A Triumphant Return to the Blogosphere

The red carpet is rolled out.

I'm wearing my best Armani suit.

All the agents want me, and all the publishers are dying to take a piece of my brand.

I'm waving at all of you, and the the hashtags are flying on Instagram and Twitter.

But as I look around, I realize I'm the only one here -- well, me and my three adoring fans.

Hello, three fans!

*waves*

You mean those aren't agents and publishers, just cardboard cut-outs? Well, then.

I offer no promises this year. With each undertaking of this so-called Blogpostathon, there's a threat that another 'Thon will go unfulfilled.

I don't want a 'Thon to go unfinished, but among the scraps of yearbooks and teaching and burn-out and creative deserts, there's no knowing if I'll finish this thong.

Whoops. I mean 'Thon. Not thong.

There will be no thongs in the making of the 2018 Blogpostathong -- er -- 'thon.

My fingers just stumble upon the 'g' like it ain't no thang. It's just the speed in which I type -- which is 100 words per minute.

I'm crazy fast. Crazy.

Back in high school, I, for whatever reason, signed up for a FULL year of typing.

Of typing.

Of listening to the teacher chant letters as our fingers tapped the keys of any given letter.

O...O...O...
M...M...M...
G...G...G...

I mean, my fingers should cascade across the keyboard like Liberace, a blur of dry-cracked winter skin and the music of plastic keyboard keys. I may have learned in high school, but I worked on my WPM during college.

I have AOL Instant Messenger to thank for that. Talking to people across campus, across the state, and even in other states through text on the computer. All for free. It was the way to keep in touch. It was texting before texting was texting. It eliminated the need for calling cards and long distance phone bills. It allowed for my generation to construct clever away messages. Some days, it wasn't about actually talking to people, but seeing what wit they dug up. We were able to choose fonts and colors. It was a way to create a digital identity without selling my soul to the devil, Russia, or the Dark Web.

I will need to keep practicing...since I have 39 more days of writing ahead of me.

May the posts flourish. May this be a successful 'postathon.

And may you keep your tomatoes.