I miss my blog. I miss blogging. But I don’t want to provide material for the AI engine bots to scrape.
It’s not that I think I am the be-all and end-all. They scrape indiscriminately, regardless of quality. If there are words and images to harvest, they harvest them.
I don’t want to be harvested.
But I want to blog.
Could we please just go back to 2005 now?
I wasn’t ready. But it wasn’t completely my fault.
Due to a slight mechanical malfunction (okay, not that slight — my car was not road-safe and it took two weeks to fix), I came home from the 82nd Annual Gathering of the Thoreau Society about a week later than I’d expected, and that ate up my precious preparation time. So July 26 rolled around faster than I was ready, and so she came home to an unprepared house (and a less-prepared-than-I-liked me).
Today is the seventh day of Life with Louisa May Alcatt, and I truly adore her. I think the feeling is mutual, because if I leave her sight, this adorable ball of fur turns into a rhythmically-screaming banshee.
But it’s funny how quickly I’d forgotten what life was like two years ago, when I brought home her big brother, A. Bronson Alcatt. The climbing on my shoulders, the pouncing on the laptop keyboard, the wrapping around my ankles as I’m trying to keep a straight face on Zoom.
How did I forget all this?
I forgot because it’s worth every second.
This post was created as part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life Challenge.
You can view other writers’ contributions this week via the comments here.
And now the silence is broken and I can get back to writing here.