From 1970. One of my three years at The Peddie School. I had a notepad. Lots of them. And was convinced that filling them and getting more was my role. These were the coming out years. When Mr. Roberts instilled confidence in me. And implored all boys to keep a journal. To go inside and find out who’s there. What’s there. To lay it out, all of it, on paper. And then keep going.
I found some of the magazines I edited while a student. With my entires in each. Stories. Poems. An essay. Reminders of when I tried hard to go deep. To play pretend with my pen. Or typewriter. And make things with words. And maybe turn a head with them. Very little has changed.
All This By Hand
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