I hate blogging.

It's been awhile since I have written on my blog. I am willing to admit it now: It's on the level of writing groups. My position as a creative writing teacher gave rise to all kinds of encouragement to join local writing groups in the interest of the university before I entered the land of the tenured living. Why do writers join writing groups? Why aren't they home writing? How many of these people are published? I resented every second I had to devote to this form and lamented lost writing time. I try to imagine Faulkner with a blog, Hemingway, Wolff, Thomas Mann, John Updike. I try to imagine their hanging out with writing groups. I can imagine them better spending hours, as the story goes, mulling over a comma. What did you do all morning? I put a comma in a sentence. What did you all afternoon? I took it out. Publicity is more important than talent and hard work in this age of vampire, fantasy, celebrity lit.