Thanks for Bothering!
A Note of Appreciation
I’m an awkward fit here. The desire to put a pen to paper has waned with age but also with circumstances. Living in a city, engaged with its affairs, and being a part of a particular milieu or milieus within that setting provided much inspiration. Here, living in a small town in rural Illinois, the inspirations are fewer and definitely spaced farther apart. I’m also working more than I care to be, which also takes its toll. Time and energy tend to mean much more and have different meanings at 61 than 25. Then, of course, mediums have changed. Writing for a printed publication versus an online website. A writer feels compelled to write a certain way, often wanting to accommodate shrunken attention spans that were already shrinking when the printed word was just beginning its futile struggle versus a world of images, screens, etc.
For whatever reason, writing then I presumed a certain audience. It was always small but it was always engaged. And provokable. A short article that I penned for a punk rock fanzine that exposed the growing racist skinhead influence in the Chicago alternative music scene brought death threats from Nazi Skinheads, including having a bounty put on my head by their leader. I also wrote a number of op/eds for local media here in opposition to a proposed factory farm, the construction of which was halted by community efforts. Every one of those rants had their greatest impact via a local newspaper still being printed, edited and published locally. That sort of influence is gone, as readership has fractured and become more diffuse.
I’ve never been a committed writer. Even during my two years in college, I was largely writing for my own benefit, not in hope of obtaining a degree. Just another part of an effort at life-long learning. A student of life, as they say. In fact, I even refused an offer of a weekly column at our local paper because I dreaded the thought of being edited and having a deadline. And when in school, I never wrote a paper more than once. No rough drafts. I was already moving onto the next thing to be studied, either within the confines of the school itinerary or mine. I rarely read the professor’s comments or noted a grade. Because neither mattered.
Anyway, all this being said, while in the grand scheme of things, the words being shared here — mine or those of others I’ve felt the need to resurrect--will have little bearing, I do sincerely appreciate anyone’s bothering to stop by. Even if it’s just the once--giving me the chance to prove that I am indeed the jerk you thought I was!
