I've thought about doing a blog for a long time. I love to write. Writing makes me happy - I suppose it's the same as any hobby. Some people run marathons. Some people take pictures everywhere they go. Some people collect stamps. Some people look in their neighbors' windows late at night. Some people write. That's me! (The writing one - not the looking-through-windows-late-at-night one. But I try not to judge.)
I have three recurring fantasies. The first (and best, in my opinion) has me on lead guitar in a rock n' roll band. So, as I listen to certain songs (this seems to happen frequently in the shower, if you demand a visual), I picture myself playing in anonymity towards the back of the stage. Then, as the song approaches a guitar solo, I slowly start moving towards the front of the stage - but I do this with stealth - no one is paying attention, because the song hasn't gotten to that point yet. I get to the front of the stage AT THE EXACT SECOND (this is important in my fantasy) that I start the guitar solo. The crowd erupts! On huge screens behind me, one of two visuals shows the ebbs and flows of my playing: either a giant digital equalizer; or, my personal favorite - a squiggly line that looks like what you might see on an EKG (you know - the heart thing). The light from the display is almost violent as it pulses with each new note that I play. When my part is finished, I humbly move back out of the spotlight to resume my accompaniment. People in the crowd are all, "WOW! That guy is THE MAN! I so wish I was as cool as him!"
The second fantasy involves me as a quarterback. It's late in the game, and I am playing in my team's home stadium. As I walk to the line, I put my arms out in the universal quieting-the-raucous-crowd gesture. The crowd reluctantly honors my command, so that I, the quarterback, can concentrate on the surgery I'm about to perform on the defense. We need this score! I know it, my teammates know it - every single person watching from the stadium and on TV knows it! As I scan the defense, I see fear and determination in their eyes. I also see a weakness in their alignment. I quickly call an audible, and I feel an almost-tangible tension coming from the other side of the ball. "What is he calling?" they silently cry, "Gads, man! What is this creative maniac going to exploit?" The ball is snapped, and I fake a handoff to my tailback (it's ALWAYS play-action in my fantasy). The defense has shifted; but it's going to be too late. I see my target sprinting towards the post, and I launch the pass just as I am hit by a blitzing safety. I don't see the end of the play, but the roar of the crowd tells me all that I need to know. I humbly jog to the sideline. There is no overt celebration. On the television broadcast, the announcers are reverently saying what a humble hero I am. Of course, they are right; but I don't have time to consider it. There's a sick kid at the hospital that I've promised to visit after the game.
My last fantasy is not quite as spectacular. In it, I am a best-selling author. I live in a large-yet-somehow-humble cabin on a lake. From a massive, antique wooden desk in the cabin's guest cottage I have turned into an office (completely separate from the main cabin, so that I can write in peace and quiet), I write a book a year. My cute, little family enjoys the life we've made in the small village by our home. In the summer, my well-mannered children swim off the wooden pier that came with our house. In the winter, they skate on the frozen lake. My agent marvels at the quiet efficiency with which I am able to produce what will someday be considered classics. I accept his praise with humility, and cash the not-so-humble royalty checks he sends every month.
That last fantasy is what I call my Stephen King fantasy.
Let's face it. There is a common ingredient in each of those fantasies - an ingredient I have yet to see in the spice rack at the local market. That ingredient is talent. (You could argue that another common ingredient is cheesiness; but I digress.) I am not likely going to wake up someday and find hidden talent - like a twenty-dollar bill in the back pocket of the jeans you haven't worn since last winter. But how fun it is to dream!
I suppose writing - whether it's a blog or a journal - is like playing Guitar Hero or Madden Football. It's an outlet for the imagination. If anyone actually reads my blog and finds an occasional useful tidbit among my rambling posts - well, that would be icing on the cake. Regardless of the audience (or lack thereof), I know that writing makes me happy. And while I don't have the time or the talent to do it more frequently, it's a fun playground.
PS - Are you wondering how The Bubka became The Bubka? This is a good question, with a deep and meaningful answer. You can read about the rich history of The Bubka by following this link.