“This is like Dejá Vu all over again.”
~ Yogi Berra
I love writing for Writer Dad. Of course, anytime you’re staring into the beady eyes of a deadline, it’s bound to feel like work, but it’s a different sort of writing than anything else I do, and satisfying in an immediate way.
I sew my sentences together, send them to the world, then wait for the bottles to bob back toward my island.
Two… four…. eight…. sixteen…. thirty-two…. sixty-four hours, and then they’re gone; weeks worth of posts now buried in unmarked graves inside my server.
Most readers never reach the archives. I don’t blame them. I’ve never combed the annuls of even my most favorite bloggers. It’s not personal, there just aren’t enough hours in the day.
At this point, most of the Writer Dad audience hasn’t read anything more than a month old. Because I’d like to revisit some of our more entertaining prior posts, and also because I’d like to squeeze a few more minutes from my week, I’m introducing Dejá Vuesday. The series will run through November, highlighting one vintage post each Tuesday.
If you have an old favorite, let me know. If there’s a post that has more votes than the others, it will be featured the following week. If you think I’m just a lazy git, you can tell me that as well. New voices are welcome to add to the old conversation; old voices are welcome to return.
This week’s post: No, no, no! I said I didn’t want to be a Chooch.
Happy Vuesday,
Writer Dad
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