Once upon a time, I wanted to be a newspaper columnist.
I would be witty and occasionally wise and always entertaining. But then I found out you didn’t apply to be a columnist, instead you started by writing obits, then if you were lucky you’d get to write feature stories about the 4-H fair, and then if someone died, you might get to write a sports story. If you did that well and you really had good fortune, right before your 59th birthday, you’d get that column with your picture on the page next to your diatribe on the Designated Hitter that would be read and adored by millions.
They called it “paying dues,” but I was broke and couldn’t afford it. And then (not right away, it took about 15 years) along came blogging, which has given me a forum to discuss at whatever length I want, any subject I want, as long as it doesn’t make wife mad or my parents wonder what they did wrong.
And you never know what might happen next.
