Beginnings

Every story has to start somewhere. I’ve been journaling off and on during most of my life. Thing is, I’ve started this story twice, and both times they have been wiped clean (the first I call theft, the second I call the “blue screen of death”*). Both times, I chose to go with things in a chronological fashion, but I found that to become rather staid. So now, on my third attempt at writing something that is part autobiographical, I am going to use this tool to save that which can’t be saved otherwise. Or won’t, because I’m too damn lazy to use a thumb drive or an external hard drive.

As you walk down this path with me, know that it is going to be very non-linear, circuitous at times, and constantly questioning.

I’ll refer to music a lot. And for the young uns, I’ll drop in a few “*”s, footnotes if you will, to go into factual detail about a person, place, or thing about which I may write. I might also deem it important for all Americans reading this to know these tidbits. They’re great as conversation starters at awkward cocktail parties. An inquisitiveness about contemporary history and pop culture might also be required to get through this — whatever this — is.

When I began to think about writing a cohesive piece, I thought about patterns. I looked at the beautiful quilts that my mom has created and I saw that inasmuch as there was definite foresight into the creation of a piece, I also became aware of its flaws, and that’s the artistic freedom quilters have — a pattern doesn’t have to be OCD like it came out of a factory in Viet Nam…