I always found it strange when people would complain about how much they hated writing. As a writing slut, I loved it all--dumb news releases, announcements, corporate white papers, speeches, strategic plans, and even some fiction that was somewhat better than dreadful. What I used to call my rhetoric machine was nothing more than an over-active unconscious from which words would spew uncontrollably, often with me being just as surprised as anyone else as to the outcome.
Alas, it seems the rhetoric machine is on the blink. It's not writer's block. There's no dearth of ideas, simply some age-related neurological condition. Instead of words flying as fast as my fingers can type, now every word has to be dragged kicking and screaming from my conscious mind. And my conscious mind is nowhere near as interesting--or erudite as my unconscious. For the first time since I knew I could put words on paper, I no longer think of myself as a writer.
But...don't cry for me Argentina. I had a great run and had more fun than anyone has the right to expect. You gotta play the cards you've been dealt, not the cards you wish you'd been dealt.
But rather than let these blogs languish or even kill them off, I've decided to use them for short rants & links to interesting articles & books & ideas.
What I probably won't do is promote them as much--but who cares?
In Jameson Veritas