I'm going to try and cram a blog in while I'm on my lunch break.
And I have writer's block today. I'm supposed to be working on two stories...one about Dr. King (today would have been his 81st birthday) and the other about sales tax. My brain does not feel like stringing words together to make coherent sentences today, little alone compose stories.
I did get one big thing out of the way today, however. I e-filed my income taxes and am expecting a refund at the end of the month. I have vowed to sock the money into a savings account (what little there is) in case my car breaks down again. Ah...the life of a poverty stricken writer.
Why am I even doing this blog thing? It seems really narcissistic. It presumes anyone else besides me cares about what goes on inside my ridiculous brain. Maybe it's a writer's version of "you talk to much and say so little it must mean you like the sound of your own voice." Maybe I write so much because I like reading my own words. Sad, really.
Maybe someday I'll write something...like the design book I've been working on for more than 10 years...and actually get it published and make some mulah and get a life. Not that writing for a newspaper isn't getting your words read by lots of people. It's just not the same. Ok, I'm just blabbering now. Blabber blabber blabber.