I spent a while trying to come up with some sort of gonzo inaugural post-- the trials and tribulations of my writer self, the balance, or in my case lack of balance with which I manage the various cubbies of my life (mother, teacher, farmer, wife, etc) the origin of my novel, Family, Genius, Species, the revision process that is wearing a Buick-sized hole in my writerly confidence, etc but no, not yet.
Instead I thought I'd start with the Buick.
I'm not much of an auto-aficionado, and my own vehicle is a blander-than-bland navy blue (overlaid with a fine helping of dirt road dust and footprints from the several times the kids scaled it like Everest)
...but there's just something about a big purple car that makes me happy.
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