In the middle of September, I emailed the following message to the Call’s 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 ever since.

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, it’s 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 I’ll be there. (Don’t invite me, and you may discover that I’m 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.

Or not.