I'd like to think John and George aren't turning over in their graves after that reference, but I suspect they are. Sorry guys. It beats another self-defeating "I know everyone's blogging and I shouldn't be adding to the noise, but here I go anyway" post (which is honestly what I was about to do). Or perhaps it doesn't.
At any rate, it gives me a jumping off point, which is exactly what I need. For those of you who happen by this little splurt of the lexicon, I am a writer of some sort. I am not a published writer (can't handle rejection letters), not a terribly prolific writer, but a person who writes nonetheless. But I haven't been writing much of late, so this is an attempt to change gears. I don't want to keep hitting the burnout I inevitably hit when I limit myself to fiction. I don't want to make another attempt at tragic poetry, better described as a tragic attempt at poetry. I want to go somewhere inbetween, comment on the current, add a little non-fiction to the mix.
Thematically, I'm not sure what's going to emerge here. I'm a person who has to dive in before I can see the shape a thing will take. So for those of you who bear with me, realize there may be some searching here before a clear path emerges. Will it be would-be insightful political opinion? Will it be high-handed pseudo-spiritual demagoguery? Will the Right quake and fall to its knees under the blugdeon of my words.
Well, no.
I only hope "the bludgeon of my words" isn't a description that comes back to haunt me.
