So this is the deal: I’m a father of three boys, I’m married, I’m closing in on forty, and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow-up… Or didn’t… or… well… I think I’d like to be writer.


As in a novelist.

Or essayist.

Or really anything where I might have the opportunity to say, “I’m sorry, I can’t do (insert any hard, ‘honest labor’ here) today, I must be creative and write, FOR I AM AN AUTHOR AND THIS IS THE WAY I PAY MY RENT! AND BUY MY GROCERIES! …sorry for yelling. I’m very proud of my job.”

But as an adult with my particular outlook on the way life works (I’m a cynic y’all! Woooo!) I feel as if just deciding to be an author is sort of silly. Also I feel as if lots of heart and hard work sometimes brings you nothing but disappointment and frustration.

Like I said above, I’m a cynic.

So all that plus I have no real writing experience past a couple of old blogs, and I have no college education or have even taken a creative writing class of any kind, and I can’t spell and am incredibly shaky on rules of grammar, I feel as if this whole trying to be a writer thing is going to be an uphill battle for me.

Like extremely uphill.

Like vertical cliff uphill that’s possibly even leaning out a little towards the top.

All that being said, fuck it I’m going to try anyway.

This blog will be my practice space so if you read it expect many ramblings, pointless stories, odd styles, etc..

If you would like to comment, give advise, or offer creative criticism on anything I write please feel free to… Unless you’re planing on being a dick because this is going to be hard enough for me already.

P.S – Yes this is just a copy of my first post.