June has been a bit of a bad month for me. Not a lot of money coming in. Persistant health troubles. Father in and out of the hospital. Red tape and ugly, uncomfortable weather among other little things. As such, I have fallen behind on all my correspondence. When you add the fact that I am hardly a social butterfly and kind of absent-minded too, it’s easy to understand how this situation could have snowballed to the extent that Facebook is sending my queries as to why I haven’t logged-in in a while and friends are sending letters and emails wondering if I’m even still breathing. And don’t think I haven’t noticed a drop-off in the readership of this blog in the last few weeks! I realize I haven’t been posting all that regularly of late. No, I am not the type who one is likely to receive party invitations from. I tend not to attend parties either and when I do, I usually find an excuse to duck-out early. Like this past weekend, I attended a wedding of an old friend. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have gone at all, as I don’t do well in large groups where I’m expected to be sociable and on my best behavior. I went to the wedding and made an appearance at the reception, but felt out of place there. Aside from the bride and groom, I didn’t know a soul and am not usually eager to meet new people. Too much small talk and inane ramblings about nothing of significance.
Of course, the ability to express those little social niceties — to schmooze and rub elbows in public is part of the job of a writer and publisher. You have to promote yourself to others. So, it’s ironic, I suppose, that I should be a writer and small press publisher. It understandable why I’m not more successful. And yet, I discovered the written word largely due to my inability to engage in those social niceties, to find a way to express on paper what I could not in the flesh. As I say . . . ironic.
Anyway . . .
