I’m one of those sensible people that had sensible parents and a sensible opinion that leaning on writing as a way to get bread and butter was simply too variable an option. I did not go to school for writing or decoding the tomes of the English language, although I love doing both those things immensely. My profession requires little from the land of editorializing or other creative writing endeavors, preferring technical writing, the most stripped down style of writing imaginable to get straight at a point. Writing, of whatever sort, and photography are a constant in my life. Wherever I happen to be, I’m always writing something or taking photos. But not all this writing is my favorite kind: creative writing, the cherished eldest child that’s been with me since preschool.
Somewhere along the line, I stop writing for anything but the requirements in my life and I don’t start again for months at a time. And when I take up the pen again, it is with a grip shaky and unsure, worried that the writer has jumped ship and left a crew most unable to fill his shoes or even do shabby imitation. This blog is an effort to eliminate these dry spells and encourage me to get something down, however fragmented at least once a week if not more often. There is no set style, though most of the prose will be fiction. A few pieces are old, most will be new. Older pieces will be tagged with the year in which they were written.
*The title of this blog post is from Four Epitaphs by Naomi Replansky
Bow Ties and Cigarettes 