By Diane Silver
Instead of being a good blogger today and posting about the fate of nations, Paris Hilton, George Bush's stomach, his return to drink or return to near drink, I wrestled with my day job. Since February that day job has involved mostly magazine freelancing, although I am setting my sights on some book projects for the future.
Today, though, I wrestled, screaming (although not quite like ole' Paris screaming her way to the clink) with a 2,000-word feature that just refused to be subdued. I've almost got it pinned, but I haven't prevailed yet. Thus, no blogging. At least not today.
This is a tough story. It's the first one I've written on spec, as in on "speculation," which means I don't have a market for it yet. Thus, I find myself being super, compulsive, obsessive. Of course, I'm usually a tad obsessive about my writing, but this time it's even worse, but you don't need to hear me babble about that.
What I really want to do is put on my Mom's hat and write to poor Paris about the slings and arrows of life and how they can actually be a good thing. Maybe later.
And so it goes...