In Which I Contemplate Actually Writing Something

Somewhere in my many  notebooks of memorable quotes and notes, I have scribbled a witticism that states the only writers who are truly failures are those who fail to write.  Ahem.. guilty as charged, your honor.  Shall I begin my sentence* now or after penning a thousand times “I will not claim to be writer unless I can show my work”?

This weird and wonderful thing known as life has swallowed much of my writing time lately, but I’ve made a promise to myself and the universe that I will set aside time for this thing that I love to do.  Just call me Rusty while I get back up to speed again.  I promise that you’ll be rewarded with lots of annoying writing exercises, odd bits of doggerel  high quality verse, and perhaps another novel if I can find my editing hat amongst the unfinished manuscripts.

Thanks, as always, for your patience with my hit-and-miss posts.  Until next time, hope you’re enjoying this long, hot summer.

*Bad pun most definitely intended.


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