Chapter 83.6: What to do?

Recently, my wife has been updating the Web site for her company. And that's gotten me to thinking about a topic I've had on my mind a lot over the past couple of years: Should I build a Web site for myself — my writing self?

I do a little freelance work. Having a Web site might be a good way to attract more work, though to be honest, the best way is to go out and pursue it, not expect it to come to a Web site others don't know exists.

Should I try to park my domain name now and come back to the site later, when I have published books to hawk? Perhaps. But my name is already being used by someone else (probably someone named Matt Sinclair), so what would I be saving? Perhaps the name of my first book. There may be sense to do that, but does that mean I'd have to create a new site for the second book? And what if the first book is never bought and published, but the second (or third or fourth) becomes my first "real" novel? Well, I don't really know.

Then, there's also the issue of having the time. If I'm to build a site, I need to take time to do it right. As those who've visited this blog and my writing-related blog, the Elephant's Bookshelf, know, I barely have enough time to habitate this little avenue of cyberspace, so adding one more rest stop along the highway probably isn't going to make the trip any smoother.

My hope is to eventually blend this and the other blogs into one primary site for me as a writer. But I believe it makes more sense for me to take what little time I have to actually write. I have work that could be done on my "finished" novel, and query letters to send out. I also have a second novel that's begun, which has characters locked en flagrante in Antarctica. Ok, maybe that's not quite true, but I think there was some love brewing when I was last mentally visiting that little spot of ice on the world.

So for now, I'll stick with my blogs. I don't need to spend money to park something when I can always get a new domain that's named something interesting. Hope no one minds.

Chapter 83.5: Meaningful Games in 2011?

My Mets are so done they're using the lines from the grill as their pinstripes.

Remember April? Back then, this Mets team was supposed to be the one that fans would look back on and say, "Remember that '09 club? Johan, Cy Young Award. Reyes, MVP. Wright, a Gold Glove and the solid gold leader of the team. Gary Sheffield came in and hit his 500th homer in April and then Carlos Delgado did the same in September, like Hall of Fame bookends. Even Billy Wagner, expected to be gone for the entire year, came back in August to solidify the bullpen with the best late-inning one-two punch the game had seen in a decade. That was the final ingredient that perfected the recipe. New York Mets, World Champs of 2009."

But no. Not even close. The Mets haven't had a meaningful game since before the All-Star break. Every single one of their so-called "core players" went on the disabled list: Reyes, Wright, Delgado, Beltran, Santana. Add to them Brian Schneider and Angel Pagan, John Maine and Oliver Perez. (Don't get me started about Perez!) Hell, even Alex Cora was lost for the season!

Abysmal. Thank God for the Washington Nationals.

Back in March, I had meant to do my annual season predictions. I had expected the Mets to come in second behind the Phillies, win the wild card, and advance to the World Series. But I didn't write it. There just wasn't enough time. I'm glad. It's bad enough that I'll admit that I thought this was going to be a good team. What's worse, Omar Minaya was signed to a three-year contract extension that hasn't even begun yet. This team is bad. The mechanic hasn't proven he can be fully trusted after several years under the hood. What's a fan to do?

Chapter 83.4: A Few Moments Alone

The classical music has soothed the savage babies. The wife is out for an hour or so. And the coffee still tastes good. I will try to keep from wasting too much time from the one day when I can accomplish something on my own.

Later, in between diapers and bottles, I'll mow the lawn, which has grown once again to jungle lengths. Till then, however, I'll enjoy the skirl of the cicadas and crickets from my air conditioned home — pushing back the annoying question of how I'll pay for such amenities — and see what else I can accomplish in the time allotted.

How's your day?

Chapter 83.3: Summer in the City

The streets of New York City stink of garbage this morning. Scents of fish and piss and withering whatchamacallit grab onto the sticky humid air and embed themselves deep into people's nostrils. The occasional open door at this hour already has the air conditioner blasting out onto the sidewalk — an all too brief respite as I continue walking groggily to work.

I slept well on the train this morning as a pretty woman in a sundress read her Jodi Picoult beside me. Dreams of babies crying and parents consoling them. Diaper and feed.

I need my coffee. I need to sit for a minute or two. I need to clear the air. Welcome back, summer.