It occurred to me on Wednesday, my fifty-ninth birthday, that the last year before I turned 60 years old ought to be one where I do something entirely quixotic, something so foolish that people will think I've run mad in my dotage. On the other hand, since it is not in my nature to run mad -- if I have failed in my first six decades, it has almost always been from being too sane, too unwilling to risk any injury, whether physical or financial -- I'm not going to take up skydiving or suddenly cash out the 401k to start bitcoin mining. So I needed something that would be both silly and safe.
Hence... the Year of the Sonnets.
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