What I especially like about publishing a Blog and hate about it, too, is that I can forever indulge the editor within. Nothing is ever cast in eternal type, nothing finished. I am contantly changing a vowel here and adding a syllable there, completely altering the effect of the limerick.

When I tell my readers the good news of my latest emendation, they couldn't care less. They remember my limericks the way they remember yesterday's lunch; it was good while it lasted. Then, they move on; they change the subject. A limerick has as much staying power as its punch line, and jokes, as everyone knows, have the shelf life of a piece of naan. It's measured in hours.

This is rather dispiriting, but marshall on, I will. The lot of the artist is to remain committed to his/her craft. I will write on, MacDuff; I will not flag in my calling--one limerick a day, or so, is my goal.

For those of you who follow the developments of this blog in breathless anticipation, let me assure you. Though my posts are irregular at the moment, I am writing every day. In fact, I am writing an epic in limerick form. If Shakespeare, Sidney and Spenser can write their sonnet sequences, I can write a series of linked limericks, justifying the ways of men to broads.