When I was a kid – and by kid, I mean maybe 20-ish – I wanted desperately to write a book…. Someday…. I never actually attempted to write a book back then. I wrote – but it was bits and pieces – sort of journal style, sometimes chunks of poetry, mostly just the repetitive rants of a disillusioned, broke, and miserable kid. Society was my enemy. My life was my enemy. I had some grand idea that I had something to share with the world, but the world blocked my attempts, so I got angry at it.
In reality, I had no idea what I wanted to say, no dedication or willpower or follow-through to find a project and stick to it, no clue who I was or who I wanted to be. Eventually I became an adult and forgot all about it.
Almost two decades later, I had an epiphany. Actually, it may be more accurate to say I had something of a nervous breakdown. In any case – I remembered I wanted to write a book. And I finally had some fuel for it – some stories to tell and some pain. So began my attempt at writing a memoir, another grand idea. It’s not done yet. It will probably never be published unless I publish it myself and I haven’t yet decided whether I want to do that – but, in this space, I will document my attempts to write in the midst of living my normal life, and see where it all ends up.