After many years of wanting to write a “proper” book, through volumes of journaling in notebooks, daydreaming, sleepless nights filled with the search for a worthy story, and fantasies of seeing my name on a book on a shelf in a store, it just didn’t happen.
Ultimately, it took one hell of a wake-up call — a primary subject in the following work — to nudge the push toward a shove, to force me into considering how much effort it would take to publish a book, how much it would cost, how long the process could take, realizing, sadly, how little of all those resources I had left, before I finally decided to go an alternative route.
This website IS the book!
It’s a kind of memoir. But, rather than a traditional contiguous narrative, rather than a straight telling of the story, what follows instead consists of, as the subtitle suggests, collected scraps of writing I’ve done; mostly non-fiction, some entries from my journal, some explorations of referenced music, poetry, and art that hearken back to my English major days, even a sarcastic poem. But, I also took some poetic license, including a few bits and pieces of fiction written during a brief period when I’d considered turning the entire thing into a novel.
Strung together in this way, it is actually quite accurately reflective of my experience, and the states of mind, spirit, and body depicted.
I, Too, Heard The Owl 