Swamp Blues

In a microblogging sphere of more than I could ever count, I always take a moment to reflect when I receive notification that some new stranger has begun to follow me. I've even become more exclusive over time in deciding whose lives I'd actually like to watch unfold under the microscope. That's why it's a little strange that I don't remember when I started following WritingHannah.
I know little of her, just that until yesterday, she was a 22-year-old working on her first book. But yesterday, she was officially done. The book was put on shelves at bookstores.
It's just more affirmation that my time to write my story is now.

Though he's said it only once of twice, Phil's words on our generations' love of (need for) nostalgia has stuck with me. I, like millions of other American 20-somethings, am a by-product of all that I watched, listened to and played with as a kid.
I saw John Fogerty in concert the other night, an experience that while entertaining, I feel was important. If my childhood theoretically had a playlist, CCR would come up a lot on shuffle.

Fogerty was the kick off to a bunch of other shows I'll be going to this summer:

Today-- Nine Inch Nails at DTE
July 14-- Green Day at The Palace
July 26-- Incubus at DTE
August 16-- AC/DC at The Palace