This is something I’ve been putting off for a long time.

Even as I type these words, I can already feel my nervous system firing.

First and foremost, I consider myself a writer. Years before I ever picked up a microphone - dating back to my childhood - I routinely filled the pages of my journals with fleeting thoughts on worldly events, miniature fictional stories, and emotionally charged diary entries centered on the classic suspects of teenage angst.

In school, my teachers often complimented me on my writing. As the son of two newspaper writers and editors, writing is in my blood. It’s always come naturally to me, and I’ve adored this art form my entire life. Whether it’s handwritten thank-you notes to friends, letters to pen pals, love notes to girlfriends, or blog posts originating from random creative writing prompts, a blank page has always called to me more than any other form of artistic expression. Paired with a love for sharing my art with the world, this writing obsession has led to hundreds (thousands?) of blog posts through the years posted on all kinds of platforms, including Substack, where I regularly wrote until leaving the platform in early 2024.

The story continues on Substack.