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A blog experiment by Brad Mills.

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Hey, we're getting the band back together

I'm probably going to sound like an old fart here, but back when I was a teenager, there was a group of us who hung around together — and in the great social clique game, we were the writers. Brooding, moody, poets, playwrights... well, maybe not always. Perhaps in some other lifetime we were all tied in with the Shelley clan. In the neon-colored 1980s, there really wasn't much to frown about. We all may have believed there was at the time, but since we've all outlived the most prolific members of the Shelley clan, it looks like we were mistaken on that point.

Anyway, it was what defined us. A good number of us were published, and a few were even paid for our efforts. For a small number of us, this happened on a regular basis. I was part of this elite echelon. Amongst the literary wealthy, we were the Rockefellers. They were good times.

Time marched on, as it does, and we all went our separate ways. And even though we all drifted off course a bit, none of us completely forgot the days when we were Rockefellers. Some of us decided to stick with it. And honestly, I think we all stuck with it to some degree, some more than others. As for me, I got a few more publishing credits beside my name (nothing anyone has heard of, certainly) and a little more money. At some point I realized my need for income exceeded my need for artistic expression, so I set sail for other lands.

But yeah, it's an addictive endeavor. It's a siren call.

As of today, one of my fellow Rockefellers has started a blog, which she says is partly inspired by those of us who are blogging now or writing professionally. Though I do know how to string nouns and verbs together, for the record, I do not by any means consider myself a professional. A journeyman, maybe — a vagabond, far more likely. Some days I don't even consider myself a blogger.

But I do like seeing more words from the old gang. It makes me realize I'm not alone in hearing that siren call, and there's a certain vindication in that. Barring turning this into a real gig, sometimes vindication is enough.

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