Pencil Without a Point

"Your recent writing has been insipid."

My friend didn't use that exact word, because no one actually speaks that way, but his descriptor was clear in its intention.

I have long believed that tooearlytocall.com is the perfect name for my blog, as its multiple layers of meaning touched upon the various themes central to my late, late night meanderings.

But there has, for some time, lurked in the shadows a backup, ready to emerge when called upon. 

Several years ago I was on a golf course and was looking to write down my score on the card that lay before me. My search proved futile and I announced to my fellow cart member that all I found was a "pencil without a point."

Forget what was happening with my game. I had just stumbled upon a phrase that encapsulated a writer's worst fears. 

As the words of my friend now damaged my ears and ego, that alternative title, long contemplated, emerged front and center in the part of my cranium in charge of this undertaking.

Nothing for me will ever supercede tooearlytocall. This combination of words was the brain child of my son. His genius attached to my pedestrian ruminations.

But the title of my blog does fail to capture the gnawing fear that on far too many occasions my writing is uninspired or much worse. 

Maybe I should use an asterisk, an "also known as", or some other method to announce the layer of paranoia which is as central to this endeavor as my insomnia, my obsession with politics or baseball.

And, as I conclude, I worry whether this piece on a pencil without a point is nothing more than a demonstration of itself.