I have not written for a while. And am not going to for a while longer. Ironically, the reason for this is that I have just become even more prolific. I started working again and now I am too busy to sit down and write blog posts.

I am too busy with proposals and presentations and edits and zoom meetings and concept edits and putting the pins in that for a minute now when the boss suggests that course of action, which is every time the dumbest fu** in the Zoom meeting thinks they have a idea.

That is not an idea. That is your brain doing with synaptical and neural energy what intestines do with methane and undigested protein. That is a fart being formed and seeking a way out.

It has been hard being away from this for so long. Even though, to be frank, between just the two of us, I had kind of planned to take a break anyway…

Because this is the thing.

The difference between a good writer and a great writer is not style. It’s sincerity.

Now, me? I have got style.
I’ve got moves, baby, I groove. I have funk and rhythm. I have style.

I perform a song and dance for your amusement, mostly, because I like validation. But I don’t actually write, in the sense that a Writer writes. I don’t tell you what I am thinking, feeling, what I really am behind the screen or beyond the keys.

But guys, I am about to turn 46 years old. Technically, I am now an old writer. It is time to come of age. I have earned the right.

So, I am going to leave for a bit longer and collect myself, and return with my kanzu and kufi. It’s going to be brutal. You have four weeks to get ready.