I hated being caged up, our cramped apartment, too much family, too little space. I escaped to the library, reading everything that wasn’t history or biography. Reading led to writing. I started with short Sci-fi stories. I wrote in spite of F/A grades: F for grammar & spelling, A for content/originality. I wrote in the face of forced writing-practice due to extremely poor penmanship. Later very gladly I took up typing, at which I excelled, despite striking the “m” key for “w” and “p” for “q”. In Jr. High I wrote love songs for the tough guys to give to their girlfriends as theirs, which afforded me a degree of protection in the schoolyard, being more verbal than physical. After the Service, in which I was assigned a decent MOS due to my typing skills, I made a living writing and shooting educational filmstrips. However, I was a better photographer and editor. I loved words connected to pictures. Then the Apple was invented. I started a software company that was among the first to develop open-ended writing programs that allowed children of all abilities to move graphics around (it sounds so retro), add text anywhere on the screen and print out their creations. Words and picture on computers became my career. Now retired, after years of not working as a writer, I have the time to set down my hyper-aware observations, sitting in bars talking to strangers, collecting conversations, poeming, tweeting and ranting. In the end, writing is the way I “talk” to myself and to those close to me in ways I’m rarely honest enough to do off the page.

 

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