It is complete coincidence that I choose to revive this blog on Easter, the day all Christians celebrate the ressurection of Jesus Christ. I capitalize here out of respect, because while I am unlikely to ever have any gospels written about me unless I write them myself, I do appreciate when folks capitalize my name, and even some of my self-given titles. (The Shelfdust Gourmet comes to mind.)
I have several blogs which have been started and abandoned, mostly in favor of the quick thought-sharing that facebook allows us. Facebook is ultimately for facebookers, not for writers.
And I am, that. A writer. I'm also a fiber artist, a cook, a marathon walker, a sci-fi nerd, several other things that I only wish people to know about after my passing. (You know, the juicy "Bridges of Madison Couny" stuff that no one ever wants to read about Granny having done...)
Lately, I've been feeling the itch of phrases which repeat themselves in my head because they want to be written. Those moments where I observe people and craft their lives are becoming longer, more detailed. I'm staring at people in the same way that an inventor stares at a pile of pipes or a drawer full of cogs and springs. Rude as it is, that only happens when I'm fashioning characters.
Thanks to a recent blog post by Neil Gaiman that you actually have to be writing to be a writer, I've decided that facebook will be for pet pictures, quick updates, venting about traffic and all the stuff I would tell you if you sat next to me at work.
This is where the meaty stuff will go. Except the "Shocking Things That Granny Alia Did". You'll have to look for the shoebox to get that.
