I am a writer, and by that I mean that I occasionally write things that are filed away into the dust and debris of my households hoarding closet never to be seen again. I have poems and short stories and a novel in there somewhere, but I don’t have the courage to retrieve them.

I read somewhere that a blog might suit my style of writing. That it might help me to discover stories and reach a new audience (outside of a black filing cabinet, any audience is a new one).

After thinking for days and weeks about what the hell I could write. What could I say that would interest anyone? Then my daughter Kyra says that we could just blog about our conversations. She claims that they are funny and ridiculous. Conversations that include stepping on rusted nails and while you scream out in pain an aphid flies into your mouth. The aphid then lays eggs in your lungs and a few days later you cough and cough until the aphid swarm is released in a magnificent cloud of horrifying.

This could work. So we shall co-blog. my daughter and I. What could possibly go wrong?


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