2018-09-12 / Community View


There are stories out there that haven’t been told

The day I finished college was bizarre. For the first time in my life, there was no plan. Tomorrow was no longer a regimented, plotted-out series of tasks and classes and schedules and sleep, and also the occasional Hot Pocket. Tomorrow was, well, nothing. Or everything. The only thing I knew for sure was the idea that the English language, in all its profundity and bafflement, beauty and split infinitives, must be the centerpiece.

Before I get into that, let’s travel back in time a bit to when I was a nasally bean stalk, wrapped in a blanket with a flashlight, reading Jurassic Park and Christine and Confederacy of Dunces well after midnight. School was of course again the epicenter of life, but in this case, it was junior high, not college. For every groggy morning without adequate sleep, there was an immediately precedent night of exploring the million other worlds within words.

I learned more about biology from Jurassic Park than I ever did in science class. Of course, in the case of that example, the biology isn’t exactly based on what most intelligent humans would call “science,” but I’ve since discovered that resurrecting dinosaurs from the blood contained within the gullets of mosquitoes trapped for millions of years in amber is a largely fictional premise. Don’t tell that to my 13-year-old self, however, or he’ll bombast you with mid-pubescent ramblings about life finding a way.

This period of my life instilled in me the love of and desire to replicate the skillful application of words onto paper. Turning a blank white rectangle into art with squiggly symbols that when combined tell a story to which every person can relate is the only thing I’ve wanted to do since that time.

After college, money became the prime mover in my life. It’s always difficult to type that sentence, and even more so to utter it, but it sadly is the way of the world. And I, at last assumption, still live in the world. It’s easier to think about bills than plot, or savings over character studies, but there’s a bottomless pit that the pursuit of stability cannot pave over.

It’s words. It’s the words and the worlds that they bring. There are stories out there that haven’t been told — deep in the mines of the mind, and there’s no reason you can’t tell them. It just takes time, effort and most importantly, a pickax.

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