who, what, when, where, and sometime Y?

While I’ve enjoyed the posting to Nancy’s Journal, I’ve had a few self-imposed restraints. After all, it’s Nancy’s page, not mine. As time went by, I felt sort of like Seyt in the book “What Entropy Means to me” (my favorite book of all time). In the book, his brother, Dore, sets off on a quest to find their father and he doesn’t return. Meanwhile, their family demands to know what is happening with Dore so Seyt publishes his adventures, inventing them as he goes along.

I moved from my original purpose of writing about Nancy to suddenly writing about me, my quest and journey, and that detracts from what the Care Page is really for, keeping everyone informed about her. I’ll continue to post updates on her health and well-being, but it seems some of you enjoy sharing my moments of introspect and soul-searching. I get messages and emails when I fail to post something for a few days, so I know a few of you expect something.

For me, it’s a form of therapy. I’m not sick, so it was very difficult for me to understand the vast range of emotions I was going through. While I cannot say I had a crisis of faith, I was suffering a personal crisis within. Writing made me examine things on a new level and that translated into helping me through some of the issues. Thanks for allowing me to rant.

So why Vagabond?
From Wikipedia: A vagabond is an (generally impoverished) itinerant person. Such people may be called tramps, rogues, or hobos. A vagabond is characterized by almost continuous travelling, lacking a fixed home, temporary abode, or permanent residence. Vagabonds are not bums, as bums are not known for travelling, preferring to stay in one location. The critic Arthur Compton-Rickett compiled a review of the type, in which he defined it as men "with a vagrant strain in the blood, a natural inquisitiveness about the world beyond their doors." Examples included Henry David Thoreau, Walt Whitman, William Hazlitt, and Thomas de Quincey.[2] A notable 20th century vagabond was the Hungarian mathematician Paul Erdös. (not that I'm in their league!) Most of my life I've been a sort of spiritual vagabond. Wandering about, sampling and partaking as I went, never quite settling down because I just keep learning. Life is a test, and death is the pop quiz.

The second reason is a continuing story I wrote to/for Nancy while she was in college. The protagonist was a woodsman who traveled throughout, serving as a sort of game warden for the King. In the first chapter, he assisted a caravan that had been attacked by highwaymen. He agreed to travel with them to the next town which was several days away. At night, he verbally sparred with the various members of the caravan about the true meaning of love. Rather than reveal his true name, he told them to simply call him what he was, a vagabond. Vagabond soon found himself in deep discussions with a beautiful young lady that he assumed was the wagonmaster's daughter. Later, after many discussions, arguments and admonishments, he discovers she is the King’s daughter.
Since writing that story, I’ve always referred to Nancy as “Milady” and she to me as Vagabond.
What are my credentials?
I've been writing for many years. I've been a contributing writer for the Germantown News, I've written dozens of short stories, did rough drafts of three novels, and have written numerous newsletter articles. At a writing seminar, I was asked by a known author if I wanted to be a writer. I said yes. He then asked if I'd written anything. Again, yes. "Then you are already a writer, you just aren't published". Since that time, I have been published, so I guess I can put "author, writer" on my resume. But as another writer told me, that is sort of like the term "Doctor". The title doesn't make you a good one. So as I wander about, putting pen to paper (well, fingers to keyboard), bear with me. I may not be a good writer, but I plan on getting better as I go along. I specialize in Murder, as you'll see by the way I treat the English Language. I prefer to think I write in the vernacular...the language I hear on the open road of Life's Highway. So off we go on this journey and hopefully we won't ask what the bumper sticker asks:
Where are we going and why are we in this hand basket???


Please feel free to post your thoughts in return via email:OUR3TC@GMAIL.COM
And don’t worry, after getting rejection letters from publishers, your criticisms won’t hurt a bit.