Why I hate promoting myself

In all the years I’ve been blogging — roughly 4 1/2 — I’ve never been comfortable promoting myself. And here I am about to embark on a mission to promote my latest blog post at Huffington Post, an achievement I’m quite proud of.


Scared! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The fear of posting on such a high-profile site was paralyzing at times. I can’t remember the number of revisions I made, or how many times I hesitated to click “submit” to the editors. When I was finally able to push past the fear and submit a blog post, the anguish of not feeling HuffPost worthy scratched at my brain. Perhaps that is why I didn’t write a blog post here the first time I was published on Huffington Post. Sure, I could have squeezed one out, but I didn’t.

Yet, I managed to puff my chest on Facebook because I was among friends, and friends of friends. Of course, you are my friends, too. I love all of you and am grateful you keep coming back to read my thoughts on cyberspace paper, in an extrasensory sort of way.

Writing a blog post takes a lot more effort these days. I’ve got achy breaky hands from typing, and my focus has been fuzzy at best — which I blame on summer head. I guess I can’t use summer head as an excuse much longer. Maybe the warm weather will find its way into fall. I can only hope.

As I can only hope you will forgive this awkward attempt at self promotion and help exacerbate my feelings of inadequacy by commenting and tweeting and liking (or not) my post at Huffington Post … Oh, insecurity, how I loathe thee and your vile cursed ways of making blogging so damn hard.

Thanks. Peace out.

Hint Fiction: Short, But Not Necessarily Sweet


Graffiti: Hint

Graffiti: Hint (Photo credit: Franco Folini)

I lost my engagement ring. The coroner found it on a corpse on the dance floor, clenched inside her fist. My fiancée’s missing.


Jayne’s Micro Writing Challenge. Join in and link up at Injaynesworld.

The Challenge: Write a story (beginning, middle and end) that hints at a larger story, but is complete within itself, in 25 words or less.



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The thing about life is…


You always think you have one more day
to make things right,
to say you’re sorry,
to hold a loved one tight

You never think the day will come
when all those thoughts that whooshed through your mind
never find the other bookend
that keeps its side of the bargain…

The last piece of the puzzle that fits into the empty space,
so all the other pieces can make a whole

You never think the day will come
when the words that were meant to be said
stay wrapped up inside your tongue,
a tightly woven thought that will never become undone

In Memory of Freckles

Jim and Freckles

Jim and Freckles

30 Minus 2 Days of Writing III, Day 1: Gouda Jones



The story of Gouda Jones, a former cheesemonger and Wisconsin resident, is a source of pride and embarrassment for Gouda’s loyal fanbase of Cheeseheaads and Happy Hour enthusiasts.

There was never any doubt Gouda Jones had a nose for cheese. She could detect the finest cheese aromas from miles away with her extraordinary sense of smell. Her legendary smelling ability was admired by cheese connoisseurs and nasal allergy sufferers across the globe and earned her a place in history as the first Nobel Nose prize recipient.

Gouda was often called upon to select the cheese served at celebrity cocktail parties. Her decision to serve a Camembert at a Justin Bieber shindig was applauded by the cheese community but condemned by local authorities as the reason Justin Bieber egged his neighbor’s house. “He was high on Camembert at the time,” the Sheriff of Hollywood remarked.

The incident prompted a backlash of bad press for Gouda who fled the country for Canada, which ultimately ended her cheese celebrity career.

One wild night of partying in Toronto, snorting coke and Splenda with Mayor Ford and his gang of thugs, sent her to the THE SMELL AND TASTE CLINIC in Pennsylvania after her nose exploded. She was airlifted to the University of Penn., with cartilage fragments packed in ice, where doctors unsuccessfully attempted to reassemble her nose and reattach it to her face. Over Gouda Jones objections, doctors were forced to perform a radical Swineoplasty using a a pig snout to rebuild her nose.

