Control-Alt-Delete / 6-20-11

I'm back. Sans vengeance.

It wasn't vacation. Maybe it was writer's block. Mostly, it was me jumping through some self-publishing hoops as I prepare to launch my puny novel into a largely unwelcoming world, a scoffing, haughty, naughty world that undoubtedly has no time for my "literary" shenanigans.

But now I pledge to reboot the blog, starting tonight, because I have been sent new and shiny bloggacious ideas. One came courtesy of my five-year-old: an insight into blind patriotism. One's from the news: a commentary on something called Slutwalk. And presidential politics are heating back up again. And for all we know, God is still out there, as long as you define "God," "is," "still," "out," and "there" in just the right way.

Anyway, the novel, yeah, it's done. It was submitted to my "publisher," which is just a company I hired to help me turn my story into an actual good-looking, professionally presentable piece of prose on which I can earn royalties. (I promise, the book is NOT full of alliterations. I make it a habit to save the worst humor for this space.)

So the process was vain, the result likely vainer, but now the novella (25,000 words) is in production, and before the summer is through, it'll be for sale. Sometime in August, I'll write a post about it, a preview of sorts; sometime in the fall, I'll update you on my efforts to sell it to people who want to pay me for it. Then, it'll fade into the obscurity for which it was destined. Which is totally fine. Mostly, this was a fun hobby that kept me busy for the past two years. And completion feels good, dadgummit.

But for now, let there be write!

Sorry.

A New Hope / 9-6-09

I should explain... there are reasons no blog posts appeared here between July 25 and September 4.
No, I did not spend six weeks incarcerated for public urination following an incident at Safeco Field. That's just a mostly inaccurate nasty rumor.
No, I did not spend the month of August sailing around Cape Horn with the family. We barely made it to the Falklands.
No again, I did not remodel my house, crash my computer, or even enroll in rehab, as attractive as that last option sounds. (Replacing two planks on the deck, installing antivirus software and going four days in between alcoholic beverages is about as far as I got on all three of those ventures.)
I just got burned out on writing, that's all. I'm back in the groove again, especially after Friday night's directionless spouting on a topic that makes me so angry I can hardly organize my thoughts.
But I digress, which is no surprise.
I have posts in the works about Ichiro, Taoism, Obama's approval ratings, the swine flu, health care, the Seahawks, my at-last-completed novel, and rankings of U.S. Presidents who've served in my lifetime. All those are coming this week or next. Some tonight.
So you can stop holding your breath.