In the Blood

Bloodlines

Without question, I am my own writer. I approach my craft differently and besides, I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin. Sadly, I ramble on far more than either of them would be comfortable with. There is an annoying-to-some tendency to decipher critical notions with different and potentially odd angles. I let words take me where they need to go, do my best to find some sort of resolution. With plenty of words, babies and grown men can be put to sleep just by reading my stuff. Still, I have learned from my brothers, am in the blood, and there are characteristics and styles of both writers I can pull from. Of course, they’re older brothers, so if you like my writing, you’d love theirs. 

Now, I do need to expand this story just a tad. Remember when I mentioned Don submitting columns to the newspaper under a pseudonym and the father being Todd’s editor boss? Well, that father was a writer. As the editor-in-chief of the paper, he ate words for breakfast and slept with them at night. Before he passed, he signed a book deal as a mystery writer. He had submitted a book that hadn’t been finalized, so I was asked by his wife to do some editing. All of this was in yet a different style, but I was very proud to be part of the process. With the ghost of my father standing behind me, I worked through the chapters of his story. Ultimately the book was published. 

Years later, that same Todd who worked at the newspaper was writing his own columns for yet a different newspaper. I liked what Todd wrote about and his unique style and wound up becoming his editor. We’ve put out four books and the world is a better place with these scribbles in the world. 

As a side route, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention another blood brother. Brother Dave was a half brother who I played music with off and on for a number of years. The music was great and the camaraderie wonderful, but something else happened worth noting. During the course of our musical endeavors, Dave wrote a number of songs that became regular numbers in our sets. Turns out the songs have stood the test of time. The melodies he conjured were golden, but there was magic in the succinct way he wrote words to the song. A different style, of course, but one he can hang his hat on.

Okay, since I’ve gone this far I might as well continue. Turns out I had a sister who could write as well. Deb knew gardening and studied to become a bonafide master gardener. She knew photography, loved birds and was creative in a big way. She was also no stranger to the mighty pen. When it came to spitting out her side of a story, it’d be best if you were on her side.

There you have it, a family of individuals with writing in the blood. A longing to express the matter at hand, struggles to contend with, and whatever is going on then and there. Telling stories has been around since the first cave drawing. Perspective is telling that story with your own point of view. Putting both together with conviction is a different process altogether. Takes hard work. Takes blood. There was an earlier post celebrating the urgent need to write or some such elevated thought. And though I have no idea where it’s going, just thought I’d explain where it came from.