An Introduction.

"My friend! Happy Tuesday!" This is how I am greeted in the food court of my work, in an over joyous south of the border accent. The sincerity and warmth of this greeting is exactly what I wish to express to you, welcome. It is spring where I am, inevitably I must write from the past, yet I aspire to pervade a suitable length of time to be of some relevance. Who am I to pontificate on this hoisted soap box atop a rickety stage? No one. No one indeed, yet who is anyone? I see the awe struck stares of the common man unto the Everyman. What is the difference though? Why are you, or I, or anyone any less then? We can soar with Einsteins, and Plato's. It is not the audacity to presume success but the realization of the work to get there and do it anyway with the same fevered intensity with which they approached to begin with.

That was my preamble, really it's more equatable to a preramble. You're not really suppose to address your audience directly, and coherence is usually encouraged, we'll get there. Stephen King calls it, "Stream of consciousness writing." He doesn't really, not to an appropriate enough degree to quantify this writing. But we writers are all unique aren't we? Slipping just past the status quo, and edgy enough to be noticed. Every. single. writer. We all buy it don't we? Thinking we're special? I've personally been told contractions are offensive to sophisticated eye, fuck'em.

We have all debated it, either consciously or otherwise, what causes good writing? Causes a blanketed term, sprawling diversely across character, story, intention, and true unrestricted art rendering a message so utterly clear as a faint glimmer amidst the swirl of action and intrigue. What makes that stuff? Kurt Vonnegut is excellent in the research he will save you. His nine rules of writing is practical advice wrapped in a wit uniquely his own. These rules presented in his 'style' are concise and engaging. The strongest take away is a wisdom far past my own, and a childish humor not afraid of the word shit. Everything in moderation of course, a man can not rightly yell "shit" constantly and expect the same reaction. "Hey, it's that guy who yells shit all the time!" Has never been said optimistically. Of course there are others who write about writing, the cyclical act of constant inner inspection being a favorite exercise of the unfortunate few donning the title of author. Did you plod through all that bullshit? "The unfortunate few donning..." God damn it stop talking already. Overinflated manure, we are all full of it. This manufactured drive to speak unnecessarily. In all truth if we all spoke when truly necessary there would be less wars, and a perception of less stupid people. The good doctor Hunter S. Thompson drove down hellish paths and drug fueled frenzies. Gonzo Journalism was a concept he believed in, but it was a procedure only he himself could perform. Much in the way that Vonnegut is Vonnegut, Hunter S. was gonzo. In the bleeding cacophony of competing subjects his writings were often introspective of their own procedure. A calling card to Gonzo being to live the story not merely sit back seat, take life by the balls and squeeze out some vicious lie that is just believable enough for you to make a getaway as they ponder the fictional realities.

This is me.