Three Weeks into the Dream..

Well, this is me three weeks in. Twenty-four years have passed since I last actively tried to learn something and become a productive member of society. Not that I haven’t been one all this time, but I will be the first to admit I have spent all this time living well below my potential. Then again, I think the same could be said for many of us. Whether it’s from living in fear of failure if we try and fall short or just simply circumstances put us in positions we can’t seem to fight our way out of, it is the rare human being who actually gets to become the person they thought they’d be as a kid. Sometimes it’s just easier to let expectations slide and give in to staying as you are.

Thing is. I couldn’t be that person anymore. Not that I didn’t like myself, because for the most part I did. I just didn’t like the things he/me were willing to accept. I once had dreams, and over the years I let most of those dreams die. I let art sink into the shadows. Lately, I’ve let my writing follow the same path. It took these three weeks being back in school to show me why.

I had no purpose in my life. I won’t say I had no reason to get up in the morning, but it was close. I had no reason to be the best I could be. Call it a midlife crisis if you want, but now, I know I need a reason to go forth and be me. Yeah, that sounds about right, but it’s true. Age doesn’t dull the need to strive to be a better person, a better you. If anything the older we get, the more we need to find purpose. Without it, we stall and can’t move forward. We can’t become the best us possible.

And, don’t think that ever happens. Humanity is an evolution unto ourselves. We evolve as a race, and we evolve individually. When we stop seeking knowledge we stop being. We simply exist without the ability to live or to drive to new heights. That in no way means it’s an easy process, or doesn’t come with a certain amount of fear. Trust me it does.

Over the past three weeks, I’ve questioned this decision more than once. It’s hard to accept you don’t know as much as you thought you did. Worse still it’s hard to think there are some things out there that can beat you mentally. Again, trust me there is, and those things have kicked my butt. Being stubborn and having some amazing family and friends, I refuse to give up. Might be better to say my support group refuses to let me quit. I’ve heard it said that it takes a village to raise a child. In this new day, let me add this, it takes an internet community to keep a middle aged man on the right track.

It is humbling to realize that you can’t do it all yourself. You can’t even get twenty-five percent done without someone or several someones hanging around to never let you forget you’re a little bit better than you give yourself credit for being. On the other side of that, you need someone to let you know you’re not as smart as you think you are either. That one there should be the number one thing every person needs in their live. It is so easy to become full of your own potential that you forget you haven’t got there yet.  Looking back over my life, I can point to several parts of my timeline where I should have had that person in my life. Sadly, I have even more instances where I did, and was too full of myself to listen to their sage advice. I probably still have that problem. Before I end this paragraph let me say this, someone reminding you that you don’t know everything isn’t the same as someone telling you that you don’t know squat. Never let someone tell you that you can’t do something you want because you’re not good enough. You are! So let you dictate your worth and never allow someone else put a price tag on how much you affect the course human events.

I’m sure there’s more in me to say about myself, but I’m not in the mood. Honestly, no one should be forced to listen to that crap. I don’t believe half of myself in any case. Why should you?

I do ask you to allow me to paint an example for you. In my life I’ve been a success, a failure, a son, a father, a boy and a man. I’ve been alone, and I’ve had the love of my life. Now, at the age of forty-seven, I have an old dream made new. I’m going to be a teacher someday. It isn’t the maybe that I kept talking about to convince myself I could do it if I ever got time. No, it’s the time now, and I will do it. I might screw up, but I will never be able to say I didn’t at least try.

So when you think you’re too old to try something, remember old J. Morgan. He was stupid enough to try and hopefully will be crazy enough to succeed. I kinda like the sound of that.

Until next time, Happy Reading!

