Journal log entry – My wife made a comment the other night.
“Your post was … a little crazy.”
“Oh,” I said … and waited … anticipating more from her … but she didn’t say anything further. That was it. She ended there. Maybe she was waiting for me to respond. That’s how I hear conversations get started, but I was kind of afraid to ask, “What do you mean?” afraid of what she might say, and so I didn’t. Ignorance is a balm for brutal honesty.
But you see? It wouldn’t and couldn’t end there. She had planted a seed … but had she planted that seed intentionally, or was it all in my head? Was I reading into it something that was not there, like extracting fiction from what is non-fiction? I know I do that with my writing. I think it makes it a little more fun. Absurdity can be humorous … but back to my wife and her comment.
I think … and again it might be all me … that she threw out this concern … my word not hers … because I had projected myself as “crazy,” and especially that I had done it in my journal (Roger and out). My journal is supposed to be about me. Right? So perhaps she was afraid that I was going to come off as somewhat of a nut. Metaphorically speaking, there are a lot of people with nut allergies. Still, if I’m seeing something not there in her comment, then it must be me having my doubts, and by whatever means that has brought me here, either from her or me, I guess something is telling me I should address the issue. If you’ve got that feeling in the gut, you should go with it … well … that’s unless you’ve eaten some spicy food, then it’s better to wait a few hours to see what’s what … but that’s not the case here, I assure you.
Well, here’s the rub:
Obviously I’m new to this blogging thing, just out of the gate and feeling my way around. I’m a writer, and someday I’d like to be published. I’d really like to be able to make a living writing and so I started this blog. I enjoy stories, and in that, I mean I like fiction. I like writing fiction, creating circumstances, giving birth to characters and watching them grow. I can feel very paternal to those I’ve brought to life in between the pages. I think any writer probably feels the same. Even the bad kid who winds up in jail is loved by his mother. An author will love his or her hero or heroine as well as the villain … well maybe not as much. I know I play favorites.
So here’s what I’m saying: I don’t usually write about myself, but I was told I should … people will want to know who you are.
“Who I am? Who cares,” I thought. I’m not a celebrity. I’m not a great pioneer back from the Amazon (Amazon, yes, the Amazon, no). I don’t have a stack of awards or a shelf full of trophies. I’m just me, a guy in upstate New York, USA, who likes to write … and who’d like to be published someday. That was my first instinct, to say, “Who am I and why would anyone want to read about me?” and so I chose to not go that route for the first number of weeks of the blog.
But Jon, my instructor from the blogging class, wouldn’t let it go. “I still don’t know who you are,” he said. “I mean I know who you are from talking to you, but the site has to do that too. It has to let people know who you are.” My wife even said that after she’s read a post on a blog, she immediately searches for some information on the person who wrote it. I guess they’re all ganging up on me. You can feel sorry for me now …
… okay … that was enough … thanks.
My stories have been my façade, an imaginary front, and that’s so much easier, but with their encouragement (Is it divine intervention?) I had an epiphany and saw the light, about 40 watts, but I do believe it could go all the way to 60 watts without being too presumptuous. From their encouragement I devised my “Roger and out” posts, but because my usual first instinct, to entertain (and possibly hide, though the jury’s still out on that, good, bad or indifferent) had been dethroned from the top by this biographical newcomer, and had been very comfortable at the top when it was, I found it whittling its way back in where it could.
Duh! Duh! Duh! Duhhhh!!! (That was for dramatic purposes)
“Even … in my “Roger and out” posts. Heaven forbid!” (Here a woman screaming would be quite handy).
So getting back to where this had begun, and nipping it in the bud, I am not a nut, though I might have appeared as such. Yes my absurdity snuck in, but I am not unbalanced … and you can quote me on that. I may be a nut at times, and the nuttiness usually strategically placed, but on the whole, I’m relatively sane. I just have that want to entertain and to interject the bizarre. I was writing the post and had this image of an intravenous line running into the USB port of the computer … and I ran with it. Is there any sin in that? Remember it was fictitious before you call the cops.
My instructor, Jon, said, “You have a strange humor … but that’s a good thing.” He said, “Who isn’t a little strange?” (Yes … we can each scratch one another’s tummies in our straightjackets … yes we can.)
Now I know I’ve taken some time here, away from the tales and jokes, and I’m sorry if that has been an inconvenience for you, or even worse, a disappointment (and I surely hope not), but if anything has been gained from this discourse, I hope it is this, that you see me more squarely and have a better understanding of who I am and are happy for it … and if so … I do hope we both cross this junction again, you and I.
Signing off,
Roger and out
The plane had just experienced the usual turbulence and was approaching the airport.
My friend Elizabeth is an undertaker and also has a blog. At a recent gathering, she talked about her latest post discussing all the various options that were now available for funerals. Options that she thought people might not be familiar. Elizabeth of course cited the coffin and the urn, but she also enlightened us on the simpler plain pine box, and the newer methods of a basket or a shroud. It was intriguing. I had never imagined. My eyes lit up, and rightaway I saw a corner of that market I could cover, invest in, and make my fortune. The “Penitent Themed Funeral,” I’d call it. The deceased’s remains would be cremated and placed in a Pinata … or if the dead person was really that bad in life, I could skip the cremation and wrap the body in Crêpe paper (Note: use iron pipe instead of wooden stick if this is the case … and oh yes … do remember to drain the blood first).
A flea was sneezing and coughing when its friend, Tick, walked in.
“Didn’t have them turn the train off already?” the chief asked.
the shouldered muse 