I’ll start by saying that I’ve always wanted to write a blog, but I’ve never known if what I would write about would be interesting. I’m sure that I’m not the first person to say that I’ve probably rolled my eyes at more blogs than I’ve nodded with approval. And this is mostly my own fault, not any of yours. In the past, I probably would’ve told you that even though I call myself a writer, I don’t have a blog because I don’t want to add another self-indulgent journal to the ever-expanding canon of online nonsense. And we probably would have had a hearty laugh and patted each other on the back for being such commendable stewards of language. But I’ve recently started to realize that this, like so many of the other rationalizations I have for not doing something, is just fear talking. Just straight-up, middle school, point-out-the-poser while secretly trying really hard, fear. I haven’t had a blog because I’ve been secretly afraid that if I had some identical twin out there who thought exactly like me saw my blog, he might roll his eyes, close the browser, and go tell his awesome Fulbright scholar friends that yet another dweeb was mucking up the pristine tubes of the internet like it’s his personal Moleskine.
So consider this first post me letting go of my fears of evil twins and being uninteresting. Because in all truth, what I’m writing might not be that interesting. It might be rubbish. Hopefully not. However, by swallowing my pride and fear and jumping into the online writing conversation, I’m not just turning off my B.S. detector. I’m turning it back on myself. So you can rest in that—that my criticism will be aimed at my own writing, to be sure that what you see on this blog is the best that I’ve got. That every word published comes as directly and clearly from the well of my own desire to tell you what I think matters. But I’ll let you in on a little secret: it all matters. Events that seem meaningless grow into stories, and those stories shape the way we view the world. Strangers’ faces seen on busses linger. Miracles flash like heat lightning in the distance, a faint but certain presence. And the more I feel the weight of these things, the harder it is to keep them all too myself. So that’s why I’m inviting you to listen.
So, expect breadth when you come to this website. If I get too pigeonholed on one thing, let me know and I’ll spin the globe and put my finger down with my eyes closed. I could use the challenge of an Eritrea or St. Petersburg.
It certainly won’t be all personal entries, but there will be some of that. I’m travelling through Europe at the moment, so plenty of interesting encounters already have, and certainly will continue to occur. And, believe it or not, interesting things happen in the good ole’ U.S. of A, too.
I’ll also use this website to discuss, as I said before, what I think matters, which is a lot. From film, to novels, to poetry, art, —even stuff like hiking and running. I’ll do my best to bring all I can to the table, with the occasional photograph to keep a keen aesthetic:
And I will also post some of my own creative work, including short stories, poetry, and other, more formal projects.
It’s easy to think that good art is best made alone, that too many voices sully the airwaves, and that creativity is first and last a personal exercise. Hopefully your B.S. detector is beeping like a smoke alarm at this point, because I know mine is. Creativity is communal. Isolation is not its friend.
I’m inviting you to join in on the conversation. Or at least to listen through the wall.