I really didn’t have a plan when I started this particular writing episode a little over two years ago.

Other than an outlet for a few memories that I wanted to get into print, should certain of my progeny ever wish to read in the future, this venture was aimless.

I thought maybe the caveat that I have at the top of the blog, something about being homespun and other like adjectives, would cover the exceptionally blunt, raw, or otherwise crude ways in which I put my words upon the screen.

I really felt that I had this thing mostly to myself, as far as rules go.

I felt like once I had the initial things on my mind written, and they mostly for my family who may or may not read this, that I could call it quits and be none the worse off. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I still write for my family, first and foremost.  If some of you wish to peek in over their shoulder, so to speak, you are more than welcome to.

However.

Believe it or not, I have considered enrolling in a creative writing course. 

And I have considered trying to change my style.

I’ve considered a different platform.

Because, you see, it’s like this.

Each time I write there’s this little side bar that pops up with a score of the piece I am getting ready to post.

So far, I have failed 186 out of 186 posts.

My title is often a failure.  It says it needs powerful and compelling words to draw the reader in.

The length of the piece is always wrong, and it often tells me it’s far too spread out all over the place.

And pictures.

I need a picture, right under the title that sort of summarizes the whole thing and gives a visual of what your eyes are about to partake of in the form of words.

And then there are the tags.

I’m supposed to tag each post with one or several tags that make good search and summarization criteria for future searches.

I’ve read up on the history of famous authors.  Of those within the last fifty years, nary a one has plunged into the writing business without several accolades from very noteworthy colleges behind their names.

Many of them have years of experience in the field abroad and nearby. 

All can take a severe critiquing of their work and make the proper changes without a whimper.

Yesterday, I and my friend Jed who is also my barber, had a discussion on various and summary. 

Towards the end of my haircut, he asked me what I thought of ChatGPT. 

I told him I had been intrigued with the concept, but never checked it out.

He gave me some pointers, and last night, I made myself an account with the site and checked in for my first bit of a homestay. 

I am in the middle of another piece, entitled simply, “Boy.”

I thought, “Why not?” and copied and pasted it into my little nook over there on Chat.

More quickly than I could read, it printed out a edited copy of my piece.

I read it and compared it to the original. 

It was good.

It had a really nice title and instead of my one sentence paragraphs, which I seem to have a soft spot for, it had everything condensed into nice blocks of palatable reading.

And, if I didn’t like that version, all I had to do was click the ‘regenerate’ button at the bottom and it gave me yet another version to contemplate. 

It had a nice opener, a comprehensive spot of color for the main text, and a decent flourish to finish it all up.

In the end, I come to this.

When it comes to writing, it appears I fail.

I don’t have the titles, pictures and all the other adders that make for a Pulitzer prize piece.

I just have me.

Which is, quite possibly, all there will be.