Hello. I am a writer, but this blog is not here to sell things. It will be where I spout silliness and other emotional baggage. You are invited to play along.

I have no desire to discuss issues that will never change, such as political affiliations or anyone’s love/hate for the local sports team.
I am not a professional with a list of three letter acronyms trailing behind me. No, I’m just another guy that discovered rather late that writing novels is a real possibility, and a tortuous outlet for my obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

I am not a young person, though I’m not sure how much that even matters anymore. When I was younger, for example, there were very clear lines between generations. Old men wore crew cuts, young men had long hair. Now, old men, even some white-collar types have ponytails—while some young people shave their heads. Many women are trying to look sexy and desirable, even after great-grandmother age, and Girls Gone Wild videos are broadly advertised to make sure that elementary school girls know what “cool” looks like.

Years ago, musicians were pretty much kicked out of rock-and-roll when they reached the age of thirty. Today, many of the most successful touring bands out there have hard-looking, tattooed members in their fifties and sixties; who only hint at their head-banging moves of yesteryear with their shoe-polish black dyed manes—moves that now send shots of pain from the nerves around their bulging disks and their arthritic knees. These bands still manage to draw crowds whose ages might span three generations.
So, I don’t think age matters all that much, unless the most important thing in your life is still seeking the most beautiful donor or host for your unborn children. Reality TV certainly doesn’t care how old you are, especially if you make duck calls, or enjoy painting your young daughters to resemble prostitutes.

One thing that used to be primarily a characteristic of youth was the short attention span. I don’t believe that applies anymore. My own attention span is pretty much shot.
For example, I recently re-watched “Alien”, the 1979 sci-fi horror flick. I barely made myself sit through it. How could that be? I’ll tell you how.
The film is pretty dang slow until the “chest-burster” scene. And that happens over fifty-six minutes into the film. One of the most iconic movies of the last century; and there’s no way that film could be released in the same form today. Audiences wouldn’t stand for it. Don’t believe me? Try it yourself.
I think that this is one of the same problems that plague aspiring writers today. If you pick up a successful novel written maybe fifteen, twenty, or thirty years ago, you might find that the pacing—particularly at the beginning—just will not work anymore. We have been conditioned to find stories unacceptable unless they grab us by the throat immediately.

If you’re still with me, I appreciate it. I have enjoyed my maiden voyage on the USS blog post.

I am by nature a sarcastic person, and that’s just the way my sense of humor runs. Unfortunately, my experience on these internets is that sarcasm is very often misunderstood. If you find anything here offensive, please give me the benefit of a doubt before casting any voodoo upon me.

Be well, my friends.