Trying Again

I am trying to sell myself as a writer but for some reason for the last six (?) years I have been afraid of writing. I let the TV push stuff into my head but I edit the TV with the remote control: CNN, MSNBC, what's Bill O'Reilly pushing on FNC, Yankees, Mets, now the NBA playoffs, and back around. So I'm still writing, with the remote, but really not. It's the epitome of ephemeral ... and usually I do it increasingly inebriated, which is thus even more ephemeral.

Maybe it's discipline, maybe ... ok, a skunk just let off outside my room.

So still I live with my writer brain and I use the phone as a blog, lately, my mom has been my best audience, and via IM'ing, my friend JB -- in today's high-paced world of today, the blog has replaced the phone. IM'ing has replaced writing.

None of this makes sense -- as a columnist I was famous for writing at the last moment.
I was always trying to find the perfect lead ... I haven't heard that lead, or listened for it, in six years. So we won't abuse the muse ... everything I thought I was going to type into here the last week struck me as lead-less and uninteresting. A phone anecdote. So now I'm writing around it all ... but I'm writing.