Defining Myself

In the past week I've received several author copies of published work:
* An article I wrote on Charter Fishing for an outdoor magazine
* An ekphrastic poem (verse describing artwork . . . and in this case American Gothic by Grant Wood)
* A magazine containing one of my columns
* A magazine containing some of my book reviews

But here's the rub . . . in most of these magazines my bio read something like:

The guy who wrote this article also writes a daily humor blog.

Well, but I've been remiss of late in writing this blog.  And it's probably not been too funny, either.  Lots of excuses I could offer here--including having too little time to do much else but breathe.  I could also tell the truth and admit that I have to write three to four hours every morning (and then repeat this procedure every night) in order to keep up with the many and varied deadlines I'm still meeting for columns, assigned essays, book reviews, and books. 

I have a list hanging from my writing desk detailing what I must write . . . and when I must have each work compete.  The list is LONG, and getting LONGER.

All of this to say that I'll do my best to keep this blog fresh. 

Perhaps readers might also like to know that even writing this blog is costing me valuable time with a wife who even today (on labor day) chastised me for being too stressed from too many deadlines.  Her advice was:  Stop writing so many books. 

But here's the humor--most of these books I'll be dedicating to my wife.  I mean, who else am I gonna dedicate them to?  Lord knows my kids don't care to see their names in any more of daddy's books.  My parents are getting too old to read.  And I feel like my wife has earned some recognition out front.

My next few dedications will likely read:

To Becky, who was there all along telling me I should stop, but I didn't.
To Becky, who gave up another dinner so I could write this ******* book.
To Becky, who goes to bed before I do and always asks: Aren't you done working yet?
To Becky, whose love and patience is all over these pages . . . but who will never read a single word of this book, so enjoy it on her behalf.