This is my first attempt at writing for a public I mostly am unfamiliar with. All right, that is not strictly true. I have written extensively, though not always fluidly. And rarely have I known what audience I am about to reach. So, have I reached you?
What shall I tell you? Right now I am taken with a lass. Since she has not made it known to me that she wishes to be referred to with an alias or pseudonym and as it may make you better understand who she is. Eileen. (go to the writing section, look for this name. Unless, by the time you have read this, I have changed her name or the title of the story. In which case, read everything I have written in hopes of finding exactly the right bit of prose that explains her. At worst, you waste an hour of your time. But I would like to think no time was harmed in the writing of this. Whenever possible, the actual family members and police official were used in the writing of this. What you are about to read is not a news broadcast.)
She is... young. I wish I could categorize her as otherwise, but every time I mention her to my friends and family, that factor shoots out of the floor like the fish on Super Mario video games. So I mention it here before the grace of gods and strangers. She is honestly wonderful. She is a trifle too playful with my emotions, as they are genuine and not some remake of a turn of the century toy. But she is dear to me. She has been since I met here and only after a brief scare that I may lose her have I realized how very much I do not want to.
Not that I have her. She insists in a coquettish fashion that we are merely friends. Incorrigible, truly.
My, how vacuous you must think me. We have just met and I have spent the bulk of my time since lamenting and cooing about a girl. I assure you, it gets better. At least, I assume it does. Maybe you are reading this a year from when I wrote it. Read further on, later entries. Does this turn out well? Do I get my heart shattered like an antique doll? How long until she definitively says yes or no?
Am I happy a year from now? Are you?
reading: Another Roadside Attraction, Tom Robbins, LAH Reader
listening: Jill Sobule
, Sarah Merritt, Comfort Eagle wanting: closure, answers, a healthy body interesting
thought: People actually need and love me. I am an integral process of the universe. And I know Sarah will forgive me for completely ripping off the format of her journal. (I'll work it off by never ceasing to love her.)
Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. He has published four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings.
He likes when you comment.
