Hello Everyone,

It has been some time since, as editor for this not so highly esteemed site, I stepped out from behind the various masks and characters I frequently reside in to make a public statement regarding the state of mind I currently find myself in. A mood of staggering guffaws and littered with comma splices, sentence fragments and pointless self editorializing

It’s not always easy, shedding aside the appealing character that I dive into , ignoring the teachings of my fiction teacher to keep my prose at a lean and mean level of clarity. (I do tend to obscure what could have been a keen insight into mankind into a gauzy haze of word soup.) But still I plug away against the behest of others, creating paragraph after paragraph, stuffing grist into my mill to prepare for a winter of non-creative explosions that may not ever come. But once again I’m missing the point, further obscuring and losing my potential readership.

So what is the point of this particular entry, why is it not in the blog section of the website? Why does it stand out enough to warrant the spotlight of the main page? The reason lies behind my identity as an ever-expanding adult who chooses to chronicle my growth in a rambling, distant diatribe such as this one. It may or may not come together at the end. You’ll have to wait until the end.

Or maybe not, instead you can peruse the news if you get bored. See who is leading the polls or has already won the Iowa Caucuses. (depending how quick on the draw you are to reading this fresh posting.) So without any further blabbing, no matter how timely or apropos is yet another idea for a story, short or novel-length, by which one day I may make a name for myself. Here goes, and keep in mind the usual disclaimer.

On the first day of most writing classes, the teacher wishes to gauge each student’s current level of writing by assigning each students one of two topics. In this case, choosing between the subjects of a dead child or of newlyweds. Being a child of radiant positivism, I chose the newleywed category. So without further ado, I present to you, loyal readers of Kronski.com with my free write on the subject of newlyweds:

An exploration of boundaries: the sexual, emotional and psychological journey two people experience as a result of a recent marriage. Explained and explored will be financial matters, jealousy, sexual experimentation, and dependence on substances vs. each other.

I looked at that opening statement for a long time, and it almost seemed too classroom description like, almost a mission statement for a corporation, a marketing group at the start of a new school term. I didn’t like the last line in particular. People can read too much into that, it’s a crutch, it’s the dissonant noise that one day I will exorcise in my writing. Undaunted by the fallacies present in the opening treatment, and wired to the gills on lukewarm Seattle’s Best coffee, I fired away, regardless of missed targets or too much ammunition.

And I am a little proud of this opening line. Anyone who has done any firing of rifles, or pretended to be a bow hunter may or may not appreciate this opening line.

It was the beginning of the spinning wheel of seasons, Spring and the start of new horizons, grand expectations, coming aboard the new journey, with such tremendous expectations, the instant result that comes from breaking the seal of a new relationship, the revelation of the wine, instant consummation of matrimonial vows, imbibed through two people as the seasons progress, shot out across the hemisphere into uncharted territory, taking for granted all of the problems that are bound to come up, the intoxication of togetherness, the disappointment in the “IS THIS ALL THERE IS?” to their lives, the exploration of boundaries, how and why to push them, the construction of emotional domiciles, the incandescent glow that will one day fade, exploring and disappointment years before substance abuse and sexual experimentation. They will find all of these things and more, realize it is not like it is on TV, not preprogrammed, not the world they inhabited upon first meeting each other, it’s the birth and death of the new relationship, a stinging sword that will periodically deal out blows that come from out of nowhere, but from somewhere, (egads, did I actually write that, what sort of pulp romance trash did I pull that line out of?) the back of the mind, the repression, the gradual repression of emotion.

Stopping for a paragraph not because I suddenly realized the need for order in these ideas, but because my hands were completely raw and worn out from the frantic pace I could no longer compete with. Readers, you too may take a break here, stretch, sharpen your number two pencils, breathe.

The inability to articulate the burden of terror and paranoia.(And the green line that popped up on the screen in Word when I realized how much of a sentence fragment I had written.) They will shop to represent themselves; they will struggle to maintain identity; they will walk blindfolded eye towards their own undoing. They will create dependencies on each other and replace them with substances; they will destroy their own identities, but this is years away, now it is all greeting cards and thank you notes, button down sweaters on down comforters. In order to present a living, loving matrimony, a testament to residual decay of emotional affluence.

And that’s when he told us to stop. And that’s where this will stop. Class dismissed.

Dr. Kronski