It Started When I Was 18

Okay, I have been chewing on ideas for my preliminary blog post for some time. Like, twenty minutes now. I think I’m ready. Nicotine: CHECK! Rolling Rock: CHECK, CHECK! (That means I have two!) Phone for dictionary word look-ups: dead and somewhere in the ether… CHECK!

For starters, let’s make introductions. My name is Jonathan. I write. The two ladies that were bad in each of their past lives and are now being punished by having to be a part of mine (both I will mention quite frequently) are: Haley, my Marketing Director and Tiarra, my Editor. May God forgive them both.

I started writing when I was eighteen. And I’m POSITIVE we can disregard everything from the first four years while I was learning my craft as complete and utter caca… that means shit. As everyone says, practice makes perfect. Over a thousand hours later, I believe it is appropriate to release my madness upon you: my readers. May God now forgive you.

Also, to be noted, I was restricted by Haley AND Tiarra in the use of profane adjectives and nouns, so my blog just shrunk by thousands of words. Tyrants! This is funny because I get four blog entries before they get to defend themselves.

STRUGGLING HERE…

Okay, I’ll be honest. I write what I want to read, (cliché) but also, I try to push the limits of found plot and protagonist. I think many authors, past and present, have such beautiful characters and worlds, but I don’t want to tell their stories in a better way. They have been published. They have sold books. They have told their stories. That left me with a honed skill to tell stories, influenced by thousands of magnificent stories I couldn’t tell. I was ecstatic. I had so much blank paper to write what no one has before.

And then that bomb hit.

You can’t do that, outright, without producing some meta-garbage piece of half-worked poop that still isn’t original. There’s a lot of poop out there.

Once I learned how to write, once I spent years practicing, once I spent years producing, I decided on people, on characters. My characters would be original because only I could make them the way no one else could.

So I did.

Or I’m the most self-deceived writer to pick up pen and paper. Happiest too, I might add. That doesn’t help with the brooding-writer stereotype, I know.

Anyway, I hope you stay tuned. I hope you read. I hope you [buy my book(s)]. But mostly, I hope you wonder, and allow yourself to imagine the magic of things that are fantastic and fun.