Posting every day for the rest of November

I've resolved to post every day for the rest of November. I can't promise the content will be top notch, but it will be regular.

I wish I could promise the written equivalent of oatmeal, a stick-to-your-ribs kind of blog experience. The best I can do is promise that I'll write regularly and that I hope it will not be the written equivalent of a cheap frozen burrito nuked in a wimpy breakroom microwave.

You know what I'm talking about - you eat it quickly, the inside is kind of cold and mushy, it doesn't really fill you up, you wonder if that communal microwave is harboring harmful bacteria because no one ever really cleans it and everyone just gets stubborn when they read those passive aggressive notes the admins leave about the mess in the breakroom, and then you regret having eaten the burrito in the first place.

Some people use the written word to create unforgettable images and communicate lasting truths. They're real artists. To carry on with the food metaphor, I'll say that they're exquisite chefs who have honed their craft by combining technical skill with passion. They're the chefs who cook the special occasion meals we scrimp and save to be able to afford. We get dressed up and take our time dining. We might feel a little guilty if we don't LOVE the special meal, but we tell ourselves that it is gourmet cuisine and we consider ourselves better for having had a fine meal prepared by a gourmet chef. Or maybe we do LOVE the special meal and think we should have meals like that more often.

And some people write a darn good story that you can read over and over and laugh about. Maybe even cry about. It's not high art, but it's enjoyable and filling. It's comfort food. It's hot oatmeal on a cold morning. Or maybe it's a guilty pleasure. It's mac and cheese with real cheese. It clogs your arteries but, DANG, it tastes good. Your kids like it with chicken nuggets or fish sticks. And you don't feel guilty for eating it in comfortable clothes.

And some people write junk. Cheap frozen burrito nuked in a wimpy breakroom microwave junk.

I'm out of practice. I need to write regularly to approach the level of making something that will stick to your ribs. I promise I'll try to rise above the frozen burrito.