Monday, March 03, 2014

Making sense of life

John Cheever once wrote, "I want to make sense of my life."

That is as good a reason to herd words for a living as I have ever heard. Leave it to Cheever, cunning at his craft, to say it best.

I have often been accused of writing about myself. Sure, I've done that from time to time. All writers do.

But what I really like to do is reveal things about me -- and also, perhaps, learn things about myself specifically and human nature in general -- through the stories of others. Big difference. My boss told me years ago not to spend too much time contemplating my own navel. It took awhile, but I finally understood. The trick is to get readers to discover your likes, dislikes, hopes, fears, questions and interests through the types of stories you choose to write. See what I mean?


It is raining this Monday morning. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes speedily.

Sunday was a day for slumber, but I couldn't sleep. I did rest, though, and I needed it. Last week proved to be lengthy, full of deadlines, commitments, what to leave in, what to leave out, with apologies to Bob Seger.

I am worried about the situation in Ukraine. Quite worried. Putin would love nothing more than to return Russia to its days of glory. You and I both know that isn't going to happen, but you and I both know what can happen when a despot begins dreaming delusions of grandeur.

Looking at the calendar, I just realized I moved into my home -- the first one I purchased on my own -- six years ago today. Six years! My goodness. Cue Macdonald Carey and the sands through the hourglass.

So much has happened in the last 12 months. Highs, lows, mountains, valleys, good days, bad days, going half-mad days, with apologies to Jimmy Buffett. I'll tell you about them sometime.

For now, I'm going to drift off to dream. My wish for you is a prosperous and happy week. Be careful out there, and don't forget to flash someone, anyone, your sweetest smile. It might just make their day.

Meanwhile, I'll be reading, thinking, listening, writing, trying to make sense of my life, and of yours, too.


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