There have been a few times in the past when I have contemplated changing the name of my blog. Usually when I have been an especially enthusiastic book blogger, I consider giving my blog a makeover – setting more serious guidelines, coming up with a title that reflects my status as something a bit closer to a book review site. I always hesitate though, because I am prone to doing basically whatever I like with my blog (writing about knitting, or cooking, or photography, or travel as the mood strikes me) or not blogging at all for long stretches (like lately). It was this habit of not keeping up with my blogging that inspired the name of my blog – “What we have here is a failure to communicate“. This line from Cool Hand Luke has rarely failed, when spoken with the right accent and tone, to dissolve arguments between CP and I into laughter. I’m rather fond of my blog’s name and I am grateful that I have kept it.
Because while I no longer consider the lapses in my blogging to be a failure to communicate, I happily embrace my failure to tell anyone about Skippy Dies by Paul Murray (which broke my heart and made me laugh) or Little Black Book of Stories by A. S. Byatt (which was tolerably interesting). After all, I am not exactly a book blogger – not all the time anyway.
Today for instance, I am a photo-journalist. Grilling, crocus hunting, and cat spying as spring finally gets underway here in Maine:
I’ll pop back over here in a few days to write about The Dodecahedron or A Frame for Frames by Paul Glennon because it was exactly as much FUN as I had hoped and because no matter how delinquent my book blogging gets, I still love my Wolves!