I’m reading my posts and they don’t represent me accurately. I mean, I wrote them. It would be a hell of an irony if I didn’t, considering I also ghostwrite for a living. Image me bringing in a ringer to write my own blog.
Click on the home page. Now look at that smiling guy. That’s me. These posts are dark. I can’t figure out if I’m just reading them that way because this page is all in shades of black or whether the shades of black make me write that way. Chicken or egg, chicken or egg.
THE FOURTH HOUSE comes out in less than 2 weeks and I still don’t have my copies yet. Now when I read this back, it will sound morose and whiny. See, if this page was eggshell white with pink and red highlights…everyone would think I was a 16-year-old girl on MySpace.com.
I know; I’ll brighten the place up a bit.
Isn’t that better? And purple flowers are kind of macho, I mean, as flowers go.
THE FOURTH HOUSE comes out in less than 2 weeks and I still don’t have my copies yet. See, in this environment it sounds optimistic, wistful, and full of anticipation. Ah, I can just smell the…what the hell kind of flowers are these, anyway? I’m a guy; we don’t know from flowers.