There's a part of me that occasionally says, softly with a hint of embarrassment, "I write a blog," but, in truth, I feel like blogosaurus rex.
Many of my contemporaries are gone. Mick, Matt, Sean, Tim...the list goes on. Is it, at this point, a guilty pleasure? A joke?
I'm not planning on walking away, mind you, but the more I look around, the less I see.
At the same time, many of the people I respect are still going along. Jeff Pearlman, Joe Posnanski, etc. A lot of it has also gone mainstream, in that people have moved them to places with, GASP, a certain amount of editorial control. Kind of like selling ones soul. Which, hey, I totally get. I can be bought too you know!
I still enjoy it, but the output ebbs and flows admittedly, mostly due to life concerns (you know, overrated things like sleep, relationships, kid, work, and so on).
Still, this is where I get to write and have "fun." Nothing is assigned. I get to write what I want (within reason and with a certain - large - amount of responsibility).
I know that some "respected writers" look down on blogs. Bloggers have that stereotype of being poorly reported. Certain broadcasters thumb their noses as well. Then again, they always have and probably always will. Conversely, a friend recently noticed that I gave him a shout out and thanked me. He had no idea this little home on the range even existed.
I'm babbling. Just thinking.
All apropos of nothing.
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