Monday, August 15, 2011

commence prattling

so, it's come to this... facebook does not allow me the space required for my (mostly) mindless dronings. and while i enjoy lurking and sharing tidbits here and there on facebook and similar places, i really was looking for a place to, well, prattle on.  it's something i'm not given to in social settings; verbal badinage is not my strength, though with the notable exceptions of kenneth, steve, mary, and the lovely and wise maggie (my 4 year old white boxer) i can talk and talk and talk. but mostly i tend to listen and observe and practice patience.  so it is here that i've finally decided to start putting fingers to keys and press upon the pages some of my thoughts.

a few words about the intent and design of this page.  first off, it's about nothing in particular and everything under and over the sun. one day i may write about the particular chases of miss maggie after rabbits while another i may talk of the death of a beloved singer.  i may even rant about the news or politics, though alternately i'm a nihilist or an egotist so you can never really be sure what i'm going to spout off about next.  basically i'm a failed writer because i do not write.  i've talked about writing, and have several degrees in writing.  but mostly i do not write.  not because i don't think about it, i do. most days i want nothing more than to create a new story or to work on one from years ago -- one day i want to write fiction, the next day i want to write an essay on the benefits of wearing long pants when clearing acreage (those afflicted with poison ivy will understand this).

mostly, i need a place to get started.  and, this being the age of everyone having 15 minutes of fame, i'm staking my plot, cutting down trees and crushing stones in this blogosphere. i can make no promises of how long it will last or if indeed it won't fail tremendously.  nor can i make a promise of its consistency. mostly i will write if i can, or if i force myself. we'll see how it goes. but remember, i make no promises about the content nor talent of my ever aging brain.  this may be fruitless, but i aim to give it the old post grad school try.

a word here about words: i will make no apologies for typos, misspellings, foul language, flighty language, punctuation, grammar, verbosity or terseness.  i am no e.e. cummings, i write in lower case because i'm too lazy to do otherwise. read no further if you are offended by the lack of capitalization, the words fuck, shit, dick, pussy or any other word you might possibly find offensive. make no mistake -- i am a lover of language, of words and letters, be they socially acceptable or sinfully distasteful.  in short, those of you who know me will know that while i believe in the power of language, i also believe words have no more power than what we give them. so take them for what they are: words. nothing more, nothing less. 

those of you who do not know me that well might be wondering at this point: who the fuck is this dullard and why am i reading this? for those brave souls, allow me a brief synopsis (i believe this to be a redundancy, but it sounds lovely coming off the tongue of the mind): i'm tim burns, aged 43, a male living in arkansas. from arkansas but i lived most of my adult life in the great state of maine.  through very little fault of my own (okay, some of my own fault) i find myself back in arkansas, missing maine terribly but comforted in my new surroundings by an amazingly patient girlfriend, my two oldest friends, my parents of whom i have probably not sufficiently thanked for keeping me alive for so fucking long, a few dear friends from school, my intrepid boxer who loves me despite accidentally giving her moldy dog food and causing her an upset stomach, and the great generosity and free use of my parents' cabin located on the spring river near the missouri border.  i spend my time teaching tennis, reading, clearing land on the spring river, cooking, and watching jeopardy.  there's probably more to say, but you will hopefully find out more about me in upcoming blogs. i hate questions, which is why i probably failed as a wannabe literary journalist. i found it was hard for me to ask people things; i simply wanted it to come to me gradually.  and that takes time. which is hard in real life, but in the blogosphere, all things are possible.

so as of right now, it's 1:30 or so in the morning and i should be getting to bed. fear not, this won't always read like the rantings of a (way) post pubescent schoolboy. but tomorrow i must help a friend and i have lots of mowing/weed eating/ clearing to do. 

i hope you'll give this a chance. i hope i do too.  just remember you've been warned: it may truly suck.


  1. I'll read it. Like I have anything better to do.

  2. now there's a ringing endorsement if i've ever heard one... :-) you are a brave, if misguided soul. kim is a writer, with the auspicious moniker of published, i shall try to not embarrass him with my writing. probably too late.