Breaking my Cherry...

Where to begin.
Since this is my first excursion into the blogisphere, I want it to be tremendous, on the off chance that somebody might actually read it.
First a little background. I'm 55 years old. Prior to November of 1998, I was a composer, a musician, a black belt in both karate and kickboxing and a part-time cab driver in New York City. At 12:30 a.m. on the sixth day of that month, two days before I was due to travel to Amsterdam with my then girlfriend and present wife, Johanna, I was broadsided by a drunk driver who turned out to be a New York City police officer and left quadriplegic.
The story was covered at some length by our good friend Mary Garafolo at Fox Five News and later on by Andrea Peyser of the New York Post. I got my 15 minutes the hard way. I will tell the complete story at some later date, when I'm in the mood to rehash the entire horrible episode for what must be eleven thousandth time.
What is relevant for me, and hopefully for the reader is the change the events of that night have made in my life.
I was left with a creative and existential void which I now am attempting to fill with a newly-discovered love for the written word as expressed through the art of creative writing.
I hope to bring some insight into what my life is like from my yet unfamiliar perspective as outsider/observer. I live in the West Village in New York City and can often be seen in Union Square or Washington Square Park, my nose seemingly buried in one book or another. Don't be fooled. You are in my sights.

I would welcome an epistolary relationship with any fellow writery types i.e. anyone who knows what "epistolary" means.
Your friend, EG