Is writing keeping me from writing?
I did not start this blog as a marketing tool. Good thing, too. I experience enough failures in my life without creating more of my own.
No, I started this blog as a writing tool. At a time when I was struggling to find the time and mental discipline to write another novel, I figured a blog would be a good tool to keep me writing on a regular basis.
And it worked. I have kept writing. Regularly.
But, has it kept me from writing?
I know that sounds stupid, but let me put it this way: Have my self-imposed blog writing “responsibilities” prevented me from working on my novel?
Taking a dispassionate, purely quantifiable view, the answer is Yes. Continue Reading »
It was my mother’s social ambition that taught me to love books.
Nails clicking on the hardwoods, he pads toward my dawn-chilled room. I see his greyed muzzle poke around the open doorway, black nose wriggling. His old limbs are stiff, but he’s always been like that; he was never young. Churchill’s Black Dog was never a pup, never a young whelp filled with enthusiasm and love of life. He’s always been a grizzled, aged hound, waiting out his final days in lassitude and despair.
I’m a good tipper. As long as the service is good, I generally tip 20% because after a glass or two of wine, the math on 20% is easier than figuring out 15%. (Yes, I can be that lazy.)
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 