Dear Gentle Readers,
People have been writing to ask what happened to Liberty’s Torch V2.0. They’ve also been asking where to go for all the essays that were posted there. The first question is easily answered: Hosting Matters, which was recommended to me as a Web host by a friend – “You’ll love it, Fran!” – rendered the site inaccessible in the process of some back-end maneuver that was never explained to me. After several exchanges of emails with their “support” personnel, I became enraged and decided to terminate my account with them. Frankly, it was overdue; Hosting Matters had provided me many reasons to dislike their services over the not-quite-five years I’d dealt with them.
The second question is also easily answered: At this time, those pieces are unavailable. There were a lot of them: more than four thousand. As I’m mortally weary of this business of changing hosts and reposting old material, they’ll remain unavailable unless something highly improbable should occur.
For the time being, whatever I write will appear here at Liberty’s Torch V1.0. Blogger, whatever else might be said about it, is a reliable Web host. I’ve never had an outage here, nor any loss of material. So when the Spirit moves me, here is where any new pieces will appear.
But I’m tired and sorely tried. I don’t have much left in me. I got up this morning, poured my coffee, perched before this computer, and asked myself, “What will today’s piece be about?” And in contemplating that question, I realized that I’ve come to dread continuing as I’ve done.
After three decades of regular posting – usually at least one piece per day – I think I’ve shot my wad. It may have been the disaster with Hosting Matters that precipitated the realization, but it’s accurate nonetheless.
So posting will be irregular henceforward. Apologies to those Gentle Readers who’ve enjoyed the fare here. Unless someone with a better compass than Ponce de Leon should discover the Fountain of Youth, that will be the way of things from here on.
Yes, I’ll still be writing fiction, though that, too, will slow down. Once again, my apologies to anyone disappointed by these announcements. Be well.
From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
All my best,
Fran
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