Onegee Profile

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Location: United States

Member Since: April 2016

Last online: April 2019

Open for read requests: Yes

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Who am I? How do I answer such a question, for I like all others fit only the one mold. I am more unique than most that is true, yet even thinking of myself to be a writer feels quite bold... although by a few this is what I have been told, still question this I must for my history in regard to writing is much askew. I have a learning disability (high functioning autism) and I was born into a time of history when such things were not yet understood. Born in 1946 to a loving yet somewhat dysfunctional family, school was a nightmare causing me to run-a-way at 16. And then after failing my attempt at independence, trying to return to a home that was more comfortable without me, to save face I joined the Navy at seventeen. Which was an even less understandable experience. After my service returning to a now splintered family only to find no solace. Alone uneducated, barley able to read and write, not understanding the capabilities hidden within my at the time unknown disability, thinking myself to be generally stupid because I could not understand how to adapt and fit in socially, I lived in the cracks and cervices of society. Often in cars, tents, and  R.V.'s occasionally friends couches, and more than a few apartments... I had an a sundry of abodes where I lived a wonderful life of total freedom for which I have zero regrets, and and today though still alone I rejoice in my gratitude for everything me...  a thankfulness that is at times almost overwhelming.

 In my early thirties I had spent a winter as a caretaker for a K.O.A. type campground during which I taught myself to read well enough to complete a book, comprehension was difficult because I did not understand grammar and punctuation. I had to reread everything several times to get the ideas that were being portrayed. Years later I was caring for my ailing father after many years of estrangement sending out emails on his condition that I formulated on a at the time state of the art Web T.V. Due to the tensions of the situation I suspect I was drawing from unknown depths of myself because a few of his friends said that I should take up writing. I thought this to be absurd, it took me many hours with the dictionary to complete one email, I was surprised that anyone could actually understand me, but Dad wanted me to do it so I did. Then around 1995 I got a computer with Microsoft Word, discovering the word processor for me was a life changing experience. Spell check became my tutor teaching me spelling, punctuation and grammar to a degree that I was comfortable with. I started commenting on what I found on this new internet thing, it was a totally new voice that I did not know I had.           

I was in a decade long depression following my fathers death totally isolated, agoraphobic, dealing with obesity and alcoholism, trying to break free when my psychiatrist suggested adult continuing education classes at U.N.L.V to get me out of the house. Having no idea what course to take, when I saw the writers workshop I remembered my fathers friends saying I should try writing, so I signed up. The first story I wrote was based in past experience "A Life Lesson from Alabama" which I am going to post here, it was well accepted they even published it along with a couple of others that I submitted for the yearly journal. That was a couple of years ago now, but I have found that I like to write. Now I have given up on the writing workshop due to feeling out of place because of my social disorder, I am just more comfortable in my solitude. The problem is writing without a reader somehow feels like... forgive me, pissing in the wind. So for better or worse I decided to start posting, I tried Tumblr ( but could not understand the format so I gave up. I cannot even deal with or own a cell phone, I struggle an awful lot with anything on the computer beyond Netflix, Google, and YouTube. Now for better or worse I have decided to try Booksie, just for fun, as a hobby of sorts. I have no ambition, intention or reason other than maybe someone might find an interest or use in something I might put together here. I have no expectation to even be read, much less be blessed with someone taking the time, or expending the effort to comment on my attempts to be relevant. My hope is only that maybe I might fit in, I keep trying... thinking maybe somewhere, I might. Gregg. 



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