Hello readers,
Just as the title promises, this is the semi-obligatory
introductory post. Launching this site without explanation might confuse you and
will confuse me. If this genre bores you, wait till the next post. If it
doesn’t, keep reading.
OK, you didn’t take off. Excellent.
Every story needs a beginning; this story begins with me
sitting in front of the computer, which is where you’ll usually find me at
home. I was clicking around the Toronto Fringe Theatre Festival’s site,
glancing blurbs to pick which shows to see this year. It hit me that I’ve seen productions during
more than half (maybe say “more than half”) of The Fringe’s 25 year run, even
if one year the only elements I saw were the late night freebies at the Fringe
Club (those count, right?).
This inspired me to figure out what was the first Fringe show
I saw.
The first place I looked for clues was a cardbox box sitting
atop a living room bookshelf. Inside were my personal journals from university,
which I haven’t looked at for years. Part personal diary, part scrapbook, they
capture an important formative era of my life. The writing borders on
cringe-inducing, but the bulging volumes of spiral-bound handwritten 70-to-360
page notebooks are a portrait of what the late 1990s were like. They fade out
during my tenure as an editor at the Ontarion (the University of Guelph’s student
paper), though there were a few writing bursts between moving to Toronto in
1999 and launching my first blog in 2003. Having a later volume vanish when the
backpack it sat in decided while sitting at a downtown store to walk away with
a new owner, one which included thoughts on my father’s passing, didn’t do much
for keeping the journal going.
The volume for 1999 didn’t touch on the Fringe, so I went to
the next possible source, a flimsy clear plastic IKEA tub filled with clippings
intended for future scrapbooking. I discovered an incomplete notebook which
held the answer I sought.
 |
| A typical volume of the ol' journals. |
Flipping through the journals, I realized I haven’t done
much writing in that vein recently. OK, this isn’t quite true; Facebook and
Twitter have been forums for bite-size musings. But the online continuation of
those old journals, JB’s Warehouse and Curio Emporium, has evolved into a
purely historical site. It now feels like it would be jarring to toss in
personal pieces, writing experiments, and opinions about the present state of
the world.
Which brings you to this website.
Hopefully, amidst the pressure of deadlines and trying to
find work, I’ll pop on here to scribble loose thoughts.
To try writing exercises drawn from books I’ve borrowed from
the library 38 times but haven’t cracked open.
To let off steam when the world drives me bananas.
To stop and smell the roses when the world doesn’t drive me
bananas.
To appreciate the joys of the city, despite the nitwits who
run it.
To continue to refine my writing skills for both my own
satisfaction and to impress future associates.
With any luck, getting this site rolling will also prompt me
to tackle one long overdue task: a third website devoted to my professional
work as a writer, researcher, and (hopefully) historical consultant. A business
site where clients can reach me, and where I can really strut my stuff. And
finally use that web domain that’s lain dormant for two years.
Anything’s possible, right?
Thanks for sticking around to the final line,
Jamie
(And thanks to Susan Clarke for proofreading this debut post).
