Here’s an example of what my notes would be like and this entry would otherwise be something unknown, and placed in a box somewhere, for no one else to see.
I have to go back to the thing behind the thing, or better yet, I want to start with my core, as in the box beneath the bed or the tiny secrets that I would keep in my little notes. These were my special treasures, but no one ever knew about them.
This came from a time when I was young. This goes back to when my urge to write began – when life started to unfold in ways that I could not understand.
I was always too aware of myself.
I was uncomfortable. I was small and thin and weak and gullible. But worse, I always saw myself as vulnerable to bullies or perhaps I assumed I was like prey for the social vultures who preyed upon the weak or the easily beaten.
That was me.