I realized with a shock this week that I have been blogging here at The Good Typist for ten years. Ten years! It totally snuck up on me. After combing through years of content this weekend, it became pretty clear to me that I haven’t done much if anything to “optimize” my site for better ease of reading and for finding posts by subject, type, etc. So I’m going to be making some changes to this blog over the next few weeks to make it easier to find things like my poems, short stories, creative essays, writing advice, and game reviews. I’ll be organizing and linking posts, so, if you wake up morning and suddenly have a hankering to read one of my poems or short stories, or you simply can’t fall asleep without knowing what I thought of Tomb Raider 3, you’re in luck! Hopefully, with the new organization, a few quick clicks will get you to your destination. However, I’m not that familiar with the deeper functions of Blogger, and I have ten year’s worth of accumulated content to sort through, so this is not a “snap of the finger” proposition. I also have a sneaking suspicion this may end up becoming a gateway project that leads to an actual, proper website.
This is probably something I should have thought about doing about two years in instead of ten, but hindsight is 20/20. While I biff off to sort out how I’m going to make this happen, here’s a poem. I’ll be back next week with a regularly scheduled, proper post, in which you may look forward to my complete emotional breakdown when the reality of how complicated this project is actually hits me.
By the way, if any of you out there are Blogger experts, I am accepting suggestions!
Who wants to read my poem
about the struggle
of the poet to write poems?
Who would like to commiserate?
Who would like to say oh that sounds just awful,
and but you're very talented you know,
and I'm sure you'll come up with something brilliant quite soon.
Who will send me a bouquet of scarlet pansies
with a little card to wish me
well in the way of words?
Who will leave chocolates in my mailbox, a yellow
beach ball in my driveway? Who will tell me jokes,
and call me afternoons to ask me:
How goes it with the dearth of words?
Would you like take a walk along the pier? Or share
a bowl of onion soup and warm French bread?
Who will lend me their feather boa, and suggest
sage-scented candles to open up my chakras?
And who would like to give me tangerines?
I'll accept compelling tales as well; your latest
horrid breakup or breakdown--anything will do
just as long as I can use it as my own.
Please leave all offerings within arm's reach.
I will gather them with idle hands, I will
collect them all.