It is true that I am able to select from an apparently disintegrating plethora of weakly remembered words and arrange them into cohesive sentences and insert these symbolic indicators into seemingly sensible paragraphs that eventually form themselves into a semblance of some sort of sequential and ostensibly substantial story. I have done so too many times within my overly extended span of wasted years.
And one long-harbored and significant suspicion has now become a solid and clear and definite fact.
I have nothing worthwhile to say.
So . . .
Each of my attempts to construct a substantial poem or a consequential short story is fated to be a futile (empty) effort.
And the dream of my writing an original full-length novel is ludicrous.
Without a valid talent personal failure is assured.
But yet I can still blog. And therein without the interference of editorial fiat I can without guilt eschew unnecessary commas and employ as many ly adverbs as I please.