At the end of each year, the blog posts thereof become a book. I suppose it is a way of being a ‘published author’ (in case I never finish the-book-I-am-presently-writing). Blogging has also become one of my many forms of journaling and the resulting books are mainly old fashioned paper products for my grandchildren to peruse in years ahead—exclaiming over the fact I was not always the crone in a corner at ‘The Home’ mumbling to myself about cinnamon rolls.
I think three more blog posts are necessary to tie up 2019 and prepare its blog-book for publication. One about me; one about politics; and one about holidays, friends and family.
About me. So I’ve said most of this before but since it’s the end of the year, please indulge me. I’m deciding what to call myself for this next decade of my life. Traveler, reader, writer are how I’ve been privately describing who I am for quite awhile. It occurs to me however that traveling is soon to taper off to what will probably be annual visits to the California family and, I hope, now and then to Minnesota. This is not necessarily for lack of desire, but largely for want of money and energy. Soon then the label ‘traveler’ must become ‘traveler emeritus’ and fade into oblivion.
Reading will always fill the nooks and crannies of my life. While waiting, falling asleep, disappointed, curious; seeking knowledge, pleasure…whatever the occasion a few pages or chapters have always made it better. It pains me to say that my reading time has been cut into by Netflix/Hulu/Amazon Prime/Acorn/BritBox/MHz…so many excellent series and films (…among thousands of hours of trash of course) You must be careful not to fall down the black hole of streaming whatever flashes and booms at the moment, but it is possible to avoid that with great self-control—and an ample supply of Nordic Noir and Ken Burns series.
About writing. A big story for me right now. Because I am actually writing a book. And am far enough along to believe it will be finished sometime in 2020. Will publishers bid for the pleasure and profit of publishing it? Unlikely. But it will be a real book of literary non-fiction, perhaps to be self-published, perhaps to be selected as an NYT book of the years and adored by millions…yeah right!
About Words. Of which all writing is comprised…and I use up multitudes of them on lists (especially lists!) and diaries and journals. I blog and consume some more. Single words, sentences, paragraphs, pages…And now the book. Words everywhere. And just to prove how word-centric I am here’s a repeat of the Kyrgyzstan Incident. Sick with some variation of the plague, well, not actually the plague, but a traveler’s dysentery event as briefly horrific. I was delirious for a few hours…during which I dreamed of and babbled about…words. Not books, language, stories…just words. Rows of them, mountains of them, columns of them. I couldn’t make them line up or stack up as I wanted. Every time I came to I prattled on with great frustration about the words. Now is that a real writer’s nightmare or what? Therefore I am a writer.
Anything else I should like to say about me at year’s end? I’m old but healthy. Happy but cranky. Busy but distracted. Very much looking forward to next years, next adventures but not death.
I’ll be back with politics after the next debate