Not actually 84 years, but more than 8. I haven't posted to any of the dozens of blogs I've made (well, three, and a Tumblr that at one point I was fond of) in all that time. That's not entirely true. For a little while I had a blog on, I think it was called Ghost? It was fancy, too fancy, and I posted to it perhaps half a dozen times and then gave up on the fuss of it. That was a couple years ago.
So why am I back again to a thing that was never notable and that also is now an artifact of the past (a blog, that is, not *my* blog which is clearly an artifact of the past because I am that, myself.) The reason is, I'm not really part of social media, and there's words I want to share, and this is the place I came back to. There's drop cloths on the furnishings and dust is piled on stuff but that's fixable. The dust on stuff, that's my reduction in my already limited blogging skills. Which I can dust away; that being, uh, practice.
So I'm practicing.
Have I been writing? I have, and I finished writing a novel about Christopher Marlowe last week so that's something. But it's a mess of a novel, and I haven't been writing a whole lot.
What am I reading? SO MUCH. This is a banner year, where I've read about 165 books, and I'm aiming to pick up a couple more in the last 3 days of the year. Right now I'm reading The Hounding, about five troubled girls in the 1700s who might turn into dogs; and also The Hobbit, which I'm reading to Adam at night; and also Embers of the Hand which is a history of the Vikings.
I live in Portland now instead of Seattle, that's a big change. I'm a banker (only very recently.) Still married to Adam, still have two cats (did I ever talk about my cats, Jack and Daphne? They're cats, we have them.) We live in a condo that's big and on the edge of the nice neighborhood that's super walkable and I greatly like it.
And it's almost the end of the year, and the new year will bring new things. Maybe new posts. I don't know. Who can say.
