The Year Everything Important Happened

Happy Anniversary

Treasures from my recent travels

Ten years since 1904: The Year Everything Important Happened began and here we are, over a thousand posts later, and 3 household moves, and 3 trips abroad (several more if you count Canada and Mexico), 3 books privately printed, a play written and performed, a couple screenplays, a decade worth of birthdays, a few weddings (none my own), a few funerals (ditto), several other milestones thrown in, and 113 years since 1904 itself.

It’s been an interesting ride.

Lately I’ve taken to archiving the old posts.  I’m afraid they have not all stood the test of time nor the transfer from one platform to another: pictures lost, text corrupted, formatting spoilt. They’re gone now, although not entirely forgotten. They say nothing truly disappears from the Web, and there are time machines; still, not everything is worth saving.  With the nudge of a pressing deadline, however, and a certain amount of fatigue (read: laziness), I have decided to renew the current hosting site for one more year.  It takes time to dismantle anything, even a blog.

I have continued to write, of course.  It’s a bad habit and almost certainly not good for me but as I’ve given up most of the other bad habits I’ve spent my life acquiring, at this point writing is pretty much all I’ve got left.

The current project in which I’m deeply engaged is one I care about a great deal, consequently I’m putting real effort into it. I know there are people who do their very best all the time; I’m not one of them and don’t.  Not here at any rate, and not elsewhere, and certainly not all the time.

Sometimes, though, I’m willing to make the effort.  Or more truthfully, sometimes I  wake up and find myself already in the fray, battling my demons, throwing down with doubt, punching out reluctance, thrashing through the dark unphased by whip of thorny branch or scratch of clutching claw, exulting when I reach a clearing and stumble upon the next right word like a bright shiny glint of truth in the trampled underbrush.  In such moments, thus encouraged, I pause to wipe at the sweat and the mud and admire my find, and I wonder what I could ever have worried about, and I chide myself for thinking I should stop or give up, and I go on my way, rejoicing.


  1. I’m so glad, you keep going your way.

    Ps: through the wide web, can I, by any chance, find something about your play?

    • Thank you. Alas, you will not find news of my play on the WWW because it has not yet received the attention it deserves. Possibly because it only had a single private reading and one workshop staged reading. And probably also because I don’t send it out for anyone to read. But it was wonderful to hear my characters come alive and thrilling to hear their words spoken out loud for once by someone not me.

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