A while ago, before so many newspapers died, I wrote a column, called “Bearings,” on whatever came to mind that week. Deadlines do focus the mind, even mine.
After my newspaper closed down, I wrote a cheerful novel about—what else?—a failing newspaper, with subplots involving adultery, espionage, homelessness, and the pretenses of food & academe. It was published with friendly reviews, and I started a sequel. . .but I really missed writing that column.
“I don’t write for readers; I write to find out what I think,” said a friend of mine, indignantly, as is her way. I was surprised to find that I agreed with her. But in my corner of the blogosphere, after I sort out what I think, about the Middle East, carp ponds, Syrian hamsters, drought, guns–of course I do care very much who reads it.
