay called "Why I write." Well, if I could write German effortlessly, I'd be writing plenty here. Maybe.)
Further, annoyance with my layout here keeps me from posting as I would if I liked the visuals. Would pay to have it revamped, but don't have time to shop for and supervise that kind of service right now.
So until ... sometime ... it's adios.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
sabbatical
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