Strolling round my blog, making sure all was made fast and battened down, I came unexpectedly upon my profile hit-counter. At 167 the total was modest enough for this 3½-month enterprise, but nevertheless salutary.The profile was rushed off heedless of the fact that people might eventually pick among its entrails for clues about my qualifications (minimal), my age (advanced) and my sanity (the jury is out). Assuming the mantle of a new reader I re-examined it and found myself increasingly at odds with the pompous individual gradually revealed.
Prétentieux? Moi? Well, actually, yes. Oh sure, Proust gets a mention but not Ed McBain many of whose 87th Precinct quickies I must confess to re-reading. And those French films unleavened by any reference to gangster movies starring Charles McGraw and Adele Jergens.
Here’s a test. Imagine compiling a profile to be carved on one’s tombstone so that future generations might deconstruct it for signs of lily-gilding. Would that stay one’s hand?
Trouble is I’m committed to comparative brevity. Given my chosen subject I limit my posts to less than 300 words in order not to bore. Same with the profile. I have tinkered with the latter and will do more as I’m visited with bursts of honesty. Let’s call it work in progress, a phrase which can be applied to all our lives I suppose.
