I've always been reluctant to label myself as a writer. That has come to strike me as somehow presumptuous. But I like to write, and I do it every day, more or less, even if many of those words never find their way out into the wider world. I've always wanted to be a writer, however, for as long as I can remember, and I've been fortunate enough to have published stories, essays, literary criticism, and two novels over the years. But it's been a dozen years since I've published or even submitted anything for formal publication. Somewhere along the line, I seem to have lost my way. With age, it seems that the world becomes less comprehensible, not more, and the notion of what it is I want to say about it all drifts ever farther away from this tattered shore.Despite that somewhat melancholy introduction, I am nevertheless a fairly light-hearted person for the most part, grappling with the ever-increasing existential issues that age seems to pose, always on the lookout for beauty, humor, and the sublime. I will confess that there is a bit of hedonist in me that has chipped the paint on my good intentions from time to time. But striving to be a better person, like striving to be a better writer, is the work of a lifetime.
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Randall was propped against the Formica and vinyl-clad wet bar at the Alverton Volunteer Fire Department Social Hall. At the opposite side of the space, next to a long table of cookies, the polka band had launched into a zesty rendition of the Chicken Dance. Guests wove through a garden of dining tables toward the dance floor. Randall tipped his glass toward a purple-chiffoned bridesmaid...
Added 20 Apr 2017 | Category Humor
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