When I was young, not school boy young, but young man young, 18 young, I wanted a road map. Or I thought I did. I think now, what I wanted, was a free and clear way ahead. Preferably paved in gold and dotted with happiness and wisdom.
I saw the world as a large sometimes dark, sometimes light, forest, filled with mountains and rivers and fields. Filled with possibilities, and also looming with regrets.
I knew then, like I know now, that I didn’t want to be sucked through life like I was in a tube. I didn’t want to be told what to do, but I did want to be able to see where I was going.
That’s when I started writing. It was kind of like breaking sticks as you walk through the woods, or leaving little markers to flag the trail as you move along. So even if I didn’t know exactly where I was going, I could see where I was at a little more clearly. And I thought that if I marked the trail properly, I could travel along it and navigate back through it.