When I was younger, I wanted to write a book, and who hasn’t? You sit there, type furiously, and then you get millions of dollars. It’s a perfect get-rich-quick scheme.  Except.  I go through something I like to call the Cycle of Lazy. Here is how it goes:

Stage 1: “You know, I could totally write a book. Maybe about a kid. No, I know, about hearbreak. And science. And ROBOTS, definitely robots.”

Stage 2: “Ugh, I have been working on this for TWO WHOLE DAYS, and everything about it is the WORST.”

Stage 3: “I’m going to delete the whole thing just in case my grandchildren, while going through my belongings after dumping me in a nursing home, find the file and upload it on their holographic internal brain-meld computer screen and then laugh at me. I don’t want to be an embarrassing grandma!”

Then I return to my first passion: reading somebody else’s writing and eating truffles.

This is how I feel about blogging.  Before I created this, I had 10,000 things that I could write about IF,  to the tune of the Scarecrow’s Lament, I only had a blog. And now, I could write about a lot of things! And yet. Reading other blogs and eating truffles seems like a much better pursuit.



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