I'm riding in my baby's car, his hand sandwiched between my left knee and hand.
I ask him if he thinks I could be a writer.
He asks, 'what kind of writer baby? Novels? Stories?'
'No,' I say, 'more like philosophical ramblings. Personal rants.' I laugh awkwardly.
A pause. The classic rock station hums along on the radio.
His hand intermittently slips out of its spot to change gears, adjust the wipers.
'I'm going to say something kind of unexpected and probably cliche..."
'Ok,' I say, nervous.
'Why don't you start you a blog?'
So this is for Shayne. (If you can dedicate a blog to someone, I'm new to this.)
Thank you for quietly and consistently supporting me; I think I finally believe you when you say you believe in me.