boom.

If contractions were blog posts mine would be spaced eight months apart; not so much pregnant pauses as false labor.

I'm afraid it may take a shot of whiskey, clean towels, a midwife and forceps to pull out the next entry.

This is not due to a lack of material. Just the opposite.

What with Twitter and Facebook and Reddit and Friendster and MySpace -- scratch those last two -- I am overwhelmed by the opportunities to get my point across on multiple platforms. In the old days there was one soap box, now there are twelve.

Certainly you can see right through this ruse about writing about writing. I am merely marking time, dog-paddling, creating a digital placeholder to give the illusion that I am actually contributing something, anything, to my literary canon.

It is all smoke.