My poor blog. I have neglected you of late. Cobwebs have gathered in the corners, opportunistic weeds have sprung up between the paragraphs. The proud capitals, the flagship of my sentences, have been overgrown by fungi. Decay has set in. I despairs--but there is so much else to do.

I’m struggling to get my first book (self) published, which puts all the onus on me. I have been toiling, designing covers, rereading the proof (just one more time), learning HTML, CSS, Java Script, just so I can build a supportive website.

I have also been fending off offers from promoters and book packagers, who are promising to boost the visibility of my book, all for a little or for a lot of cash. Success is just a check away, they promise.

No! Look for me on some street corner, selling from the curbside, while I offer to wash your windshield (as a bonus). You’ll not find me on Amazon, Indigo or Chapters. More likely I’ll be trolling Main Street with a sandwichboard, proclaiming the rarest books in print in all of Canada, perhaps the world.
Every book comes with a warranty: should you not understand something, I’ll be right over to your home to explain it personally.

But oh my poor blog! You have paid the price for my quest for glory and suffered the neglect. My garden of words in decline, forgetfulness eroding content.

It is a good thing no one is reading you.