Friends, it's time.
Soon we shall close up shop here at Nashville Confidential. I like round numbers, and Aug. 27 will be the third anniversary of the blog and the end of the party here.
Nothing bad has happened. No one has stalked me. I didn't get Dooced. I'd like to blame Roboto, just for fun, but all the people I've met as a result of the weblog are more of an incentive to stay.
Life's changed, though, and I walk through so much of the day thinking, "Got to write about that," followed by the realization, "but not on the weblog."
I used to write about the things I was doing, but lately I want to write more about what's happening around me. And a lot of those stories aren't mine to tell. A more skilled writer would know how to move from navel-gazing to incisive observation. I'm not that writer.
I'm not sure if I'll leave the blogosphere completely. I'm thinking about trying a new sort of weblog -- the roman a clef weblog, you might say. But if I can't make it work, you will have to wait for the thinly veiled fiction book that, perhaps someday, will result from the assorted scribblings of the past months.
I still have a lot of past chronicles to put up from the past three years -- that last Will Kimbrough concert, the 100th party of the Nashville Public Library, the List of Things I Haven't Yet Done in Nashville. So don't stop linking here just yet.