Gouda Jones’ memoir, “Life in the Cheese Lane” is scheduled for publication in the fall of 2014. Her publicist would not confirm or deny rumors that Gouda will be wearing a fake nose and glasses for all public appearances.


Nasal. (Photo credit: Tom Mooring)

I’m participating in We Work for Cheese‘s Third Second Annual writing challenge, 30 Minus 2 Days of Writing, a.k.a. 28 days of torture. Today’s writing prompt is “Gouda.”

Note: ReplyMe Comment is not working. You will not receive a notification email when someone responds to a comment until I call BlueHost because it’s totally their fault. And honestly, calling BlueHost is the last thing I want to do today.




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A Blogger Looks Back to 2009 and Asks, Why Am I Here?



I started blogging back in May 2009 shortly after I lost my job as a customer service rep at a bakery where only the baked goods were nut-free.

The gal who preceded me and the one who followed were also let go after three months. We all got the tee-shirt, but one of us didn’t survive. She killed herself several months after losing her job. The word “unstable” comes to mind. But she had help. The owner of the bakery expedited her journey into hopelessness.

I was in a dark place, too, when the owner told me, “We’re letting you go. I really need someone with more inventory management experience.”

He knew I didn’t bring that to the job when he hired me. I told him that. Nothing I said mattered. It was my time. The damage had been done.

I needed to purge dark thoughts from my head and blogged about it.


A day without work. At home trying to get organized. A problem. Always. Can’t reign in my thoughts to stabilize the content in my head. The executive function in my brain takes too many coffee breaks, gets in late, and leaves early. The proverbial cluttered mind with a desk by the window. I look outside and see trees but can’t see the forest through them.

Where will the trajectory path of my day go? Probably nowhere, fast until I look outside and see darkness but not the trees. If I squint and look up, I’ll see stars, none of them for me. Although one year, I received a star for Christmas named after me. An ex-employer’s idea of a really nifty gift. The card ended up in the garbage before I knew about shredders.

Today, I hope to deposit a check (checks and balances, you know) and get some food. Food is minimal like my thoughts. Tomorrow, I hope to get up and remember that it is Saturday and not a day that I should be working when I’m not, like today.

Blogging helped me reconnect to the world. Odd indeed since I only interacted with otherworldly types, often hidden behind an avatar.

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A Tale of Two Blog Feeds


It was the best of feeds; it was the worst of feeds … At times they worked; at times they didn’t work.

A Tale of Two Blog Feeds-ThinkSpin.com

But at least they were together, two feeds on a blog, until I discovered I could kill one off.

It would be painless. Just a quick click and then delete. There would be no remains to dispose of, no DNA to tie me to the crime scene.

But murdering a feed should not to be taken lightly. It requires some thought. There’s family to consider, readers who may drift away after I pull the plug, mourn its loss by hugging their own feeds.

Please always remember it even though it was meant to be temporary – just a Feedburner fling. We only spent two years together on WordPress.

I will think of it every time I visit the dashboard, but I won’t dwell on the loss.

I have another feed who has been my companion for many years … since we first met on Blogger – our impetuous younger days when I rarely had tech problems.

Think Spin Blogger-ThinkSpin.com

Big blogs cause big blog problems. 

Life is more difficult because of it, and because of it, a difficult decision must be made.

Do I really want to kill the feed?

The two feeds and I have been family, for a while anyway.

Do I really want to unplug one of the lifelines to my blog?

Dunno, dunno, dunno, dunno!

It’s hard to cut your losses, but sometimes it’s the only way to move on.

*sigh* R.I.P. Feed 2.

Please light a candle in its memory every time you turn your computer on.

If you subscribed to Think Spin on WordPress, please subscribe again. I’d hate to lose you. You are the engine that drives this blog. Thank you for sticking by me all these years.

I hope Charles Dickens’ ghost doesn’t haunt me. He was a scary looking dude.

Charles Dickens (1812-1870)

P.S. – I’ll keep the feed on life support for a while longer to give you a cushion of time to change it. Thanks again!!!!



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