Hiaters.

Stop, what stopped, nothing stopped, this doesn’t end till I’m dead or the worldwide web collapses, and if it collapses this’ll become text files that get stored somewhere on something, tip-tap, pick-poke, on and on. —I usually begin with some kind of burst of goodwill and activity round about now, hey, new years are heady, but that usually peters out sometime in the spring or so in what might charitably be called a hiatus, and maybe some sporadic bursts in the summer, maybe a resurgence in the fall, or toward the end of the year, depending, last year was just, I don’t know. Quieter than usual, on this front. I was concentrating on the epic, sure, but I wanted to write another four novelettes last year, like I managed to do in 2021, but I only got two and a half done, ah well. I was distracted maybe by finding so many old Twitter friends on Bluesky, maybe, but not that distracted, and anyway the vibe there we’re very much agreed is it’s time to bring blogging back, again, and so. I wanted to do more reading, yes, but I’m lost in the wilds of Book III, but at least the fish dinner’s finally begun, and the malmsey and the muscatel, being strong sweet wines, are circling the board sunwise. And I’m typing, pocketa-pocketa. —Did you know that archiater, historically, was a title given to the chief physician of a city, or a court? Well. Now you do.