I have thought for some time, reliving incidents in my life, about a number of stories I’ve yet to write. I’ve always intended to write them; and I’m not sure what direction they each should take: whether each story fits better in a larger work or can stand on its own. I’ve taken short cuts, and written short stories. These worked for me; most of the time, as I wrote them quickly, I didn’t have to dig into my psyche for material.
The boy from Irving Texas grows into the man I am now. The man, who rejected Irving Texas, as a writer, returns to his hometown. The grown man, who has memories of places around the world, feels pulled to memories of earlier times; when he can now put the picture together. The young high school student, the same guy as the grown man, who was humiliated by his classmates for “jacking off” in a restroom when he didn’t know what “jacking off” meant…in order that he might write something of lasting value…tries to move beyond mental masturbation.
I think this is the only way I can move forward with my writing career, by looking again at my background, with “he don’t” and “git”, in a small urban town where kids didn’t have time to study. It was also where somehow I turned out differently, or so it seems, than anyone else. This is not totally true. Interestingly enough, my first girlfriend…Kay Jones, the love of my life in the second grade, who lived on the next street directly behind us…also became a playwright. I jealously read a write-up about her in the Irving paper. It was years after I left Irving that I saw that she had written a play about our high school and perhaps had outdistanced me.
I need to move on. Randy Ford