Once upon a time there was a blog.
It was a nice little blog called "The Lyons Din," a play on words for a woman named Lyons who wanted to make a little noise. It began as an outlet, a place where the woman could write the words that were frothing inside of her -- especially after some men in ties (and one well-dressed woman) told her she was no longer an employed writer for the former metropolitan daily newspaper.
But she was still a writer.
And writers gotta write. Right? Right.
So she figured out how to do it on the internet, where people could read it if they wanted to.
Sadly, she never figured out how to make any money doing it, so, it was for fun.
She wrote about her life, her daughter, her coach husband, occasionally her grown up stepkids, her mother-in-law and her mama.
She wrote about what life was like living with a baseball coach, then what it was like living with a man who was no longer a baseball coach, then was again.
She wrote about her daughter's growing pains (both literal and figurative), her birthdays, her adoption and her war with scoliosis and her leaving the nest to go off to college.
She wrote about being a full-time caretaker to two little old ladies.
She wrote about losing her job, looking for jobs, finding jobs, and leaving those jobs.
And, occasionally, people read what she wrote. Sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they cried. Sometimes they shared what she wrote, especially when she wrote about Mardi Gras and the Warrior Dash.
But mostly, people accidentally stumbled upon what she wrote when they Googled "big tits" and "mardi gras" and "warrior dash." A lot of people in Russia somehow read those posts.
But now, it has been a while since the woman named Lyons has made much noise. She's busy, you know. She has an empty nest. She has a new job, teaching new students at a new school how to write with proper punctuation and capitalization. Her husband has a new job coaching baseball at the same school. She has dogs. And a green pool. And not too much else.
There isn't much to write about. There isn't much inclination either. What once was a fountain of words frothing inside of her is now just a little bubbling that doesn't strain much to get out. She's tired.
And Russia has stopped reading.
And blogs have turned into vlogs and podcasts. No one has time to read funny little anecdotes anymore.
But, writer's gotta write. Right? So don't delete the bookmarks just yet, please. You just never know when the writer's gonna write.