My name is William Trevor, Will for those who know me better. I was named by my parents after the famous Irish writer and playwright. They say my grandfather used to admire him when he was still alive.
A few weeks ago, my friend Samantha - who has built a reputation for being persuasive over the years - told me to make a blog. I said no at first. I would never be able to live it down if anyone ever saw me writing on an online journal, let alone a normal one. But she did say it could help me with my stress. That, along with a few annoying phone calls, messages and surprise home invasion might have helped get her point across. So here I am.
I guess I should write more about myself. I'm only a few months away from going twenty-eight, living in Downtown Manhattan and currently being forced to share my apartment with a homeless, evil unemployed blond. The force was never my first choice for a job. Before I came here, I planned on studying Law at Harvard. My parents were happy with me, even proud enough to boast about their 'little William's ambition'. A little something got in the way however. Bad memories were made, locked away along with ruined relations. At the end of everything, I found myself attending the annual police graduation at the Madison Square Garden.
Things were tough at first. My seniors told me to head back to Harvard. They thought I was too useless and had no real qualities for being a cop. They even said I was more likely to be a lawyer instead of upholding the law itself. After all, who wouldn't want to earn six figures just for pissing people off? A few people agreed and my parents made it a mission to persuade me into doing Law again. But some gave me support when needed and I put all the time I had into work and studying. I slowly made my way up from a traffic police officer to what I am now, a first-class homicide detective at the First Precinct.
That's my story.
I think I ran out of things to say. Not that there's any more need for it, looks like I wrote more than I thought I could have. Blogging doesn't seem like such a bad thing after all, who knew?