Why Lynn Becker is about to disappear

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This week marks the 12th anniversary of my first article being published in Chicago Reader.  What better time to call a time out?

"No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money," Dr. Johnson famously observed.  I have become that blockhead.

So I'm taking a hiatus to vegetate and experiment - fiction, poetry, screenplays, prescription drug disclaimers - so many choices, so little time between naps.

At least until March 1st, I'm also engaging in the radical experiment of swearing off social media.

No Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest or Instagram.

No posts.

No reading of posts. 

Is this even possible, in a time when seemingly every last one of us has been sucked like Alice through the Looking Glass down into our smartphone screens?

Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen.

When I look at my life, all my misfortunes are pretty much self-made; the wonderful things the gift of others.  I'm going to do a Trumbo and not name names, but you know who you are.  Except for you, I would have been a irredeemably dull boy, making his home in a box on Lower Wacker.

And thanks to you, my readers and followers, for your patience, generous if misguided attention, and eloquent engagement.

If you should need to reach me, I'll still be checking e-mail.  I'm not a total idiot.