I’m writing this from the living room of my crappy apartment. Baby toys surrounding me, while I watch my son fight, sleep for a nap, or as my wife and I call it, a moment of sweet relief. She scrolls through YouTube, trying to find something to watch, despite our feed filled with children’s programming and white noise videos. I mention how the boy’s butt is sticking up in the air as he’s finally fallen asleep, and she decides to go to Disney plus.
God, this is monotonous. Sitting here and writing out everything I’m doing, to make it seem like I’m a professional writer. I pad out my word count with some humble opening about me, where I talk about all the random things going on around me. I’m sorry to say, I've read enough bios and memoirs to know that I have to do this in order to be taken seriously, so… here we go.
Now I’m writing this while I wait for someone at my day job. You’re probably surprised to find out that I’m not a full time author. Well, so am I. I’ve been fighting for this for a decade. I started wearing glasses, and one of those newsies hats, you know like the peaky blinders guys. It’s the dumbest looking hat, I mean, I think I pull it off, but still, the only reason to wear it is so that people think you’re different and unique. Like, how much more work do I need to do to get a publishing contract? I wrote some books, I look the part, I even joined a Facebook group or two so I can argue about the intricacies of Stephan King’s writing. Come on, I think I’ve earn a full time position in the halls of the rich and famous scribes.
No? I’m still stuck at work? Yup, hanging out in a tiny closet working on a fire alarm system, and thinking about the complex nature of a Monarchal Republic within a world that has banned magic. And How magic is a representation for the Holy Spirit in other worlds. And If you create a world with aliens, you're basically writing a sci-fi story with cool aliens that talk to trees. I think about this stuff at work while I try to accomplish something worthwhile and try not to get fired. It’s a good way to pass the day, and I get so jazzed about getting home and putting ideas on paper (or rather screen), but when I finally sit down and chill with my wife or hold my son, I realize that I don’t want to write. I want to spend the little hours I have with them, with them.
You know what would be great? As if I made enough money from writing to fund my writing. But in order to do that, I have to write… so as to create something worth reading, but that takes time and effort and I have to spend that time away from family to create that. So now, I wait. For this person to show up at work and then I can continue to get paid for a job well done, when all I really wanna do is explain the fledgling and star-crossed love of a celibate cleric and his thicc fighter friend.
It’s later that night. I just got my son down for bed, and poured myself a glass of whiskey. Irish, gift from Hannah Lambert. She gets me. I’m writing this instead of writing the Penny Lich, listening to lofi and chilling out while my wife plays Stardew Valley. Yet again, I think about all the autobiographies that begin with the Author talking about what it’s like to write a biography about themselves. Or The biographer who is writing about a different subject. They always talk about how it affects them personally. They tell a story about how the got the job, or how someone convinced them to tell their story. It always starts with them having a boring life, in a boring setting, pounding out some words to make you interested in sticking around.
I didn’t need to be coerced into writing this unofficial biography, in fact, when I told people I was gonna do it, they would squish their face like a jack-o-lantern, turn their head like a dog and whine in a tone reserved for Charlie Day.
“You sure you wanna do that?”
“Why? No one is going to read that?”
“You’re not famous, why would you write a biography?”
I’m gonna do it, cause I want to. And when It comes to my writing, I write what I want to. I don’t have publishers breathing down my neck. I don’t need to fill some marketplace quota. I think the experiences that I’ve gone through in my life warrant some sort of captain's log. A traveler's journal.
Now I’m sitting in the exact same spot, only a few minutes after writing that last bit and I have to say, it’s refreshing to write candidly. And the fact that you’re still reading this says you enjoy the candor as well.
I just took a sip of my whiskey.
I just took a bite from some chocolate I got for my wife as a birthday gift, but it was taking her too long to break into.
I just went to the bathroom.
Damn, Is this whole book going to be like this?
No. I promise. Unless you mean witty and chalked full of bits and twists and turns. ‘Cause then the answer is...
Well, it's still no. But I will try. And that's what counts right? Trying?
You might notice that my paragraphs are starting to get shorter, and the fact is, my ADD is starting to take over and I’m beginning to wonder what I was doing when I started this lil introduction. The point of this was to begin the book. Start in a pace where I’m speaking to you like we’re in a cafe together, or in my living room. Well, my living room is a mess, maybe your living room. Like we’re chatting the day away in your living room. That’s a nice... uh... wall you have there. Did you have it imported? So chic. And to help you understand that this book is not to be taken seriously. Sure, I’m gonna talk about stuff that might get serious, and I promise you that I will never lie to you. Inflate? Maybe. Exaggerate? Most definitely. Embellish? Polish? Ring from the dried up fabrics of my life for more story? Yeah, obviously. But, I’ll never LIE.
So here’s the beginning of it, the part that most people write at the end of it. The introduction, the last thing to produce when you have a sense of the book. But I’m doing it first. Why? Cause I won’t lie to you, and also because this bit was too fun to pass up. Because I’m figuring out this book along with you. Because, and this is probably the most important point of them all, so pay close attention. And I want to thank you for sticking around for this long, because it all leads up to this, and without it the rest of the book absolutely won’t make sense. So pause your music, put down your tea or coffee, and stew on this. I did this all first because I want you to-
(Editor’s note: We told him no more than 1240 words for the introduction. And we’re nothing if not exact, and exacting.)
