Hope you all had a great weekend. I didn’t get to work today (writing day) so the little treat will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m sorry. But I just got an email from a dear friend who got me thinking about a situation we might all find ourselves in at some point (Her situation is not like this, but
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On Monday, I expect to have a long-awaited treat for you all: an insider perspective on alternatives to the CBA market. Until then, I leave you on this fine Friday afternoon with an early year-in-review, a projection, and a prayer. The “moral” vote: “This year, a lot of motivation [to vote] was driven by religious beliefs.” Conservative action: Commentary from
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Last night, I tried to preserve some words for my fiction. I did write a couple pages. Better than nothing. But it wasn’t satisfying. My heart was here. Last night, I made the point that writing is for the readers and not the writer. I believe that. I believe it, and yet I struggle against it. When I first started
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One thing that’s never far is the thought that speaking is inimical to writing. When you talk, or blog, in a very real sense, you run the risk of stealing from the eloquence you might have used in writing. A word picture: you steal the pressurized ideas and are in danger of finding later only the watery dregs in the
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Before you read me, go read Frank Viola Jesus, the Revolutionary. Sheri’s off to the grocery store while I baby-sit. And I wonder why I don’t feel a shudder of exultant joy being with this little miracle. Instead, I’m typing a blog entry on my laptop. And not that that’s a bad thing. It’s a small miracle in itself, this
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