December 29, 2004 Wednesday
Am I really thinking of starting another journal? Even so much as two days ago I might have groaned at the idea. Yes, I do want to write and I have much stored away for material, but I can hear myself: ‘Eric, you know how you always go, how long can this one last: a year, a few months?’ What is the desire I suddenly have, with so much to tell? What began as a simple telling of my time in the Navy… I haven’t had this rush for pen and paper for a long time; many of the memories I am trying to restore I felt were too far past me now, and am I and my story only as unique as the thousands like me? Perhaps it is not the events, but the manner and depth of which it is written.
For now at least I feel a fire to write, so I will oblige and stoke it to whatever end. I have had such an outstanding mentor in the art of an excellent memoir, and I know I have just as much to relate. As in the past this record has been just as much for others as myself, even if it not written by another soul. Quite rightly I have felt my difference from others as long as I can recall and cannot be questioned, as I am always being reminded of it! Yes, I am different, as I may only be acutely aware to both success and failure. I am not a speaker; my vocal skills are lacking for reasons I could not being to produce here. How is it though that given a moment to scrawl some thoughts I become so outspoken! If is only a blessing that I have this release at all.
No One Will Believe You 