It’s cold. It’s dark. And I’m starting the 999th blog of my life. The first two are absolutely true. The last, just a mood. I have been trying and failing to start a blog since I first heard of blogs, so long ago that people who were not alive then are now adults. God, that makes me feel old. Everything makes me feel old these days.
But, the good thing about being old is that you care less about making an ass of yourself. That’s good for people like me, anyway, who always cared way too much what other people thought.
So, here I am at the end of science fiction year 2025, writing into the ruined void of the internet.
Let’s see how it goes this time.
A little about me, I guess. I’m in my late fifties, unemployed or retired, depending on how I’m feeling about it. I spent my adult life working for local governments as a librarian. It wasn’t a bad career, could be called a noble one, but not the one I really wanted. Since the third grade I’ve wanted to be a writer. In high school, I swore I would not be one of those who gave up their childhood dreams to make a living. I failed, as you will note from my aforementioned career and the fact that you’ve never heard of me and won’t find my name in worldcat.
This failure has weighed me down, and along with a propensity for depression and a ten year grieving period at the loss of my parents and grandmother when I was thirty, I have had a difficult time returning to this dream. I didn’t like to admit it, but I had given it up.
I want to be a person who proves it’s never too late. My history does not support that desire. I am fighting myself, as much as I am fighting time. Because, let’s be honest, by the time you are pushing 60, you are fighting time. Especially if your parents died at ages 61 and 62.
No one will read this, I tell myself. If they do, they will think me hopeless. I think myself hopeless, sometimes. But, I’m here, showing my ass, and that creates hope, doesn’t it? I can write something and send it out into the world.
That’s all I ever wanted.