Where to start?
I guess from right here. Which is how this place came to life. From an angry desperation whose resolve let loose into making laughs out of the crazy ideas. My alter ego tripped on the tomorrow of all things questioned whilst pining on the everyday of grocery store lines and cable bills. It happened and it worked, and this blog grew on me. And it taught me plenty, but maybe most importantly is the reminder it provided me.
Things usually happen in a way outside of normal.
So this parcel of hum became something worth having. Its expanse was a progression whose wheels were oiled by the everyday absurdities while its engine was fueled by the feedback provided by you, the reader. And this is the part of the story that I had to learn, or relearn. Because I knew the how of writing. But I think, no . . I know, that I needed to be reminded of the why.
As a writer, I struggle. I’ve yet to meet a writer who doesn’t know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s as if the fates have issued a warrant in your name and from the first time you push thoughts into words, you’re going to be chased in perpetuity. So you lay down a word and then build upwards and outwards until the expression achieves a dimension inside someone else’s head. And this here is where the struggle arises, for me; and for many a writer.
My particular struggle is in how I tend to cling so tightly to the solitary involvement that writing affords me. I dig that, very much so. This might sound crazy, but it’s like I create a quiet room inside my head when I write, because when I elaborate and elucidate and bring all the little somethings into a crush of people, places and things? It gets plenty loud in there. So much so that the quiet is actually a way to come back to where I started. After which I read what I just wrote and everything slows down and it’s as if I went for a long drive and I don’t remember a bit of it.
This blog is one of many millions of places where folks might happen upon and read something that makes them think, or laugh, maybe cry or curse . . a place that grabs their attention for a moment, inside of which these visitors become as much a part of the vacation as the innkeeper. They might relate to a particular grudge, a specific annoyance or they might just dig the vibe I’m throwing. Or not. Either way, I am thankful to those of you who read me. Even if I have a peculiar way of showing it. I’m still learning.
Thank you Mad Science. For being the writer who found me in the middle of this place, because you saved me from myself. You make me think, laugh, you make me better. Your post stirred it up (See what I did there?), and it left my hands trembling in the reply. I shit you not, a grown ass man . . trembling. I wanted to call them digit pussies, I really did, but I understood the reaction was coming from someplace much warmer and much more soulful.
I always knew the how, I had simply misplaced the why. And while the former is all well and good, it’s the latter that provides the reach and the inspiration for growth and change. You can yell Shakespeare in a forest from now until forever and change absolutely nothing. Or, you can riff on the convoluted logic of a fat free cappuccino and someone . . somewhere might just be like “I know, right!”. And in so doing, you’ve scored a point in the universe from the quiet of your tiny little space.
You can leave a comment if you wish (*), you can just read. I borrowed that particular sentiment from someone who knows a thing or two about the dark and hopeless places, and how light can be a salve. Because the words demand better, they deserve it. How you arrive at this truth is different, for everyone. It’s a curious alignment of time, place and circumstance. You might even call it mystical.