Here I am.

At home on a Wednesday evening with a little porcelain bowl of runny vanilla ice cream atop a square of warm coffee cake, at my desk, ready to write.

In one of my English Literature courses in college I had a professor who believed that to know someone is to know their history of desire.

I believe this. However, you may not and that’s okay but if you feel you should know, here’s what I desire:

I desire God and heaven because I need Grace and someday I want to see my dad who passed away when I was 5. I desire good music because I believe it has a soul and we can connect to it the same way we connect with people. I desire bruschetta and brie washed down with a glass of beautifully bitter red wine. I desire anything that can be tasted, felt or touched not with my hands or ears but with my soul.

But more than anything (besides God ’cause well…you know) I desire writing. This force and craft that has the power to make the ugly beautiful and the beautiful, ugly. I desire the kind of writing that washes away the dirt and gunk of the everyday and shows me the truth and simplicity of this world that I have over- complicated.

To fill this desire means I must pay attention to every dirty, weird, and peculiar detail of this big bad world and learn to turn it into art. The art of personal narrative and essay. The art of writing. Writing even when it hurts and I’m convinced I’m nothing but crazy.

Hello world, my name is Jamie and this is my blog.

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