I’m up to 18 draft blog posts, at least half of which are (you’ll have to trust me on this) monuments to clear and incisive thinking, the kind of thoughts that right the ship of state, sooth the suffering heart, cause freshly-invigorated fists to slam down on table tops in righteous indignation and bring grown men to tears.
But I need to, you know, finish them. 2 or 3 suggest book-length treatment (to my verbosity-inclined nature), crying for some serious reining in. Others were thoughts slammed down in the heat of inspiration that now are largely incomprehensible even to me.
It’s not like I don’t publish plenty of half-baked nonsense – wouldn’t be much of a blog if i didn’t. But these drafts are haunting me. I feel like I owe them something, somehow. But, sometimes, thinking is hard, and writing harder.