Somewhere at some point while reading one of the many books that I have read, I fancied that it would be a fine idea to write some stories myself. It sounds simple…write a story. What could be simpler? Well, anything. It’s not like other avenues in life where the pathway is laid out before you by someone else and all you have to do is walk in a reasonably straight line.
With story writing, there is no predestined path. There is simply the white of the page. I say page because I purchased a Royal Quiet Deluxe typewriter with which to bang out stories. I look at it as I imagine a commercial pilot in this day and age gazes fondly at a P-51. Yeah, a 737 is safer, more efficient and all that but a P-51 is a direct extension of blood and sinew. The only thing between you and the ground is your wit and muscle, not invisible strings of digital code.
Anyway, I intend to use these posts as catharsis, a sounding board, and a repository for whatever string of consciousness, and the like, fancies to escape.