I know what you’re thinking: what’s a guy like me doing with a blog like this? Well, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wondered the same thing. But these things all start the same, don’t they? A witty phrase here, a clever line there–then one day you wake up and find out you’re a writer.
I’ve chased a lot of dreams over the years. Even caught one or two. Got my first story published in the 4th grade, first book published when I was 29. But in between? Well, that’s a roller coaster with loose rivets, pal. Real loose. Wrote for my college newspaper, reviewing movies for Transformers money. Toiled away my weekends at a small town video store just to make ends meet. There was an ice cream shop in there somewhere, another video store, serving and bartending on a ski hill in the Great White North. Strange apartments, strange situations, and some of the best friends I guy could ever have.
And, like most of these stories, mine had a dame or two. Each one of them a scar on the old ticker. But if every nibble turned out to be a trophy, you’d never be a great fisherman.
That’s a metaphor about heartbreak making you a better writer.
But this wasn’t about a girl, or a story, or that summer I lived in my cousin’s haunted basement, scraping spiders off the cool underside of my pillow. No, this was about a blog. A collection of thoughts from a guy with a simplicity complex. A mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in one of those things a spring roll comes in.
Welcome to the Jungle, Player One.
The Guy Who Writes