  1. Morgan

Believe! Writers’ Commandment #1

Last week we talked about ‘So, you wanna be a writer?’. This week, I thought it only a natural progression to say, ‘So, I’m a writer?’, which should be closely followed by, ‘What the fudge now?’. That’s a question I tend to ask myself more times than I care to admit to myself or anyone. At times writing is the easiest thing in the world to do. I mean, the imagination just flows out of you and paints the video across the page. Then there’s the other times. The times when your brain, imagination, and the ends of your fingers are at World War III with each other. That’s when a ‘writer’ is most likely to become a ‘reader’. Before we get too far into this blog, I’m going to spell out my intent.

So, you wanna be a writer? Never give up on you!
A good many people have asked me, ‘What is the most important thing you need to have to be a writer?’. What I wrote up there is it. Huh? Confidence in yourself. Do I need to spell it out for you? Apparently I do, or I think I need to spell it out. Either way, here goes.


I’m going to start out clichéd but that doesn’t make it any less true. If anything, it gives total validation to my statement. If you don’t believe in yourself, why should anyone else? Can you answer that? Does your answer begin with the word Yes? If you said yes to those last two without using the word but anywhere in the answer, I think you’re well on your way to becoming a writer. It’s up to you to become an author. We discussed that last week, so let’s not get sidetracked. That’s what Facebook is for.

It is so easy to listen to friends tell you how great you are. It’s even easier when experts tell you you’re great. Thing is, if you don’t believe it– right there in your heart–when those same people become indifferent or just stop talking all you have is that doubting voice in your heart telling you how you weren’t that good to begin with. Some of you know exactly what I’m talking about. When you hit that point, you’re not an author, writer or reader. You’re someone who’s not sure who exactly they are. At this point you can do the easy thing and just give up, and tell people years later about how for a little while you were a writer but grew out of it. Yeah, you can do that and forever live with that dull ache of all the imaginary worlds that will never be told. The heroes and heroines inside you will never go forth and become role models for whoever reads their stories. How easy does that sound? Knowing you have lives inside you that will never be lived all because you believed in things but never yourself.


You can struggle to find that part inside you that unlocks the imagination “YOU” are forcing down to some deep pit. Because you are the only one who stands between you and becoming the writer you always dreamed of being. Believe in yourself. Believe that all the awesome you wish you had DOES reside within your heart. Let it out and become a vision for others either through your writing or by telling this similar story about how hard it was to write but you didn’t give in. You believed in yourself and let others do the same. Become a hero or heroine to someone who thinks they’re all alone in these feelings. They’re not. At times we all feel unworthy or empty inside. Sometimes that might even be the case, but you shouldn’t let that voice dictate your life or your dreams.
I’m going to say something right now that might sound crazy but I’m going to say it anyway. I believe in you. I have never met you and most likely I never will, in person at least, but I believe that you hold inside you the ability to make others live lives in worlds only you can create. I believe you can spark the wonder of true love, knights going forth to battle, wizards waging wars against evil untold, spaceships flying into the void of space and coming back with races we’ve never even considered possible, and most importantly I believe you can do whatever you want.


Because I have friends who believed enough in me to never let me give up. Every time I wanted to walk away or hide, they were there telling me to trust in myself. I know I said up there only you can believe in yourself. That’s true, but you shouldn’t stop listening to the people who love you while you search inside yourself for your own confidence. Just accept yourself first then walk out among the masses and say here is my story. Come along for the ride and let’s see what’s over that next hill.

Take that ride.

Me? I’m still going on my own journey. Maybe, sometime soon we’ll meet again and tell our stories over the campfires of our dreams. Until then, Happy Reading, and never stop believing in yourself.


Living on the Inside

A long time ago I fell in love. Not sure when, or with what, but the emotional impact was immediate and everlasting. How everlasting? Over forty years and still going strong. Have I got your curiosity piqued? I have mine and I know the answer. Yes, I am this weird in real life. What am I talking about? Reading of course. I’d have to be pretty pervy to have been in a relationship for almost as long as I’ve been alive or an ancient Egyptian pharaoh. Whatever the case, I have always had a book either in my hand or close by since way before I could read one. I still have one handy if you want to know the truth.

