This is going to be short, because the first part of it's a little hard to talk about.
About a year ago, I received some bad news. I took it badly.
I broke down, just about completely.
Since then I've mostly been mailing it in. Going through the motions, hoping no one notices.
Except here. Veronica poked me every time it was time for my post here, gave me ideas about what to write, and generally kept me from sinking into my self-imposed hole.
Over the past year, I've written more here than every place else combined.
I'm finally coming back out of that long slump, and the one of the few reasons I'm still in any shape to write are the monthly posts I've put up here.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
To Veronica Scott, with thanks
I'm a storyteller, a father, a husband, and a master of many trades. Of dubious quality in all of the above. The photo is not of me; it's art I bought at a convention, I subsequently commisioned the remaining pair of the trio. Lest it be misunderstood, the byline is from a long time friend who made the following comment: "Once in a while you've got to get into Bob's Head. After which you must get back out as fast as humanly possible." He stands by that assessment to this day. Then again, in answer to the question "which is more dangerous, an assault rifle or a hamster?", he answered "Depends, does Bob have the hamster?". Much later in life, a friend from college was doing impromptu Tarot readings, and before each one was choosing what card most accurately represented each person in the room. On being asked what card repped me, he replied "the six of spades". On seeing the inhabitants of the room go into thought trying to figure out what card that might equate to in the Tarot he said "No, don't convert it. In the great Tarot game of life, Bob is playing poker." I don't know WHY people say these things. They just do.