Why Are We Here?

How did this happen? Why are we here?

I always wanted to write a book. And, to be honest, never once did it matter what that book was about. I’d prefer it be a big book with a very shiny cover and hopefully out-of-their-mind compliments and endorsements from journals, authors, and available adult film stars; and I prefer that cover not feature Fabio, bearded trolls, or those psudo-governmental, very-military esoteric symbols Tom Clancy is known for; but beyond that if it was a book with my name on it, I’d be happy.

If I told you it was my dream to be the news editor of a small newspaper, I’d be lying, but it wasn’t until that happened that I felt like I knew enough about anything to write a book.

This town has been collapsing for 30 years. There’s no jobs; the last big plant closed a year ago. The ground is poisoned from when it was all about profits and not protecting your water source. Three out of seven storefronts on Main Street are vacant. And there’s nothing to do but drink or get high. Usually both.

But people stay — the ones that just want a good place to raise their kids, that have family here, that couldn’t imagine wanting more — and those that don’t have a choice. And it’s been left up to them to try to make it work.

There’s something about that. About trying to protect your home (it’s what kings did) even if it’s from pollution, time, and poverty; about trying to build a life where it’s not easy (it’s what pioneers did); about taking the broken bits and pieces handed down to you and trying to make something good from it. (It’s what our parents did for us.)

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