There is a folder in my Dropbox with the name, ‘It’s a Joke.’  Inside it are subfolders.  One is called, ‘Files published.  Another is called, ‘Guest Post,’ and the last one is called ‘Not finished.’

When I sorted the files in the ‘Files published’ folder by date, some had a date stamp of over a year ago.  One had a date stamp of 4 days ago. 

And I got a notice a while ago that a certain website was automatically renewing, which seemed to be the same website you are reading this on right now.

I never really figured I’d go a year.  I really didn’t think I had material or inspiration to last that long. 

Admittedly some may agree that I didn’t. 

What started as a hobby and with certain reasons to keep my mind active has exceeded my expectations.

I’ve learned a little bit along the way.  I’ve learned that just because I get the grins and giggles when I write it doesn’t mean anyone else will.

I’ve been surprised to find something that I wrote in a hurry in an Airbnb with very little editing seemed to be well liked.

As near as I can tell, there is no rhyme or reason to what goes and what doesn’t.

I’ve learned a bit more about the English language and how it is supposed to fit together, according to spell and grammar check in Microsoft Word.

One gal, who lives in Pecos Texas, commented on one of my shots.  She gave it a fancy name saying she liked my alliteration.  I confess I had to go look that word up to see what it meant, and I must confess further that after I realized what it meant, I had never meant to do what it says I did.  But I think she is more into the major authors, being one of them herself, and so she knows exactly what that word means and knows how to use it in her writing, I daresay. 

I suppose writing is sort of not considered Real Man’s Work.  I’m okay with that on most days.  Some days I cringe as I think what the average 46-year-old fellow must think as he studies his peer that throws nonsense and futility into the fiber optic line and then watches as it gets spread about the globe and lands in random places.  Does he feel sorry for one like me, I wonder?  Does he hope that someday I’ll grow up? 

It might be that this will keep going a while, and then again, it may not.  I don’t have any goals for it.

Neither do I feel like I have to churn something out each week.  I only write when I’m enthused about what I’m writing and have the time for it.

For now, though, this is something I like to do.