A Note from Ricky


You know that moment when you meet the perfect stranger and immediately click with them on a personal level?  In an attempt to emulate said connection without sounding like an infomercial, I’ll volunteer myself to a little brain-picking.


Obviously, my name is Ricky.  I’m a writer.  I don’t usually need to introduce my physical disability because of the giant mechanical derriere I carry, but what the hell.  It’s the Internet!  Well, are you ready?

I was diagnosed with Duchenne muscular dystrophy at the age of six and became wheelchair bound when I was nine.  Tada!

As a child, I wanted to become a cartoonist and chef, but when fate told a different story, pursued a dream that took me by surprise.  It’s another form of art and expression, and when inspiration decided to tug on my heart strings, there was nothing more to say, only write.  I started off with poetry, but found that it had too many restrictions, so eventually entered the world of blogging.

I’m excited that I finally authored and published my first ever book, Ridiculous: The Mindful Nonsense of Ricky’s Brain in 2011.  I’ve always wanted to write one, and I’m glad to be living this dream.

While I don’t define myself with limitations, they’ve added to my need of articulating thoughts and ideas.  I tend to think more than what’s good for my sanity.  Writing is a way to avoid going out of my mind, or having my brain explode from the chaotic collisions of squiggles and lines.  I sometimes ask myself if I’m living a generic life of unoriginality, but words remain to be my sanctuary and freedom.  They bring meaning into my existence, for in them holds the key to unlocking the secrets of discovery.

I strive for knowledge because it’s the extension of all the wonderful oddities this world may offer.  I continue challenging myself as a result.  It was how I ended up with two songs from some years ago, though I haven’t had much creative ingenuity for music since.

Creativity seemingly only happens when my mind goes on an analytical rampage that can last for months.  I learned to do this because I don’t have the luxury of taking notes from off the top of my head at any given moment.  Sadly, my brain doesn’t have a pause button, which is probably the cause for my sleeplessness.

Unlike the relatively sane, I don’t think outside the box, but around it because why waste the box?  I like to be resourceful when it comes to the genocide of neurons.  It’s also the reason I acknowledge without focusing on my genetic disease.

You’ve heard it all before; the contradiction between the struggles of life and fabricated claims of humility by exploiting those who have it worse as self-justification.  But once you get real with yourself, none of that superficial garbage matters because I’m neither an inspiration nor a clichéd struggle story.  I define myself according to who I am.

I write on romance and the satirical facets of life, along with other, stranger things from this journey of learning because what better way to exist than with a destination?  What better way is there to live except with a little redefinition?

For years, I wrote prolifically about this, that, and everything in between, but little did I know those pieces would become my memoirs.  I found solace in words upon realization because let’s face it.  Unless a miracle happens and a cure was found, I’ll probably be kaput within the next few years.  Isn’t it funny how the squiggles and lines that cause cerebral splattage are the same ones that will bring me to the doorstep of immortality?

And it’s the little things in life that count for everything because they’ll always be remembered.  What would be the point of existence without the memories of laughing until it hurts, sleeping in on weekends and awaking to familiar voices, and surrendering to the inevitable tears of a broken heart?  These moments illustrate us for our unique persons.  It’s about grasping the traces of forevermore within the withering sands of time.

As I make my exit from these digital jots and tittles in an attempt to not bore you to death, I’ll say that chicken wings are delicious and the new Batman movies are really chick flicks because they never fail to make me cry.  Computers give me headaches and butterflies scare the crap out of me, but sarcasm is amazing, while the number twenty still boggles my mind.  Did I mention how women are beautiful for their individual selves, because of who they are?  Taylor Swift is the queen of the universe, by the way!

I hope to make you laugh and cry and dream of beautiful things.  I hope you remember me.