I’d tell you that even though I only quit smoking 12 hours ago, I’m already feeling the need to claw at my face. But I’m hoping to stick it out because I’ve promised my wife a picnic on the moon. That means I have to stick around until space travel gets inexpensive enough for there to be greenspace on the moon.
I’d tell you I have an amazing grandson who’s six. He pretends to be a dog and communicates in “woofs,” sometimes for an hour at a stretch. One woof means no. Two woofs is yes, and three, “I love you.” Four woofs means “I’m hungry.” I can’t remember what five woofs means at the moment, but too many woofs to count means “I hate you,” and nice puppies don’t say that. The woofs can also be used for counting.
You’d be surprised at the complexity of the conversations that can be had with that very simple code.
I’d tell you it’s been too long since I wrote any fiction, and I’ve set a deadline for starting that back up, even if it means these blogs I’ve worked seven months to get off the ground have to post five days a week instead of every day.
I’d tell you, too, that the social media network my friends and I have built over the last six months means a lot to me. It impresses the hell out of me, not because of its size, but because of the number of people who like or share our work, and take the time to stop by and comment often. I’d tell you I feel like I’m not keeping my end up sometimes and that I’m trying to figure out how to find the time to like and comment on more blogs.
I’d tell you this little blog is never far from my mind, despite the fact that my attention is elsewhere most of the time.
(Note – I haven’t decided for sure that this will post here every Saturday. I may move it around. But I it fits here, and I’m sure this is the best place for the first installment.)