A long time ago, I used to enjoy writing. My first stories followed the adventures of Coconut and Banannas, two monkeys who had nonsensical adventures. I was in kindergarten, just learning to write. In those days, a pencil and my very own blank page were as near to magic as I could imagine. Over the years my writing improved, some, and writing became something of a refuge from a world I didn't quite fit into.
Times change. I grew up and eventually, found a world I did fit into. But along the way I stopped writing. I became busy with family, work, and the million other excuses, big and small, that tended to cork my creativity. Even with some success, and a fair amount of happiness, I'm still left with a sense of loss. Anyone who writes probably understands, writing talent (or maybe just the desire to write) often defines us. One day I had a harsh realization; a writer who doesn't write isn't a writer. In my case, instead of a writer, I had become a frustrated guy, approaching middle age in a small town, with nothing real to complain about, but nothing to recommend either.
And so this blog. I don't intend to write about me, I'm not quite that vain, and I value my privacy. My intent is simply to write, and hopefully, reawaken in myself the writer I once aspired to be. If you enjoy what you read here, feel free to leave a comment, I'll probably post them all.
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