The heaviness of the week is easing. Thankfully. And there is a vibe in the air that it not only feels like a Friday but it actually IS a Friday. Which means there’s a weekend to be had in, oh, about 5 hours. I can get behind that.
I have some administrative stuff to post here today. I call it: Why I Write. And I do it every quarter year or so – as it bears repeating just in case there are any newcomers to this blog.
About 6 years ago I suffered a self-inflicted gash from a horrendously handled heart break. I was resigned to be a walking wound, however, I desperately needed respite from guilt and grieving. I wasn’t looking to be forgiven as much as I was looking for relief, even if only for an hour.
So I began a blog.
Now, I’ve always been someone who believes rules are suggestions (I think it comes from being the 4th kid in a school of siblings), but when I started this, I went against my norm and made a few guidelines to follow:
- I think therefore I am. All thoughts expressed here are my own, unless sourced. Some thoughts are fiction. Some are not. Which ones are which is meaningless to me. I post because I enjoy writing, and publishing what I write has made me a better storyteller. Yet if you ask me in a court of law what is real and what is fabricated – I will always always say everything comes from my imagination.
- What’s in a name? Very little here. I have only used one real person’s name, to celebrate the life of my cousin Wade. Otherwise, no name is real. It might be close, but it isn’t real (okay, my Mum is my Mum). Anyway, I’m consistent with aliases. But bottom line? I don’t have a brother named Joe and my neighbour’s name is not Monroe.
- Be nice. I’m not here to hate on non-public citizens. Hate objects, for sure. Hate social media, you bet. Hate expressions, of course. But hate people? Not so much. I am as much upset by me as I am with anyone I used to like or love. I’ll call myself a name or two. However, you’d be hard pressed to find a vile sentence aimed at someone I used to know.
- Misery loathes company. I am an idiot and a terrifically flawed individual trying to get into Heaven. I caution those to check in here from time to time but not to invest in this. Remember, tornadoes don’t build houses.
- Easy on the swears. I try, keyword, not to curse. I will let a few bombs creep in because, well, I’m fan. Mostly, though, it’s not part of the narrative and I’m not here to shock.
- Address unknown. If you know me then you probably know where I live. If you don’t know me and you know where I live then that’s creepy and not much I can do about it. That being said, I make a concerted effort to protect people’s privacy by avoiding pinning here where we all truly live. Sometime’s it slips … and yes, my Brother Joe (see what I did there?) really does live in Ukraine. I just don’t think where we are adds much to the purpose of why I write – I could be here or there or on a ship in the middle of an Ocean, my imagination is always with me, and so is my laptop.
- Finnegan Again, Begin Again. This place is to be a centralised area to jot down silliness and ideas that make me laugh, cry, and soar. Poking fun at celebrities is allowed. Movie and literature reviews are encouraged.
So those are my seven points for why I write. Seven. Which also happens to be my favourite number and the number of people in my family. Those seven guides watch over every entry I’ve ever published, and their lingering has allowed me to explore this path in well over 3,000 posts.
An emotional and physical wanderer my entire life, I virtually found a place to ground myself. First on Tumblr and now on its own website, Finnegan’s corner has organically morphed into a thing that I now deem a lovely necessity. My written words have given me perspective and balance on more than one occasion, even as recently as yesterday. I don’t always get it right. But boy, am I trying.
Oh, and just in case it has not been made perfectly clear … I am Finnegan. And it is here, every day, where I begin again.
And that wound? It recently became a scar.
Hang in there.