Every play needs a good start. When you have a good beginning, the rest just follows automatically. The same holds true for blogs, as well, I suppose. And here it is, my first official blog entry. So why am I sitting here in the middle of the night in my pajamas, without a good beginning to anything?
I shouldn’t say that. I’ve got a great start—too many, in fact. Swirling around me, tantalizing me with the promises of great stories to follow. But which one do I choose? What story to tell? What character voice is ringing loudest in my head?
I’m probably over-thinking this, like I do everything. Stories don’t cure diseases. They don’t feed children. They don’t vote in elections and they don’t land on the moon. Heck, half the time my stories don’t even pay my bills. But they can teach people to do those things, and the days that my stories do pay my bills are the best days of my life.
I suppose the first story I should start with is the one that least interests me—my own. You’ve never heard of me, and chances are at this point you never will. But maybe you’ve read my words. I’m a ghostwriter, the lost fingers tapping at keys behind swirling mists of ether, lingering in a silent stamp on the page. The reader passes his fingers over me, caresses me, loves, me, hates me, laughs with me, and cries with me, but never knows I’m there. I suppose it’s an aptly titled job.
But there I go again, hiding myself behind a wispy barrage of words. One day I am going to stand up from my desk chair, walk over to my mirror, and see nothing staring back at me. That’s all I will have become, words.
There is one person who knows me for my words, and loves me for them too. I’m in love with him, and hope he never reads this blog. I suspect that somewhere deep, wrapped in a cluster of my most tightly-wound neurons I secretly hope he does. Otherwise why would I make it public, right? Oh right. Because if somebody soon doesn’t figure out that I’m here and alive and a living, beating body. . . well then I’m afraid I might actually become a ghost.
So there it is, okay? My worst secret out in the open, right here in my very first blog entry. I hope he does read this, and finally leaves his wife.
This blog might come back to bite me one day.