Doing It In Public, Again

“Why don’t you write about…?”: if there were any, any, anything I were more fatigued with, god, could it be? “Why don’t you write about…” , and if I say no, it doesn’t mean I don’t trust your judgment as an editor, or even, you.

Like right now. The last person to say this all to me isn’t you, nameless you, reader. It was Nick, and what I told him back? “You’re the first one I’ve been with who’s brought me into what you do. Who hasn’t said, ‘you aren’t safe for… my life.’”

“No!”

“Yes.”

So will all the unbloggable days please line up? Let me speak harsh, let me speak easy, but let me speak and tell a few a stories that are getting frankly desperate in their advanced age?

A year. I disappeared a year in this veil of being “professional,” and when did my profession ever have anything to do with sidestepping the whole story for the sake of…? Ethics, yes. I’ve criss-crossed half the world and a handful of people — some would say I even crossed them — guided by the sense that the best of the world, the starriest things, would be mine if I were brave enough to create them.

Back to the blackest beginning of everything, then. Where nothing’s happened yet because I haven’t told you. Where “you” is getting specific, and “you” is not where I will hide, but where I’ll write.

And for the first time, you are here.