Blog Post the First: Being a Declaration of Intention and Desire

Edmund Spenser was preparing to write an epic.

Back in the day, it was customary for someone that audacious to declare his intentions in advance by writing something a bit more manageable first. For Spenser, this was a series of 12 pastoral poems called The Shepherd’s Calendar. (Actually, it was called The Shepheardes Calender, but I didn’t want to frighten you with archaic spelling right off the bat.)

Anyway, it was a collection of twelve poems masterfully crafted in different styles in order to showcase his mad poetic skillz. He was imitating the example of earlier authors like Virgil and Chaucer, hoping to drum up some interest for his own upcoming epic. I think this declaration of intention was actually a way to test the waters, a thermometer stuck under the readers’ tongues to see if they had caught Spenser fever and would, therefore, be lining up to purchase a special-edition collector’s copy of his epic when he finally published it. Well, it must have worked. He is considered one of the greatest English poets of all time, even though he tragically kicked the bucket after writing only half of his epic, The Faerie Queene.

I think this declaration of intention was actually a way to test the waters, a thermometer stuck under the readers’ tongues.

I’m sure you see where I’m going with this.

Epics will kill you.

No, that’s not what I was driving at. The takeaway from this, my first blog post, is that I’d like to write a book. Actually, I’d like to write a fantasy trilogy and then many more books after that. But I’m a nobody, and I don’t think I’d do a good job of writing 12 fancy poems to try and change that fact. So even though I had lots of reasons not to start a blog (who would care about my posts, wouldn’t writing a blog take time away from writing a book, what if nobody reads it, what if somebody reads it, etc.), I still had one reason to start it anyway: I wanted to connect with you and declare my intentions.

So hear ye, hear ye: I intend to write some books, and I hope you’ll join me in my journey. In fact, you’re cordially invited to follow my tragedies and triumphs (even if the ratio is top heavy) because I need you. I need you to give me feedback, advice, questions, and occasional swift kicks in the pants when I slack off. And in return, I hereby do solemnly swear that I will write about a variety of subjects (not just literary stuff), that I will make the blog as interactive as possible, and that I will not write blog posts that take an hour and a half to read.

For those of you who know me, that last one should come as a surprise.

I need you to give me feedback, advice, questions, and occasional swift kicks in the pants when I slack off.

So I leave you now not with a pastoral poem of outstanding beauty but with an original poem nonetheless. I penned it just for this occasion. I hope it suffices.

A writer there was—unenthusing—
whose poems were hardly worth using.
As a serious verse
you could scarcely find worse,
though she hopes you find lim’ricks amusing.

Thee Ende