The Wait Is Over
Several events (non-cosmic under any analysis) converged to birth this blog. A fairly sludge-like process, the idea to create this forum gelled over a length of time easily longer than the gestation period of the African elephant. This will be the only child.
Let me provide the context.
Cleaning out a forgotten suburban storage unit recently, I discovered marble notebooks containing a serialized high school saga. My alter ego there was “Skippio” – a take on Barbie’s friend Skipper? I can only speculate at this point – and I immediately flashed back to the whole gang from 20 years ago, who surreptitiously passed them around during study hall. The story was a formulaic high school soap opera, awash in typical adolescent angst and willing to experiment fictionally with teenage taboos. Naïve when read now, but in a sweet rather than trite way, it was the latest in a string of my own publishing efforts. In this serialized saga, my friends’ alter-egos easily got the cute guy, landed the lead in the school play, found the perfect lipstick, aced the test, or won the track meet – things they struggled with in real life. Was it any surprise I went on in college to major in creative and non-fiction writing, a degree my parents worried would leave me living in a refrigerator box beneath the underpass.
Some months after finding the marble notebooks, I relocated a CD containing a journal that chronicled in excruciating detail my dating adventures during the first year following my divorce nearly a decade ago. After retreating from my writing during the brief years of my marriage, I picked up again as a means of preserving contemporaneously the experience of my life as a young professional singleton, something I realized I was first experiencing at thirty. Dating as a divorced thirtysomething, as I document it, was stunningly different than all my previous experience. And there are rich stories here I may someday make public.
The writing bug droned audibly. But it was the discovery of Saeco Magic Comfort Plus Super-Automatic Espresso/Cappuccino & Coffee Machine that provided the literal buzz I needed to serve it up. Disillusioned with my local Starbucks where the baristas couldn’t seem to make a consistent vanilla latte if life itself depended upon it, I had sworn off caffeine for quite some time. Then I spent a weekend at a charming B&B where I first became acquainted with this mechanical marvel. A perfect pull every time instantly. Within a few hours after my return home, I’d ordered my own coffee magician, making it my kitchen icon. Now, hopped up on all the gourmet Italian roast I could possibly ever want at just the touch of a single button, I found myself with quite a few sleepless hours available. Call this the third trimester, if you will.
Labor, as expected, was painful. Now that I’d conceived what I wanted to do, I had to know EVERYTHING. A million ideas sprouted from even the most mundane daily events; I quickly jotted notes and saved drafts to complete later. I felt compelled to learn code, reverse engineering blogs I found visually intriguing. I had to find an acceptable palate of colors and backdrops and devise a long-range plan for maintaining the blog. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. My undergraduate degree and my chosen profession prove I can write prose, but I had to master the tools, as well, to swaddle this baby, so to speak. And unfortunately the frenetic energy brought on by the ever-replenishing lattes could not overcome my inherent procrastination. I thought, when I launch, it will be perfect, a masterful and momentous event. And time stretched onward with little perceptible progress. Setting deadlines didn’t help; I acknowledged it would come when ready. My supporters urged me to just publish, that perfection is elusive but a solid story would be a concrete accomplishment. And so I finally reached the point this weekend where the work product was acceptable, not perfect, but it’s mine and I love it dearly. Under the premise that if I make the first post, it will grow up into what I vision it can be.
So what should one expect to find here to attract and sustain attention, that isn’t available on countless other blogs? A little of this, a little of that – kind of like this introduction, although future entries will be more topic-focused and won’t be nearly as long. You will either enjoy my fairly complex writing style developed with the help of a convent full of Catholic school nuns and a few famous novelists … or you won’t. You will see regular commentary on my many passions – beans I’m brewing; my canine kiddo; fruit-forward reds, steel barrel whites; the DC dining scene; interior decorating and architectural design; European travel; law – offered with wit and irony and ideally a minimum of typos and non-sequitors. You will either find common ground and leave a comment, or you’ll navigate elsewhere. I have chosen to shy away from a topical blog because I’d rather write about whatever I happen to be mulling over on any given day. I intend to be direct and unfiltered as a means to encourage thoughtful debate rather than to inflame or offend. Criticism welcome when offered with civility.
