I would like to say that my writing is a cosmic blend of my favorite off-beat authors: Kurt Vonnegut, Hunter S. Thompson, David Wallace, Robert Hunter, Bob Dylan, David Sedaris, Sylvia Plath, and so on. I would also like to say that I am free in mind, body, and spirit, free of the capitalist crawl, free to write, to play music, to sing, to help people, to shine in the glorious light of the human experience.
I could say these things, but I have a fondness for truth. So, I write ‘fiction.’
I wonder about the trading value of an ‘About Me’ page in the cosmic marketplace. Alas, it is silly to deny that we all like to know about the others’ experience with this peculiar little gift of life. So, what is worth telling? The first song I ever wrote on the guitar was a Christian poppy bit called ‘The Lord Put A Quickening.’ I was a nine-year-old student at the Word of God Christian Academy. My mother had passed away. My father found God. So did I. We couldn’t afford food, were living off welfare, and going through the trash behind the local bakery for bread and snacks. Somehow, we afforded private school. Don’t get me wrong, the Word of God Christian Academy was not a high-end private school. Pentecostals don’t need much more than faith in Jesus Christ and the fear of hellfire. We were ‘saved.’ Once my father discovered that our minister owned multiple resorts in Hawaii, I was back in public school.
Upon reentering public school at the age of 12, I realized that the Academy hadn’t done me any favors academically. I had some catching up to do. That was ok, though, because I realized something else…the existence of science and history. There would be no more casting out of demons, picketing at abortion clinics, or saving sinners, for me. I was ‘unsaved.’ Fortunately, according to Pentecostal belief, ‘saved’ is an eternal ticket to the heavenly kingdom, so no worries there.
Later in life, I required further practice in the art of ‘undoing’ when I came to appreciate that ‘science’ and ‘history’ are a bit cultish, too, and don’t quite get to the bigger truth. I jump ahead, though. In fact, this bit is beginning to take the form of an autobiography and I don’t think I’m quite ready for that at the moment, so let me take a shortcut. My father passed away when I was 17. Then there was…
Volunteering with Civil Air Patrol’s Search and Rescue and the U.S. Army Reserves, substitute teaching, first and second loves of my life, a broken marriage with a band called Colonel Mustard, several excursions in the southwestern United States, corporate whoredom (in system testing and migrations), and a two-year road trip across America (a hiatus from the corporate crawl with my dog, guitar, trailer, and motorcycle). Then, my brother passed. Back to corporate whoredom (this time, in risk, compliance, and business continuity). Another love of my life came and went. Another marriage with Colonel Mustard, with family, friends, animals, music, and writing were peppered in along the way.