Because I have a book to promote, I am supposed to blog. It’s apparently what I have to do to keep my book sales from sliding into oblivion. If my ranking gets any lower on Amazon, I’ll give up and get a day job. That’s a lie, but my point is: I’m desperate enough to start rambling about crap every once and a while and hoping that you will read it and find me clever.
Here are a few things to expect/not expect from my shiny new blog:
I hereby promise to never mention what I had for breakfast, unless it was exotic enough to warrant discussion. For example, if I ever have minty salmon pumpkin griddle cakes with creme fraiche, I will probably let you know about it.
I promise to never tell you that I have something terrible going on that I can’t tell you about it. That’s crappy and it makes me hate social networking. It makes me worry about people I haven’t seen in twenty years, when the terrible thing is probably a pregnancy scare or hemorrhoids. I also won’t tell you that I’m devastated over something that I can’t tell you about it. If I’m devastated enough to tell you I’m devastated, I’ll tell you why.
I won’t say anything about my children unless it’s funny and can bring them future embarrassment. I learned long ago that people don’t care if my kid is eating fishsticks or pooping on the potty . However, if either one of them poops in the front yard, I’m sure to share.
I’ll keep my political views to a minimum, even though a bunch of pompass jerk bankers are raping the US taxpayers in plain sight.
I’ll keep working on the appearance and format of the site. I’m more verbose than computer literate, buy I’m trying. Does everything sound good so far?
My hope with this blog is to make you love me from afar and hang on my every word. I need constant validation. It’s kind of sad.