I have yet another blog follower and the responsibilities grow greater every day. The blizzard has begun.

But as Spidie said, “with great powers come great responsibility.”

And like Spiderman, is this the way Jesus felt or Rev. Moon or “Hit em where they aint” Wee Willie Keeler? Oh wrong. No Internet in Keeler’s day or Jesus’s time, for that matter, although word of mouth was pretty powerful back in the day.

How did these famous people cope with their growing fame? Did they internalize it and use it for their own self-aggrandizement or did they accept the compliments and move on to do good things. I know Wee Willie Keeler certainly did.

It is certainly tempting to buy into this growing flood of followers and to believe that I may have that great power. But how to use it, that is the question. And what if those followers were accidental followers and actually hit the “follow” sign but meant to go back to a search of great women of the 1920s.

I fear I may be on the brink of triggering a great change for the world. Or I may just be confusing that with a fear of my disappearing 401K. Either way, it is a transcendental moment of existential proportions.

Am I of value or am I of no more import than the fly that buzzes around the kitchen looking for a morsel or a place to rest. Or am I a cockroach just waiting to be eaten? Just ask Kafka.

It reminds me of a quote from that alleged pedophile, Woody Allen or was it from Groucho. Whatever. It was something like, “I wouldn’t want to join a club that would accept me as a member.”

Stay with me.

The blog is simply my meandering, sometimes disconnected thoughts joined together in an almost stream of consciousness way. It is, in short, nothing I would care to read. So, “I wouldn’t want a follower who would read my blog.”

Not really. It is an odd feeling to know that there are people out there in the ethos who want to know how I feel about things. Why? In this time of coronavirus, is there simply too much time and not enough things to fill the hole? Or could it be that I actually might have something to say, something to contribute to this ongoing debate and the fate of the world?


Writing is a lonely craft. It is done alone with no prior evidence of its value. Is writing beneficial if nobody but the writer reads it. Is this how Hemingway or Camus or Rimbaud or Dr. Seuss felt? At the end of the day, I can only write my thoughts and get relief in putting them down on paper and hope that others may gain something of value and that I can find a way to use the blog to make a lot of money.

Journalist for 40 years and now a creative writer