Twice each day I sit down with the intention writing a something, if not serenely meaningful, then at minimum current, illuminating, amusing, a jot entertaining. Thankfully the words do readily appear, not aways well spelt, correction a most wonderful thing, but fluidly, with a certain panache, in a manner my late literature master might find bordering on the elegant, imitating the acceptable.
The process of construction, real time invention, takes the place of my belated fondness for argumentativeness, debate, vocal interaction, the to and fro of intellectual discussion, the ultimate purpose of my many years spent in studious thought and research. I miss the counterpoint assuredly but do hope my commitment to well-articulated disputation induces the flow of cerebral analysis and possible retort in any or all of my most valiant readers.
Literary composition is a most perplexing craft, at once both very simplistic and terribly complex to perform to any personal and public satisfaction and laudation.