Only in West Virginia
Today at a WalMart parking lot, a pickup truckload of teenage girls tried to give me a chainsaw. It was used but looked to be in good condition but I have no use for a chainsaw.
Irrational Fear of Fame
And I’m talking about a tiny bit of fame. I had a restless night last night analyzing my recent upswing in readership.
First, I’m uncomfortable with attention. Yes, that’s the irrational part. At first, when only a few people read my posts, it was easy. Then it grew to dozens. That still wasn’t too bad. Now there are literally hundreds of people reading my tweets. That scares me.
Second, I have to avoid this growing impulse to try to sculpt my writing to what they readers seem to like best. Give em what they want. If that’s what readers wanted they wouldn’t be reading my writing in the first place.
Third, what’s next? While I’m having fun posting my writing on twitter it is creatively limiting. It’s time to start working on longer works. Maybe even get back to the submitting my work to journals thing. The horror.
The sea calls
We are two miles from the Atlantic ocean. I haven’t seen it yet, but I can feel its presence.
The campground is two miles from the ocean. We had to drive 30 miles to find a place where you can park and see the ocean. The seafront has been consumed by the military and rich people.
The birthday went well. Went out to watch a talented singer give a terrible performance at a bar called Big Woody’s.
I’m getting the hang of driving around here. Just do the opposite of what the signs tell you and you wind up where you wanted to go.