Today is not really a momentous day, but it is a day, with a morning, noon, and night, and even those wee hours that promise its wake matter. Those are the wee hours I am celebrating now.
I hope you exist, out there, random reader, and I do not know how I will find you, but I will! I will find you, even if I have to slash my sword through a thousand reams of paper and spill the ink of hundreds of bloody printers. If I must roast myself for years over the slow flame of the form rejection letters from agents and publishers, and if I must take my knife to the belly of Father Time himself, I will find you.
I have a message for you, a story, and the survival of my friends depends on it. For friends in tales only live as long as the mind keeps them: some people are eternal because they live in eternal memories, and some people die before they see more than one mind, or because they became too old and the readers would no longer remember them.
Quite honestly, I know this is not how to begin a blog. Or, if it is, it is how to begin a blog that will fail. So if you would like to know how not to blog, take a page out of my book--not literally, or I will not be able to finish my sentences coherently--and in your first post reveal yourself as a mediocre musician and poor writer. Here are some of the comments I have received on my horrible music:
"Could be in a children's film." --broadjam reviewer
"It's boring." --a friend
"Maybe okay for a Sunday School or something." --jango.com reviewer
If you would like your blog to fail, stab yourself in the back by saying something controversial, such as, "The next presidential election will overwhelmingly favor conservatives." Or worse, say something controversial on a topic that you know nothing about, for it is as far above you as the clear stars above the dusty snow tonight. "Although I know nothing about astrology, predictions of the future, Mayans, Hebrews, or the word count of the Bible, I know the world will not end in 2012! In fact, I'm optimistically pointing towards 2011. And a half."
*Insert choice word here* you Mayans, I'm onto you. I know your view of time is cyclical, because I was eavesdropping on a conversation yesterday while walking through the icy morning to the huge white hospital that looms over my tiny little house of Spanish speakers. The preppy girl's voice told me, and I suspect I know what her boyfriend did last Saturday. So here's the finger to everyone who thinks the world is going to end in 2012!
And there, demonstrated for you, dear reader, are the final tools for striking the bell that tones the death-toll over your newly conceived blog. The suction vacuum, the hook, and the pill of the abortion of a blog are, respectively, crude insult, revelation of creepiness, and emo-behavior. I will end off with the latter.
No one will read this, not because I didn't give it google keywords, or because I didn't write anything coherent, or because I didn't remember to leave out the part of being a convicted stalker, but because no one loves me. In the whole, wide, wide world, I am alone, with only the tears on my keyboard and the blood droplets on my monitor...oh wait, that's pizza.
Have a lovely day reader. In all honesty, I will not find you, nor do I know (for certain) what the preppy girl's significant other does. Hopefully, however, even though I may never find you, my story might. If I only tell you one thing that matters, let it be this: Someone out there loves you.