What the F*#@?: NO to Blogger Hari Kari

So, ok, fine, sure: I'm not one to talk. It's been almost a month since I last tacked up a piece of my life or art here for the world to scrutinize (read: my friends to laugh at or commiserate about). I realize that there are bloggers with more discipline; I realize that the holydaze hit hard; I realize that because of my techie limitations my blog is not really very pretty; I realize that with the advent of the Facebook Monster, people might look at blogger like others once looked at....I don't know, spandex? Mullets? Do I have to take pictures of myself wearing spandex and a mullet to get my point across? Don't test me.

Point is, I just went through the blog roll of my colleagues: the half dozen or so others (you know who you are) who struggled through an MFA program and then walked out into the streets of their lives and kept their passion, at least for a while, for the written word pumping by way of blogs--literary, clumsy, funny, tragic, multimedia, stubbornly not so, colorful or plain, political or silly. And you know what? They're almost all dead. And thus begins my grieving.

I do appreciate the elegies and homages and apologies and farewells offered up--like chocolate at a funeral--but it does NOT take away the sting, the fear that because this medium has become stale and people's lives have doubled in complexity and busyness, that I will lose my clammy grip on the strands that still bind me to them--to you.

So that is to say, I'm still blogging. Hard. Show up here and let me know you are not without breath or words in the world people, please. God knows we need a little community to survive the professional disappointment of MFAs.

Hugs and scribbles.