By popular demand...

...which, in this case, involves one comment left by a great guy who has plenty of perception and sensitivity, I will fill in a blank left in my previous, pre-walk entry.

What do I like more than freelance writing?

Even if you leave out the more aggravating aspects of the game as it is played today -- that is, the crappy ethics of editors and publishers, the pathetic pay (when they pay) and the terminally unskilled who will take jobs for next to no pay just to style themselves as "writers" -- I still think my general answer would be: I like damn near everything else better.

I can boil it down to two major passions, though: love and music. Sometimes in inverse order.

Music is something of an unrequited passion, though. I am not, never have been and never will be sufficiently talented to make music a full-time occupation, and that hurts a bit. The interface between what I hear and what I can do seems faulty. I keep trying. And it doesn't affect my need to have music close at hand, nor does it diminish the desire to perform.

Love has a variety of meanings. Friends and relationships, for example. Or wimmins, though sometimes more colorful terms may be substituted. I can't rate myself in this area; I think I'm a good friend, and I ought to be doing okay with the ladies, too. My fault, if any, seems to have been that not all of them play by the same rules -- or live by the same standards -- as I do. That, like my shortage of musical ability, does not mean I'm not willing or eager to rejoin the game if an opportunity presents itself.

Those passions are harsh masters. Or mistresses.

I need other things as well. I certainly dig photography. Always have, always will. Certain musical instruments speak straight into my soul. I like cars, too, though I cringe when anyone suggests I "love" them. "Loving" an inanimate object seems slightly perverse.

In fact, I am always ready to put other things aside for anything that gets my mind working and lets me see, experience and/or learn about new things. That has no end to it.

For me, writing has always been a case of sharing my knowledge, perceptions and experiences with others. Give me friends (and, please, a lover) to share them with and my enthusiasm for explaining it all to faceless hordes in writing diminishes.

It was a nice walk. Even though my legs were only willing to put up with four miles of wear, I spent the whole time thinking nice thoughts.

Have to get back to doing that daily.