This week, you won't find me at my "corner desk," in my office. You won't find me at a dimly-lit edit suite, or a recording studio.
Instead, I'll be doing something I probably should have done decades ago. I'll be up in Provincetown, MA, at the Provincetown Writers' Workshop, honing my craft, trying to work some of my writing into better shape.
I'll also find out, I suppose, if I'm any good. If my short pieces of writing can be woven into something more than mere blog posts. If I can get a few bits of them published.
Ever since I was knee-high to a cockroach I wanted to be a writer. A writer of books.
I never pursued writing--outside of copywriting--because I had to make a living. But this blog, and its eventual popularity, has made me think that perhaps I could write something for myself, not just for clients.
After all, I've written about one-million words in this space and have gained a few thousand dedicated readers.
So, maybe from my workshop, I can find the encouragement and confidence I need to write something more.
But at the very least, maybe I'll have a couple jumbo cones of soft-serve ice cream on the beach. With sprinkles.