“There but for one consonant,” Dorothy Parker is reported to have said, “is the story of my career.”  It’s also one of the explanations for my absence from this space.

A writer gets tired of her own voice, sometimes.  She gets tired, period. The little energy leftover from the workaday world leaves little energy more than is required to drag oneself to the sofa and wait for an hour not too early to curl into bed.

And then there’s a matter of readership. I cherish the dear folks who follow this space and offer generous observations of their own. But the crawl toward an expanded group of friends with whom I might share the labors, it’s sometimes disappointing.

The frank addressing of reality tells the writer that no blog about writing is ever going to rocket to must-read status. A single news story about Justin Bieber has more potential. But make no mistake, this is not a whine. it’s just one more element in a combination of elements that’s put the brakes on this space. For a while.

Still. I find myself drawn to the exercise; to the share. I want to share my deep excitement about the book soon to be finished. I want to reach out and touch. So I will. And let the readers’ eyes fall where they may.

Hi, everybody. It’s nice to be home.

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