Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Wandering Aimlessly

When I was young, no more than thirteen or fourteen, I was lost in the Olympic Mountains. My father and I were hunting (probably for Elk) and he'd sent me up and over a ridge line in hopes of driving the animals down the other side of the mountain, where he was driving his truck along the old dirt roads.

Problem was, at that age (I think I've mentioned this before) I actually thought I was Grizzly Adams, and the mountains were my home. Well, I found out quickly that, like Grizzly Adams when he first sought the safety of the wilderness after being accused of a crime he did not commit, I was quite the greenhorn.

I walked up the ridge line thinking I would eventually reach the summit, and then simply walk down the other side until I met up with the road my father was driving on. Like I said, I was a young teenager, and unaware that a ridge line, does not a mountain make. The ridge went on, it seemed, forever, and I just continued to wander aimlessly along its crest. Before long, darkness ended my trek and I was forced to do the only thing I could think of given the situation-stay put.

It wasn't until suffering through the frigidly cold night, too cold and fearful to sleep, that I realized I could just walk back down the ridge line in the opposite direction as the day before. So, at first light, I was on my way. Within a few hours, I made it back to nearly the exact spot my father had dropped me off at, the day before. I started walking down the small dirt roadway, my rifle proudly, if not tiredly, cradled in my arms. It wasn't long before I heard my dad's truck speeding along the dirt road, kicking rocks in all directions.

As I unloaded my rifle and climbed into the truck, I looked at my father, thinking I was in alot of trouble. I saw a look of horror and relief etched across his face like I'd never seen before, or since. I'm sure he was thankful to have me back. We never spoke of the incident again, mainly because, as I matured, I realized he had been drinking when he'd come up with the original idea of me walking alone over a ridge to scare up game.

Yeah, I know that was a long story just to get to a point. I really think that one can run a blog in the same sense that I tried to gain success in hunting-by wandering aimlessly, ranting and throwing whatever one feels like out there.

I've recently read much material and articles about blogging. They all say that a successful blog is one with a specific purpose. Most of you that know me, know that I am a writer. Those that really know me, know that I've recently made some detours in writing within other genres, specifically fantasy, paranormal, and erotica, and run a website under a pen name.

Just what should a blog contain?

Everything I've read says that a blog should be specific, and that the author should concentrate o writing 'articles' on subjects pertaining specifically to their field.  My opinion though, is that a blog can be anything you want it to be. When I get closer to publication of my first mystery novel (which means that I'll have written at least two) I will start posting articles specifically to that end.

Until then, I'll just keep plugging away, writing whatever I feel. I spend enough time writing serious stuff on my other blog. I suppose, for those of you who really wonder what kind of stuff should go into a blog, my answer would be: whatever you want.

For this blog, anyway, one can expect to continue to see a variety of posts about writing in general, funny stories from my childhood, and, of course, some ranting by Daleville Dan, or maybe even me.