I get lost in my passions sometimes. I am ready to tilt at a new windmill every decade (or half-decade) or so. There have been some notable exceptions but they are few.

 

One exception was poetry. But you might be aware that I broke up with Poetry a couple of years ago. She broke my heart. I don’t wanna talk about it.

 

I loved stunt kites for a long time too. Still love their lighter than air spirits trapped in heavier than air bones.

 

I spent a lot of time on motorcycles in my youth and while, today, I am unlikely to find myself on a Hog, a Sportster would be a wonderful diversion in warmer weather.

 

But even when I have tried not to be a writer, I still would read like a writer. And complain about writing like a writer. And praise writing like a writer. And in the last several weeks I started a new relationship with the idea of the memoir. Please see that I said “the idea,” not the actual memoir. But I think part of what this little column will be about is prep work for memoir writing. Wanna be in a book? Give me something to remember you by.

 

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