I never could have written a book without blogging it first.
A book seemed too large an effort, too comprehensive.
Maybe a “book” is not as awesome a thing as it once was, but for most of my life it seemed like something other people could do, but I would be well advised not to even try.
I did try, of course, a post-collegiate novel that went nowhere and, a few years later, an autobiography that I signed a contract for, but whose final draft was turned down, luckily for me.
A few more years later, having worked as an editor with short story writers and essayists and memoirists, I began posting some vignettes, some rants, some reminisces…on a daily basis.
Nobody cared whether I did or not.
So I did. After a few years, I had posted a lot of them, enough, it seemed to me, after I retired, to assemble them into a book.
Nobody cared whether I did or not.
So I did.
