Our Dirty Little Hearts

Okay, you sad little step-child of a blog. You've been around for over a year. Justify your existence.

Blogs are tricky because you play a game with yourself -- imagining that nobody's reading it and imagining that somebody's reading it. The nature of the internet, though, is that even if nobody's reading it today... they may read it months from now. And that's why you have to think about what you're doing before you feed the internet caches. Idle thoughts, proper nouns, can become virtual ghosts. They leave an imprint. They can come back to haunt you.

But you err too much on safety and it's easy to wind up with a blog that possesses a very slight personality.

I'll save the burning of bridges for another day, though...

Another round of the Summer Play Festival's coming up. I'm sure the finalists have already been notified. I'm looking forward to seeing the press release. With appropriate caution and dread. It's great to see friends succeed -- but enemies get their days, too.

Regardless, I may steer clear of SPF4. I was there plenty for SPF3. New year, new blood, as it should be. I won't be the guy drinking from a paper bag in the high school parking lot, telling people, "I used to go to school here..."

It's been a strange trip for me, since last summer. On paper, I'm doing pretty well, I think. But the green-eyed monster is always lurking. I don't have updates as often as I'd like. It's hard to really talk about work that's speculative.

This blog is probably just a series of oblique teases, I'm afraid. It'll have to do for now. Not ready to lay it all out.

I'm working. I'm writing. That's what important, in the end.

And the work's going to see the light of day.