But more apexing than anything, I’m a father. Two. Jack, now 4. Mon Petit Emma, 2 months but only days separated from 3 (as of 3/10/16). This provides at times a crippling challenge as a writer, more than frequently just the ample and ideal inner-inferno necessitated to produce truthful writing. And the wine, only sip when I can, as the mini-beats need their focused father. Running, again, when the schedule awards. Everything is about them, my two encouraging wees. So here I am, their Ox of a writer-father confined, finally to one bottle; one project one breath one effort… one BOOK-source. Parenting isn’t effortless, but it isn’t the hell that some of these “mommy” and “daddy” “bloggers” (and I love it when they self-anoint themselves as “writers”) compose it to be. For me, this scribbling and many times over-caffeinated wine-anchored Ox, who also teaches and loves reading and the French language, anything Jack Kerouac and Hemingway and Plath….. See? I’m a mess. But the mess is contained. Again, finally, as of today, March 10th, 2016.
There’s so much in life, just life, and when you’re a writing-father, of 1 or 2 or 4 or more, it shapes the story differently than others sans enfants (kids). This is just me, and if you want to stop reading, I don’t blame you. I often stop reading my shit, just look how loosely edited paragraphs can sometimes exteriorize…..
This “About” is supposed to be concise, inoculate some intrigue with my posts and journal pages, me, or whatever.. just read and see what you can take into your story— OH WAIT, there’s also my attempt at Total Wellness, and Health, Zen study and… A lot to shove into a single bottle, or blog, book-source. But it’s here and it’s me, and je vous remercie pour la lecture (I thank you for reading).