Last week I spent a lot of time in airports and on airplanes. When this happens, I find myself studying the people around me like they are all potential characters in a book. And I wonder—what makes them unique? What makes them lovable? What are their hang-ups and why? And as I pick apart their obvious characteristics—a giant forehead, a spitty lisp or a braying laugh—I wonder what lies underneath—how many subtleties compose each of us? After all, I’m a composite of everyone I’ve ever known, but I’m the only me I can think of.

This is not a philosophical blog. I’m an inevitable writer. And writers, I’ve found, are naturally creepy people. I’ve overcome myriad obstacles to get to the tenuous stability I cling to today—time, nature, and man—with a healthy side of economy. In writing—as in stand-up comedy—nothing is sacred and no one is safe.

I grew up reading everything I could get my hands on. As a child, I loved Nancy Drew stories and Shakespeare. As an adult, I love Kurt Vonnegut and Michael Crichton. Sometimes the genius of a writer is not in how she puts her words together, but in how she views the world. I’ve been touched by so many bits of writing, and it’s my delusion that I can touch someone with my writing too. This blog will poke fun at my successes and failures. This blog will expose my heartaches and my sanities in the form of musings, short stories and poems without taking myself too seriously. 

I invite your comments and suggestions. I welcome your wisdoms.