In the middle of September, I emailed the following
message to the Callís regular contributors:
This is partly a love letter - you are an astonishing
collection of intelligent, funny, imaginative writers and artists, and
you've turned the SF Call from a small backwater publication into
something that people take seriously.
But this is also a kvetchy letter - you've done your
job too well.
As the contents of the Call have mushroomed, the tasks
of editing, formatting, and posting have kept me ever closer to my
computer. This kind of close relationship is physically unhealthy. But
it also precludes the regular rounds of visits I used to make to
community and official meetings, which fed my instincts about San
Francisco's political processes. And it also precludes my doing any
writing myself, thereby eliminating the style and perspective that -
for better or worse - made the Call distinctive.
In addition, emergencies depleted my meager reserve of
money and energy several weeks ago, and I've been running on empty
In other words, this venture is not working.
Here's what I propose: I'll keep posting your
contributions till the election (after all, h. brown needs a medium
for his views). But if, by the second week of November, my situation
hasn't changed, I'll have no choice but to stop publishing. Maybe
forever. Maybe - I hope - just for a few months, until I can put
together a better plan.
In any case, I'll keep you posted.
Now, two months later, itís time to keep my promise.
With this issue, the Call will cease publication, at least for a while.
The break will give me time to re-discover the city that
I love. Invite me to your meetings or performances, and Iíll be there.
(Donít invite me, and you may discover that Iím there anyway.)
It will also give me time - finally - to try to create
the publication that San Francisco deserves and needs.
See you in February.