How Much Is A Desert Eagle Gold Plated

Blogs die alone

As Miguel Maya say (more or less), I am a writer of worship since the end of the day I did not read nor Potito and I am unable to win a literary prize. Not having friends on the jury. I've always resisted the blog think this is second-rate literature, but also I feel the need to publish it everywhere. It will be me as a writer of cult (ha, ha, ha).

I am very sorry that the blogs die. Some may say that they do not die, they are frozen or suspended in time. Anyway, because the effect is the same. This blog has been near death several times. Has been kept alive only because life has been dedicated to me and sometimes cardiac massage has made me the word of mouth. If not for that, I might have gone to the notebooks and pen. From there come the writers (the cult and those who are not).

not have died, but the parallel realities have become critically ill. I've gone from posting almost every day to do seven times a month or so. I can not even look at the counter, which depresses me. The main cause was the lack of time. A blogger is a kind of one-man band that does everything. If your blog you really care, trying to create a template that you like, make your own pictures and not be overly beatings for people who come to read you. The problem is I do not know if all this is reflected in the result. Almost planteármelo prefer not, because after all I am not a mass media. I used to publish anything, or want to bore you with posts that smell of mothballs: I have a folder on your computer called Refrigerator in which I have almost to publish for over a year that could threaten my readers.

Other blogs whose authors have decided to take the shutters closed and go to the music elsewhere. Were blogs that I liked a lot. Go, for example, Miguel and the fabulous trumpet invisible was like going out to recess after math class. I'm a little orphan and the blogroll a bit bored.

I suppose it can be a bit stupid, but sometimes I think maybe if I left someone here would have this open space to come to play, and that encourages me to follow. I am encouraged. I pressed. The only pressure I have is a kind of fishing line pulling my belly and makes me pick up the pen - I'm a writer of worship and I have horrible habits like writing with pen - to retell something. Anything. But I care that you be there. Even I care if someone is told not to return.