By rights I should be a baker. Fresh out of the oven.
Most of you labour over your blogs’ content. I know this because it’s palatable: You write a draft. You sit on it. You edit. Mainly in pursuit to either impress or, at least, not to make a fool of yourselves. And that’s great.
Different approach here. If I get so much as interrupted for a minute when writing one of my impromptus I lose interest. Completely. My loaf gone stale before it’s cooled down. Whilst there are many ways to use up stale bread, not least by making ‘Panzanella a modo mio’ or a Spanish Gazpacho, an interrupted fling on the page is – to me – a dead one. Fascinates me. Not least considering how I ‘normally’ write (longhand, spiral bound A4, HB Staedtler pencils complete with rubber tip – yes, really, that’s how particular I am), totally focused, no fluff, no bull, buried under printed matter of those who know where I not so much fear to tread as winging it across a low suspension bridge across a swamp full of crocodiles which I hope have just feasted on a banquet of idiots before setting their lazy eyes on me.
My blog and most my personal emails are my water cooler moments. Spur of the moment. Of the NOW, not a minute or two hours later. Thus I have a graveyard of the ‘unpublished’, one I never revisit. My point? Not a big one: When I am here (and what you read) as fresh as a daisy at whatever moment of day and night.
In other unmentionables: I haven’t won yesterday’s lottery. Just checked – I tend to postpone the evil moment believing that what I do spend money on is NOT the ticket but hope. Hope, being a feature of the future, best fed by not being in a rush.
For better or worse will press publish before something else attracts my attention.