I mentioned to a friend that I was considering another blog resurrection. Friend looked at me and frowned. "Don't you have a million better things to do?" A shocking response from Friend, who had in the past been a big fan. "huh?" I stared inquisitively, not believing my ears. Was this the same person who rushes to the laptop morning, noon and night to check email, read BBC, NYT and Slashdot obsessively? Is this the same friend who pours over Tiger Direct, Crutchfield and Quicken?
"How could you say that? You spend more time on this thing than I do!" "Yes, but I'm learning something." What a slap! "Well, someone has to write that stuff" was my terse reply.
Friend is not a fan of literature, per se. Friend prefers technical/politico texts. Friend does not find the blogging world valid. Friend had always been supportive of my artistic endeavors, my outlets through the net. (I sound like one of those flamboyant Englishwomen in a Hemingway novel)
Speaking of Hemingway, last summer I went on a Hemingway expedition. Previously, I was limited to perhaps "The Old Man and the Sea". I picked up "The Sun Also Rises" and couldn't put it down. I was hot off Oscar Wilde, with his florishing metaphors, dark red velvet secrets...to this short sentanced, yet dead on style of EH. What a life. I started reading another, I can't remember the title, all I can remember was a girl who wanted to be a boy - or maybe her husband was a homosexual.
Anyway. I felt kinda hurt. My only employ at the moment is to post my interviews with users of the website I work for. So, writing well is key.
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