Introduction

Let me introduce myself... I go by Jamie, even though it's not my real name. It's all anyone's ever called me since I can remember, and even though it rolls off my tongue in a peculiar way, and it makes me slightly uncomfortable in it's childish lilt, it is what it is. I am a 30 year old girl? female? woman? I find it hard to describe myself in any of these terms, as I don't feel enough like a legitimate grown-up to claim the title of woman, even though I am technically a Mrs. and much to my dismay, sometimes people call me ma'am. I live in sunny Southern California, 10 miles from the house I grew up in on top of the highest hill in Laguna Beach. As the waves crashed around us and the town became famous for the lifestyles of it's wealthy inhabitants, my family lived a quiet existence in a weathered old cottage far above town. Quiet in the way that we didn't socialize much with the other people in town, loud in other ways. Loud music rolling off of my dad's record player into the dusty hills, loud fighting, loud silences. My father committed suicide in 2013, three weeks before my wedding. Much of my writing has to do with this, and processing the guilt, shame and regret that surround a suicide. If you're troubled or triggered by these kinds of topics, I suggest you stop here. I wouldn't blame you. But for those of you who are still on board, there were very interesting secrets and stories that whirled around my little house, and if you're not afraid to listen, I'm not afraid to tell them. I've often said, my father wasn't one person, he was several. Some were merciless, hardened criminals. One was a cowboy, one a fisherman. One was a builder, one was a singer of deep and beautiful songs. Some of them were rational people, and some were crazy. All of them were intense. They all looked at you with piercing dark-rimmed, seafoam-green eyes as they spoke, they told the truth as they knew it, even when that truth changed as soon as it was spoken. The face he put forth to the world was of a charismatic, well-dressed architect. He laughed loudly and drove a big fancy car. At home, he was something else. Something brighter, darker and much more intriguing than the thing he was publicly. This blog is going to be a collection of musings, memories, stories both autobiographical and fictional. Most of them are a bit of both, or a lot of one or the other. My writing reflects my love of Tarantino movies, of southern literature, and beguiling/sexy women and men. Various people I've met in real life will make appearances in one fashion or another. Not everything will have to do with a dark past, I reserve the right to write about my silly little current life as well, and sometimes it will just be complete and utter fiction, so don't take anything too seriously. Comments welcome. -J