Foreword

"No one saw him come in the unanimous night..."

--Jorge Luis Borges, "The Circular Ruins"

I suppose the first thing I was going to write here was about how I'm angry with myself for hardly ever writing anymore, about breaking promises to good friends, about what this writing project Means to Me As A Wannabe Writer, and all that pseudo-philosophical, egotistical bullshit. Then I realized that none of you care (or should care), that none of it matters, and that I would be wasting time both your time and mine writing about it. So instead, let me tell you what you should expect out of the upcoming project on this blog.

The project in question is simple: write a short story or poem every week until my next semester of college starts. Update every Friday. If you're curious about my writing style, here a link to my FictionPress account as well as a poem I wrote for Valentine's Day:

***

To My Tender Sweetheart

By Jonathan Mortis (Recently Dec'd)

I love you, dear. So know the gentle scratch

That rakes across your door and makes you start

Is only me, befuddled by the latch

That keeps me from the safe-house of your heart.

Know, too, that when I shamble down these streets,

Dejected, with my brethren who moan

For flesh, or any half-picked-over meats,

I'd rather dine with you, and you alone.

I love you, though such words begin to rot

From use, and die within my mold'ring throat,

Yet I'll not groan but shout my happy lot:

I've just a tender girl on which to dote.

Such eyes! such lips! such soft and gleaming brow!

Such a voice, such words that sing in anxious phrase

Do only whet my appetite, till now

You'd drive me mad from hunger with that gaze.

I'd hold you fast, if you would let me in,

My fingers brushing whispers on your nape

And lingering long across your perfect skin.

(Excuse the mess--they come back on with tape.)

I'll come again tonight, dear, when it's late,

And hope that in your heart, our love remains,

That on our true devotions we'd be sate,

Not only on the body, but on brains.

***

And of course, none of the above writing counts toward my project. What will count, what will matter, are the stories I mean to spin across these few summer weeks. And even though I want you, Gentle Reader, to enjoy my scribblings, I'm really only working on this project so that I don't have a panic attack every time I meet a blank page. Selfish and stupid, I know. So be it. I'm making this project my last chance to reach the Grey Havens before the ships go bye-bye, and if I have to smack a hobbit into a volcano along the way, I'll do it.

What does all this mean for you, Gentle Reader? Well, as long as I stay true to my words, you'll get a snack-sized bit of reading from me every Friday on the blog. You'll also have that harrowing (for writers) ability to stop reading if you suddenly decide I'm boring or brainless or just plain bad. Good. I encourage you to use it. Nothing worse than letting a talentless hack on the internet steal your time. If I do nothing else for you, I'd at least like to be an interesting diversion between reloading your RSS feeds and hunting for more lolcats. Because, you know, a guy's gotta dream.

And now that I've wasted this much of your time on the foreword to a project with hitherto no words yet written, let's get to the good stuff already. See you Friday.