It's been awhile since my last post, which seems to be a pattern among a few others I follow. As days slide into one another, the challenge of writing something relevant and meaningful has become a grind. Or maybe more to the point, I simply don't anything relevant or meaningful to say.
I do know that the concept of life itself is taking a hit. I've always been unimpressed by the practice of living, but these days it feels like flat gray on a canvas of sameness. What's the point? In my first novel, a characters asks his friends that question, and gets a quick answer that says it all: The point is sharp.