My cousins, gather ’round, for news I bring. Lo these months, ye have no doubt noticed a certain slowness of mind betwixt these pages, and a finger to match. It appeareth that I would sooner with a man-sized cocktail fork be run through than spill precious time in scribery to thee. Alas! ‘Tis true that time be not my friend, but rather a fickle and odiferous maltworm.

Fear not my knaves and damsels, for a light breaks through yonder browser, and its name be Twitter! These coming days, I shall endeavor to scrawl the foul and wretched ramblings of my lumpish mind in a mere seven score strokes of my pen. Let their brevity be matched only by the gentle manner in which they lightly lie on land like flakes of new-fallen snow.

Rise up and follow me! Bend thy knuckles at the home of yon tiny bird and tap “wordsforwriters” on thy board of keys. Huzzah!