Saturday, November 18, 2017

Shakespeare to My Rescue


It’s midnight on Thursday, which means 24 hours until my Saturday blog goes live.  Only trouble is, I haven’t written it yet and tomorrow’s a 6AM wakeup call and departure for Charleston, South Carolina, followed by a 24/7 schedule, long in the planning by she-who-must-be-obeyed.

Yep, I blew it. I should have written my post by now, but this week too many things just got in the way…like hypnotic CNN v. FOX coverage of our nation spewing out plot lines for Dystopian Psychotic Romance Thrillers at a Lucy-in-the-candy-factory pace.

So, here I am, having never missed a blog post in seven years—yes, last week was my seventh anniversary among this magnificent crew—facing a decision:  To blog, or not to blog that is the question.

And as if the fates were watching, a thought crossed my mind…of a post I’d published five years ago—almost to the day.  I’d written it as a lark about a year before then, never thinking I’d “publish” it. 

It’s a parody of Hamlet’s self-questioning To be, or not to be soliloquy, and I thought it deserving of a second run—certainly under my current circumstances.  And, so, with that shoddy proffered excuse of an introduction, please come join along with the Bard's suffering hero as we struggle together amid my tortured parody.

Laurence Olivier and Friend

JEFFREY: To blog, or not to blog--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
In despair at most blogs’ outrageous fortune
Or to take pens against our shared troubles
And by exposing end them. To fly, to leap--
To soar—or do we creep away to end
The headache, and the thousand natural blocks
That publish is heir to. 'Tis a consternation
Devoutly to be wished on others.  Weep--
Perchance even scream: But at the very nub
Of a possible death to the dream of some
Is why we suffer at this mortal toil.
Let us pause. There's the respect
That is the balm to a long writing life.
For who would bear the ups and downs of time,
Th' reviewer's wrong and downright contumely,
The pangs of edited work, the pub delay,
The insolence of the press, and its spurns
Showing patient merit worthy of a saint,
When he or she might quiet exit take
To make a living?  Who would deadlines bear,
To grunt and sweat a solitary life,
But that the dread of giving no more breadth
To all those undiscovered thoughts that churn
Our traveling minds, and puzzle our will,
Would make us far more ill by half
Than denying readers what they know not of?
Dedication makes writers of us all,
And a simpler life of remuneration
Is sacrificed to one of words and thought.
Any enterprise giving pitch and moment
To our words, even if currently awry,
We can’t lose in the name of no action.  
So now fair Colleagues, bring on opinions
That our blog be long remembered.



  1. You've outdone yourself this time, Bro. To weep,Perchance to scream, INDEED. I m doing both. Bravo!

  2. Bravo indeed, Jeff. I'm currently throwing virtual roses onto the virtual stage for you to collect up as you take your fifth encore. Zxx

    1. A fifth of four roses is much appreciated, oh blessed one.

  3. An opinion you want? My opinion is that the color orange is no worse than the color black, though situation and circumstances might argue otherwise. However, both my high school and college colors were orange and black. For whatever wight that might carry.

    Back to your pen, O'bard.

  4. And back to your padded cell, O'lost one. At least you've lost me. :)

  5. 24/7?? Take it easy please helmsman!

  6. I agree, 7/24 works better theses days. :)