God, this is monotonous. Sitting here and writing out everything I’m doing, to make it seem like I’m a professional writer. I pad out my word count with some humble opening about me, where I talk about all the random things going on around me. I’m sorry to say, I've read enough bios and memoirs to know that I have to do this in order to be taken seriously, so… here we go.
Now I’m writing this while I wait for someone at my day job. You’re probably surprised to find out that I’m not a full time author. Well, so am I. I’ve been fighting for this for a decade. I started wearing glasses, and one of those newsies hats, you know like the peaky blinders guys. It’s the dumbest looking hat, I mean, I think I pull it off, but still, the only reason to wear it is so that people think you’re different and unique. Like, how much more work do I need to do to get a publishing contract? I wrote some books, I look the part, I even joined a Facebook group or two so I can argue about the intricacies of Stephan King’s writing. Come on, I think I’ve earn a full time position in the halls of the rich and famous scribes.
No? I’m still stuck at work? Yup, hanging out in a tiny closet working on a fire alarm system, and thinking about the complex nature of a Monarchal Republic within a world that has banned magic. And How magic is a representation for the Holy Spirit in other worlds. And If you create a world with aliens, you're basically writing a sci-fi story with cool aliens that talk to trees. I think about this stuff at work while I try to accomplish something worthwhile and try not to get fired. It’s a good way to pass the day, and I get so jazzed about getting home and putting ideas on paper (or rather screen), but when I finally sit down and chill with my wife or hold my son, I realize that I don’t want to write. I want to spend the little hours I have with them, with them.
You know what would be great? As if I made enough money from writing to fund my writing. But in order to do that, I have to write… so as to create something worth reading, but that takes time and effort and I have to spend that time away from family to create that. So now, I wait. For this person to show up at work and then I can continue to get paid for a job well done, when all I really wanna do is explain the fledgling and star-crossed love of a celibate cleric and his thicc fighter friend.
It’s later that night. I just got my son down for bed, and poured myself a glass of whiskey. Irish, gift from Hannah Lambert. She gets me. I’m writing this instead of writing the Penny Lich, listening to lofi and chilling out while my wife plays Stardew Valley. Yet again, I think about all the autobiographies that begin with the Author talking about what it’s like to write a biography about themselves. Or The biographer who is writing about a different subject. They always talk about how it affects them personally. They tell a story about how the got the job, or how someone convinced them to tell their story. It always starts with them having a boring life, in a boring setting, pounding out some words to make you interested in sticking around.
I didn’t need to be coerced into writing this unofficial biography, in fact, when I told people I was gonna do it, they would squish their face like a jack-o-lantern, turn their head like a dog and whine in a tone reserved for Charlie Day.
“You sure you wanna do that?”
“Why? No one is going to read that?”
“You’re not famous, why would you write a biography?”
I’m gonna do it, cause I want to. And when It comes to my writing, I write what I want to. I don’t have publishers breathing down my neck. I don’t need to fill some marketplace quota. I think the experiences that I’ve gone through in my life warrant some sort of captain's log. A traveler's journal.
Now I’m sitting in the exact same spot, only a few minutes after writing that last bit and I have to say, it’s refreshing to write candidly. And the fact that you’re still reading this says you enjoy the candor as well.
I just took a sip of my whiskey.
I just took a bite from some chocolate I got for my wife as a birthday gift, but it was taking her too long to break into.
I just went to the bathroom.
Damn, Is this whole book going to be like this?
No. I promise. Unless you mean witty and chalked full of bits and twists and turns. ‘Cause then the answer is...
Well, it's still no. But I will try. And that's what counts right? Trying?
You might notice that my paragraphs are starting to get shorter, and the fact is, my ADD is starting to take over and I’m beginning to wonder what I was doing when I started this lil introduction. The point of this was to begin the book. Start in a pace where I’m speaking to you like we’re in a cafe together, or in my living room. Well, my living room is a mess, maybe your living room. Like we’re chatting the day away in your living room. That’s a nice... uh... wall you have there. Did you have it imported? So chic. And to help you understand that this book is not to be taken seriously. Sure, I’m gonna talk about stuff that might get serious, and I promise you that I will never lie to you. Inflate? Maybe. Exaggerate? Most definitely. Embellish? Polish? Ring from the dried up fabrics of my life for more story? Yeah, obviously. But, I’ll never LIE.
So here’s the beginning of it, the part that most people write at the end of it. The introduction, the last thing to produce when you have a sense of the book. But I’m doing it first. Why? Cause I won’t lie to you, and also because this bit was too fun to pass up. Because I’m figuring out this book along with you. Because, and this is probably the most important point of them all, so pay close attention. And I want to thank you for sticking around for this long, because it all leads up to this, and without it the rest of the book absolutely won’t make sense. So pause your music, put down your tea or coffee, and stew on this. I did this all first because I want you to-
(Editor’s note: We told him no more than 1240 words for the introduction. And we’re nothing if not exact, and exacting.)
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