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.