I’ve decided to take a mini-sabbatical from Words Matter. No, I’m not shutting it down, as I’m sure some would prefer. However, after this AM’s series of troubling emails, impugning my mental health, my motives and my general character, I’d prefer to devote my divided energies to the tasks at hand—my book, my paid writing and my involvement with the Twilight League.
Over the past year, I’ve been able to meet many new folks as a result of my writing and yes, my blogging. While I would concur that blogs are an acquired taste, my choice to reveal parts of myself is my right and prerogative. To some who obviously find what I write disturbing, offensive, or even the musings of a “12-year-old boy”, this is my blog and I write about what I want. Blogging is the technological equivalent of the pamphleteering that took place after Gutenberg’s invention. It lends a voice to those who often are shut out of the “public square” due to class, socio-economic standing, or corporate control of the organs of communication. At the risk of appearing “pre-pubescent” and “consummately immature”, if you don’t like what I write, or the way I treat certain public figures, then turn the channel! I personally am sick and tired of the way some of those I criticize treat the people that I care about! [Note: With email considered admissable as evidence, it would seem to me that mental health professionals should refrain from commenting via this means of communication while engaging in pycho-babble based upon someone's opinions shared in a blog; I would think this might be a violation of some code of ethics. At the least, it certainly shows a lack of professionalism expected of the profession.]
I feel extremely vulnerable and wounded at this time. Despite this, I stand by what I’ve written in the past. I don’t back away from my characterizations of our president, his party, xianity and the corporate agenda that is destroying the middle class way of life that many in America have enjoyed. I’m thankful that the period that I was privileged to grow up in, allowed my mother to stay home, while my father’s income was enough to keep a roof over our heads and our bellies full. That’s not the reality for most any longer.
Let me end on a positive note. Last night I had a very positive meeting with someone who I think will be a key player in the launch of When Towns Had Teams. Our discussion encouraged me in a way I haven’t been encouraged for quite some time. Then this morning, a phone call brought additional optimism, like balm to my battered consitution. Good things are in the works and I refuse to allow others’ impure motives to sidetrack my endeavor, When Towns Had Teams, my paean to the men, their stories, and the teams that will be the bedrock of my book.
You can piss on me, call me what you want, but don’t you dare to tarnish the memories and the character of these great men who have been gracious enough to share their wonderful stories with me.
The Maine represented by When Towns Had Teams was a special place and I’m looking forward to sharing this better time and place with those who appreciate when local baseball “ruled the roost” of rural Maine and other similar places in America.