OK. So here I am, with a blog of my own. When I set it up I didn’t think I’d actually blog. Mostly, I set it up just to see if I could. Which I did. And now I have it, and it would be a real shame if it just went unused. So here’s a little something about me and why I write. Or maybe it isn’t, at least not anymore. Things change and I may write something different on the topic sometime in the future.
Let me know what you think and add your own stories!
There’s a story just waiting to be written. It’s big and sprawling and its notes litter my desk at home and fill the pages – both sides- of the spiral notebooks that I have tucked here and there.
Traces of it are everywhere, and hours have been spent writing it out. But this story, this idea that will make me rich, refuses to budge. It remains in the murky gray gunk inside my head, occupying that spot were all our great, million dollar ideas get stuck.
So instead of writing that, I’m writing this. It’s small. Short and sweet. But, it’s what I know (and that’s what they tell you, right? Write what you know?).
I’m lucky. I get to do it whenever I want, write that is. I do it weekly, monthly, whenever I get a chance, and the pieces appear in the small local newspaper I work for. And each time, I hope to set something off inside a reader, to wrestle out fondness and emotion and give them a sense that, while we are all small, our ideas and memories are as big as anyone else’s.
Do you remember that comic book I bought at the 7-11 when I was young – The Flash No. 300? No, of course you don’t. It cost $1, big, big money back then.
I still have it, but you probably already guessed that. The book was thick and the Flash was as heroic as ever, his bright red and yellow costume leaving speed lines in his wake as our hero streaked across the cover, knocking members of his villainous Rogues Gallery down as he made his way from the back of the book to the front.
My juvenile eyes lit up and my mind raced as I pedaled my bicycle back home in search of the few extra quarters needed to obtain this new prized possession in waiting. The book has been well read, and while far from my first foray into the costume-clad world of four-color serials, it helped launch a moderately expensive love affair with collecting and
I don’t expect everyone to be able to relate to this exact story. But, I suspect that people have stories of their own that are just like it. Stories about toys, or trinkets, or people, small things that set off big memories, big feelings, and a warm fuzzy glow.
And that’s why I write.