I wrote a short story this evening that wasn’t very good, and it was also kind of dark and potentially disturbing. It wasn’t anything too graphically crazy or filled with bad words.

And I was going to post it here.

But it ended dark enough, and after I read it, I wondered if anyone else needed to. True- it was a writing exercise.

And I did post it on here- for two minutes- before I took it back down.

Which is the problem with blogging sometimes.

Because the handful of people who read this blog all know me pretty well, when you write something that is a departure from your normal voice, that is out of character for you, it might lead to questions, and concerns, and judgments.

“Why did you right that? That wasn’t a happy story.”

“Is everything going okay?”

This blog was intended to be a place where I could write and showcase those writings for public consumption. The reality is, it is read by a close few in my life, and so whatever I think about putting on it becomes subject to how I think the close few might welcome it. And if I think they might not like it or understand it, I pull it.

Maybe that’s not how I should do it.

But that’s what happened to the Flotsam Straits post tonight.

It’s okay, though.

That story was cheesy too.