Dear Carolyn,

I have a confession to make and it's a doozy. It's bigger than a doozy. It's a dilly and a doozy all wrapped up in one dizzying dollop.

I got nothing to say.

This blogging shit is hard.

I could blog about books I've read but I've started about three books and couldn't finish. Nobody is connecting for me right now.

All my book releases are released so I can't say anything about that. I coulod start shilling your book release but I'll give that a little time.

So what should I write about? You and I talk on the phone about a hundred times a day but we mostly whine about arthritic knees and racing hearts. I did have a romantic dream about Carlos Marin (of Il Divo) but in the morning it wasn't that romantic after all.

I could say some crude words to see if it drives up traffic. Shit. Penis. Sopping.

That's not terribly interesting either.

I think I'll take a nap and think about this some. Blogging is exhausting.