There are events in this world that happen right under our nose, and we are none the wiser. At the time of their occurrence, it is best that the populace remain ignorant. That is until enough time has passed that the events can no longer frighten the naive. I believe that the events that I am pulling from my journals to publish in this blog are just such events.
The fact that I kept said journals of this period in my life suggests the importance of these events. Like any aspiring writer, it is something we should do. I tried before this, and failed, and have had little success since. Yet, during the five or six year period that I was involved in these events, I never missed a day.
If the world knew what was going on, very likely panic would have set in and brought society to a standstill. However, I feel enough time has passed that many of you will not even believe these events as truth. In fact, the vast majority of you will think this is just another slice of fiction from my over active imagination. On the other hand, maybe this story will become the stuff of legends.
Judge it as you will.
Even though I am taking these events from my own tattered, leather-bound, chicken scribed journal, and I am the main character, I have struggled with whether to write these events in first person, or third person. After much deliberation, I decided to write this in the third person. Then I avoid the sometimes seemingly endless “I”s and “me”s.
In addition, I struggled with how to publish these events. Should I publish each sequence of events as separate posts to this blog in chronological order, or publish it all in a single bound volume. Again, after a lot of internal argument, I decided to serialize this story.
My goal is to post a new installment about once a week. At the very most, I will not let it go beyond two weeks. The plan is for each post to contain within it, a complete event, or series of events. It would be cruel to take you to the point where “…his mother is screaming at him, and in the heat of the moment raises her hand to strike.”
Until next post…
However, I may leave a post with, “his mother rose her hand to strike, and then paused. The struggle in her mind was an eternity, while the hesitation for Billy was a fraction of the second. Then her hand sailed through the air in a great arc, striking Billy’s face with terrific force, rocking his head back, the momentum carrying him backwards and ultimately dumping him on his ass. Billy looked up at his mom, ‘What did I do wrong?’”
Until next post…
The aforementioned event is not an entry in my diary; it is just a hint of psychosis taking over my imagination for the sake of an example. Some of my posts might have a Larry Hagman, who shot JR, type of endings, but I will not leave my readers confused as to why, where, or when the shooting took place.
Finally, because these events take place in my early to late teens, I am going to keep the setting in the late seventies to early eighties. For younger readers, this may create a bit of a culture shock, but the technology or lack thereof is paramount to the story.
There was a time before the Internet and smart phones.
Well, enough with the explanation of what I am going to do. I have no idea how long this narration will last. I suppose until the events that I took part in play out. Unlike the old M.A.S.H. series, my serialized account of this period in my life will not last longer than the actual event.