Like a gazillion others floating out there in the ether, I write. Fiction, primarily, the occasional essay, and sometimes a poem or two. Until I find a 19th century patron, I also teach at a university. Among other things, I like sitting in corners and staring out windows for long, uninterrupted stretches.
(<<<<<<< See? Windows.)
One of my intentions here is simply to document what I’m reading or chewing on writing-wise. For one thing, my memory is growing more spotty, looking these days a little like the hide of an old cat. For another, I suppose it’s just good to get out of my fiction-writing head sometimes, as much as I hate the word “blog.” Yuck. Too bad this place isn’t a Dictaphone. I also have a real love-hate thing with the “I,” that difficult beanpole of a pronoun. Most of my fiction is in third-person, so this forces me into “I” mode whether I like it or not. And for the record, I don’t.
Anyhoo, I don’t hold myself to any terrifically high standards around here. I like the idea of this being a doodlepad of sorts, a place to keep notes and sketch out ideas and possibly share ideas with other like-minded folks. It’s just as likely, of course, that no one will read this, but writing for audience, imaginary or not, makes me sit up a little straighter. A step beyond the notes that I keep just for me. We’ll see.