So here I am, belatedly arriving to this party. And there's a part of me wondering just what the hell I'm doing. Between all the blogging and other types of reportage I do, between FaceBook
and -- hold the phone a minute -- writing books, I'm not exactly sure where I figure I'm going to squeeze the time. But, realistically, there's an aspect to this social networking stuff that I find relatively irresistable. Maybe you do too.
I suspect this is true for a lot of writers. I mean, we're still sitting there, at our computers, and it feels
like we're working, so we don't have to build an excuse as we would for, say, a game of tennis or a walk on the beach. But we're reaching out, in very real and sometimes even meaningful ways, and touching real living and breathing people: they're just not living and breathing in your house. (Which, in the end, means you don't have to clean up after them. Life is good.)
I've just gotten here, long enough only to upload my bio photo and turn my page a bright, sunny yellow (am I the only one who has trouble reading white type on a black background?) and anticipate spending the next little while fumbling about and figuring out where I belong.