Now, I reckon some of you may have noticed, I got a knack for keeping myself entertained if there’s a keyboard nearby and an hour to kill. And let me tell you, this whole “writing thing” might strike some folks as peculiar, maybe even a bit baffling, while for others, it’ll make all the sense in the world. You see, I’ve always been a man of words, a collector of them, a shuffler of syllables, but rarely one to lay them down in such a polished fashion as this. Whether you find this habit alarming, delightful, terrifying, or just plain amusing, I might as well let it be known: I have adored words, writing, and spinning tales for most of my life. I just haven’t always made a formal habit of it.

Funny how getting older makes a person take to rambling more frequently, ‘literalogically,’ if you will. Don’t bother reaching for a dictionary, I just conjured it up. And why not? Words are meant to be shaped and bent to our needs, otherwise what’s the point of using them at all? But fair warning: I’ve got a bit of a sarcastic streak, and I have no qualms about using my sarcasm for the greater good. Mostly for a laugh, mind you, but every now and then, folks misunderstand and figure I’m dead serious and missing the fun entirely. They’re mistaken, most assuredly mistaken.

Now, those of you who’ve been my Facebook companions for a while might already know that I spent a decent chunk of this past summer airing my grievances, in print, of course. The target of my fervor was none other than a corrupt old codger, a long-time elected official who’d poked the bear one too many times. This fellow had been up to his neck in dubious dealings, and finally, he poked me until I did what any self-respecting writer would do, I exploded with a series of investigative vignettes. The kind of exposés that don’t end in polite conversation at the general store. No, it wasn’t exactly fun, nor was it world-shattering, but it was, by golly, fulfilling.

Truth be told, I still don’t know if any of it was all that valuable, at least in the grand scheme of things. I had a hunch he was going to lose the election anyhow. But the man wouldn’t leave my family out of his nonsense, and if there’s one thing I have a rule about, it’s this: if someone hates you for no reason, well then, by all means, give the rascal a good reason. And so I did. Thoroughly. As a side effect, I managed to gather up a couple hundred new friends on Facebook. Some strangers, some spies, and plenty of curious bystanders hoping for the next juicy bit of local scandal.

There were those who tuned in purely to watch the drama unfold, and a few others, a shady bunch, to be sure, were quietly slipping notes to the enemy camp. Regardless of their motives, the whole affair lit a spark inside me that had long been dormant, the kind of spark that only reared its head when I was forced to write something for work, long-range planning documents, policies, technical manuals, zoning ordinances, police reports, professional letters. You get the picture.

The response from my little corner of the community was intoxicating, I won’t lie. It stirred something in me, a need to keep folks informed, maybe even entertained. But with that enthusiasm came a fair share of stress, considering that the old rascal was running for a position that would have made him my boss. Losing wasn’t an option, not if I wanted to keep my job.

After the election dust settled and the tyrant had been bested, I found myself at a loose end. I’d gotten so used to having a cause to fight for that its absence left a peculiar void. That’s when, as if on cue, my son Jon called up, looking for a bit of a pep talk.

The conversation left me feeling reflective, so I scribbled down some thoughts, little nuggets of inspiration meant for Jon. Later, I decided to share them on my Facebook page, and much to my surprise, folks seemed to find those musings worth their while. It seemed that amid the stoicism and ramblings, people were discovering a few glimmers of usefulness. Before I knew it, I had people encouraging me to start a blog.

Now, I know as well as anyone that there are far better examples to follow than anything I could conjure up. But much like the appeal of contemporary art, it’s not always about the art itself. Sometimes, it’s about the frame, the brushstrokes, or even just the peculiar interpretations it inspires. So here I am, setting out to scribble down my thoughts with no clear direction in mind.

What comes next? Who knows. It might be more words of encouragement, or it could just as easily be commentary on the law, technology, firearms, local politics, travel misadventures, or a healthy dose of pure, unfiltered sarcasm. I haven’t got the faintest idea.

But whatever it is, I hope you find it worth your time, worth at least a chuckle or a thought. And if we’re lucky, perhaps the ensuing conversations will be even more entertaining than anything I could’ve written on my own. So, dear reader, welcome along for the ride. And remember, it’s worth every cent you’re paying for it, which is, of course, absolutely nothing.