Dear Mrs. DeAngelo: The dog ate my column
There is a secret www.ipinionsyndicate.com Facebook group. This is the location where iPinion writers sit around sharing our secret iPinion stuff. This group is very similar to the Bat Cave. In the spirit of “If I tell you I have to kill you,” I shall refrain from further disclosure regarding above mentioned group.
Further down the thread, Debra DeAngelo, our fearless leader shows up in her sexy leather cat suit. This time she came with a whip in both hands. Debra snapped each whip with a crack, catching the attention of the entire room. We were all sitting around in various stages of pajamas, sipping coffee, drinking wine, contemplating the questions column writers and bloggers contemplate in their secret places of gathering.
“There are two columns written by me, one after another. Do you know what that means?” Debra purred, snapping the whip once again for dramatic effect.
Matt Naj fanned himself delicately with a newspaper. Debra in a sexy cat suit laying down smack would give heart palpitations to the most conservative of individuals.
Heather Alani penned a little poetry, did a cartwheel, fashioned a working Porche from decopage coupled with tree branches, got into aforementioned car and sped away into the night.
David Lacy offered Aloha’s grass skirted and lei’ed as he headed out the door on his much awaited honeymoon. He paused to nail several darts into the picture of Donald Trump on the dartboard as he too headed out the door.
Maya Spier Stiles North simply smiled from her rocker with new granddaughter on her lap, her face the mask of new grandbaby drunk. There is no liquor on earth that can duplicate the giddy joyful feelings that come with a new grandchild.
Many of our co-columnists were not even in the room. Cathy Speck campaigns tirelessly for ALS day and night. Amy Ferris is always on a mission of championing humanity; her current project “Shades of Blue” is reaching individuals suffering from depression.
The question Debra posed, all sexy in her cat suit, is answered simply by:
“No one is writing.”
The start of this column is, of course, all very tongue in cheek, light airy and humorous. Humor is what I do in an otherwise unfunny world. I sat back and evaluated why I have not been writing. No iPinion columns. My own web magazine sits, a desolate wasteland of talent and possibility. My fiction writing goes untouched. I have come up with this simple conclusion:
There is too damn much to write about.
Every day something new (often negative) pops up that should certainly be addressed, written about, the conversation should get started, rolled forward. As fingers touch keyboard, something else equally grave, frightening, tragic happens. One idea is not completed; 750 words cannot get written without something new occurring, perhaps something just as important as or even more important than current topic, and should be addressed.
I have stuck my proverbial head in the sand.
My words go unwritten.
My opinions go unspoken.
It seems like logic to my brain: Overwhelmed by the insanity of the world that if I do not participate, if I do not acknowledge the world around me, that is simply is not happening. The problem with the stance I have taken is this: If I continue to have my head in the sand like an ostrich I will subsequently be led off the cliff to extinction like a Dodo bird.
I am no Dodo bird.
Let the writing commence.