Nothing to sell. I'm a shitty salesman anyway. Writing is how I work things out, because what stays in my head swims around, fast. Ever try grabbing a minnow in a bucket? Writing is my little net thing. Writing's also how I rant, because the real embodied septuagenarian me creaks when I mount the stairs, and loud noises--even my own voice--remind me of violence; I quiver like an inflamed tuning fork. I write to persuade, because--like most people--I think I have answers. Sometimes I may, sometimes I'm way over my head. I've developed a good deal of social anxiety as I've aged. Happens from an accumulation of missteps, conflicts, sins. So I write as a form of safe friendship, sharing what I've worked out in writing on the off chance it might resonate with someone else . . . inviting affirmation, criticism, correction, attunement (and sometimes atonement).
Christian, Illichian Catholic, retired military (Army Special Operations), pacifist, son, husband, father, uncle, grandfather, angler, reader, writer . . . sinner.