There's this weird thing called time. I don't understand it; I only know that it seems to sneak up on you, and that one day, you get old, and you start thinking that one year isn't so long after all — one year is a passing moment, a blink, another tomorrow like how today was just yesterday, and won't even be today that much longer. When I started this blog, well, I don't actually remember what I was doing. Like most people, I probably got caught up in the craze. That and everyone kept telling me if I want to publish, I need to blog. I stopped writing it after a short period because, well, that I do remember. I'm lazy and busy, and the combination means I'm only good at juggling so far as there are only two or three balls in the air. I had the best intentions. But you know how the saying goes (if you do e-mail me or post it here, because I forgot it). So, time . . . Four full books and two half books into my writing career, a couple years worth of magazine articles, a zillion near misses, pages of positive agent feedback but no agent, and increasingly itchy fingers, still hasn't found my books a home. That is, all but one, and that one, I'm almost embarrassed to admit, I e-published my self, under a fake name (and if you read it, you'll know why). The tie in? A surprising number of years have passed since I started this blog, yet it really does seem like yesterday, and putting two and two together: passing time + not publishing + ignoring blog = same place, no difference (I never was very good at math, sorry), I've decided I better give it at least one more try (my former 'one more tries' only lasted one or two blogs at a time, alas, but I promise to try to do better). So, reboot starting today, more tomorrow.