I well realize that I am quite late to the blogosphere. Let’s just label it a complicated but rewarding pregnancy and call it a day.
Let me provide the context.
Cleaning out a forgotten suburban storage unit recently, I discovered marble notebooks containing a serialized high school saga. My alter ego there was “Skippio” – a take on Barbie’s friend Skipper? I can only speculate at this point – and I immediately flashed back to the whole gang from 20 years ago, who surreptitiously passed them around during study hall. The story was a formulaic high school soap opera, awash in typical adolescent angst and willing to experiment fictionally with teenage taboos. Naïve when read now, but in a sweet rather than trite way, it was the latest in a string of my own publishing efforts. In this serialized saga, my friends’ alter-egos easily got the cute guy, landed the lead in the school play, found the perfect lipstick, aced the test, or won the track meet – things they struggled with in real life. Was it any surprise I went on in college to major in creative and non-fiction writing, a degree my parents worried would leave me living in a refrigerator box beneath the underpass.
Some months after finding the marble notebooks, I relocated a CD containing a journal that chronicled in excruciating detail my dating adventures during the first year following my divorce nearly a decade ago. After retreating from my writing during the brief years of my marriage, I picked up again as a means of preserving contemporaneously the experience of my life as a young professional singleton, something I realized I was first experiencing at thirty. Dating as a divorced thirtysomething, as I document it, was stunningly different than all my previous experience. And there are rich stories here I may someday make public.
The writing bug droned audibly. But it was the discovery of Saeco Magic Comfort Plus Super-Automatic Espresso/Cappuccino & Coffee Machine that provided the literal buzz I needed to serve it up. Disillusioned with my local Starbucks where the baristas couldn’t seem to make a consistent vanilla latte if life itself depended upon it, I had sworn off caffeine for quite some time. Then I spent a weekend at a charming B&B where I first became acquainted with this mechanical marvel. A perfect pull every time instantly. Within a few hours after my return home, I’d ordered my own coffee magician, making it my kitchen icon. Now, hopped up on all the gourmet Italian roast I could possibly ever want at just the touch of a single button, I found myself with quite a few sleepless hours available. Call this the third trimester, if you will.
Labor, as expected, was painful. Now that I’d conceived what I wanted to do, I had to know EVERYTHING. A million ideas sprouted from even the most mundane daily events; I quickly jotted notes and saved drafts to complete later. I felt compelled to learn code, reverse engineering blogs I found visually intriguing. I had to find an acceptable palate of colors and backdrops and devise a long-range plan for maintaining the blog. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. My undergraduate degree and my chosen profession prove I can write prose, but I had to master the tools, as well, to swaddle this baby, so to speak. And unfortunately the frenetic energy brought on by the ever-replenishing lattes could not overcome my inherent procrastination. I thought, when I launch, it will be perfect, a masterful and momentous event. And time stretched onward with little perceptible progress. Setting deadlines didn’t help; I acknowledged it would come when ready. My supporters urged me to just publish, that perfection is elusive but a solid story would be a concrete accomplishment. And so I finally reached the point this weekend where the work product was acceptable, not perfect, but it’s mine and I love it dearly. Under the premise that if I make the first post, it will grow up into what I vision it can be.
So what should one expect to find here to attract and sustain attention, that isn’t available on countless other blogs? A little of this, a little of that – kind of like this introduction, although future entries will be more topic-focused and won’t be nearly as long. You will either enjoy my fairly complex writing style developed with the help of a convent full of Catholic school nuns and a few famous novelists … or you won’t. You will see regular commentary on my many passions – beans I’m brewing; my canine kiddo; fruit-forward reds, steel barrel whites; the DC dining scene; interior decorating and architectural design; European travel; law – offered with wit and irony and ideally a minimum of typos and non-sequitors. You will either find common ground and leave a comment, or you’ll navigate elsewhere. I have chosen to shy away from a topical blog because I’d rather write about whatever I happen to be mulling over on any given day. I intend to be direct and unfiltered as a means to encourage thoughtful debate rather than to inflame or offend. Criticism welcome when offered with civility.
I well realize that I am quite late to the blogosphere. Let’s just label it a complicated but rewarding pregnancy and call it a day.
posted by Lillian Quinnan at 7:51 PM
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