I firmly believe that early love of books led to me being freakishly introverted. Hey, because when your best friends are fictional characters, introverted is the least of your problems. As a sickly kid, playing for the most part wasn’t embraced by my over-protective mother, so I had to experience things through the adventures in my books. Thought I did, at least. Later on I came out of that shell. Came out as much as I am able to exit my hole inside myself.

That last bit wasn’t meant to elicit sympathy. It is simply a statement of fact. Here’s the kicker. Once you’ve become an introvert, completely trusting the world to be ‘real’ isn’t going to happen. The world is the thing that sent you inside in the first place. Most of us are functioning members of society. We go to work. We show up with smiles, and seem ‘there’. Thing is, most of the time, we’re somewhere else when we’re standing right in front of you. Some of us genuinely need professional help. Heck we all probably do, but for some of us, we channel that mystical inside into worlds never before seen by mortal man or woman. I know those psychiatric types might have something to say about that statement but think on this. Without us weird out-of-our-head imagainaunts, you wouldn’t have Middle Earth, Narnia, or any number of other worlds that teach our hearts to believe in hope and magic.

I was and am one of those inside thinkers. Giving yourself totally to a world that gives pain and suffering is such a scary proposition, I honestly can’t see why anyone would want to do it. Then I remember, that world also gives love, comfort, hugs, and so many things of beauty that giving in to the need to disappear inside falls away. It might lurk and wait for an opportunity to come back out to pull us inside ourselves. That’s its job. Our job is to decide to say screw it, and give our love and faith to the world.

Artistic types are good at giving their inside to the world. How many of us listen to a song over and over because it says the things our minds are too afraid to say out loud. We look at paintings or works of art that do the same things. Books, poems, movies, even television shows, give us views into ourselves that we might otherwise miss without someone else showing us the way.

As a writer, I consider it my job to help others see that way. I live inside and rarely do I venture out. Thanks to my family, especially my beautiful wife Jenn, and the wonderful group of friends God continues to grow around me I can walk in the sunshine. More importantly, through my stories I can help others to make that same walk with me. That brings me more joy than I can express in words. As wonderful as inside can be, it’s a dark lonely place that just closes up around you. I still find myself there from time to time. Luckily, as I said, I got people who love me and won’t let me stay there for long.

I know I’m rambling but hopefully in my ramble I’ve come to the point. Writers unleash their inner selves through our stories and books. As magical as those worlds might seem, never forget how lonely the act of writing those stories can be. We might draw inspiration from the world around us, but the world inside us is where all the living really takes place. So, next time you see a writer mumbling to himself, or herself as the case may be, just be grateful they don’t have a laptop handy. Who knows where you might wake up if the power of that writer’s inside is strong enough to make our world as real as their world is to them.

Scary thought, huh?

Well don’t dwell on it too much, just enjoy the magic in my stories and who knows? Maybe one day they will be real. I’ll settle for a SyFy television series. Why be greedy about it?

Til next week, Happy Reading!


Star Wars and Me

Today is a special day to me on so many levels. Star Wars was the movie that gave my imagination wings. Before then, I liked movies, TV shows and books, but none of them sparked the flow of what I later called the grand ‘What if’, or make believe if you will. With the action figures I was able to make up stories that strangely enough stayed with me for years to come. I guess this could be my defining moment. Or, I could just be geekily deluding myself. Either way, I thought Star Wars’ birthday would be the perfect opportunity to explore my love affair with the entire Lucas universe.

I can’t remember seeing Star Wars on the day it came out but I do remember going to the old Rose Theater in Bastrop on a Friday to watch it. By then, I had already amassed a few of the action figures with no idea of who they were or their roles in the movie. C-3PO was my first Star Wars action figure. I bought it at Howard Brothers because it was shiny. I do remember that. Darth Vader and Luke were my next two because they had sliding out swords if for no other reason. Remember this is before I even saw the movie. Not to brag, in some ways I think my fevered stories rivaled the next two movies in breath and scope. Yeah, I was a pretty awesome kid.

As the years dragged forward, my love affair with the Star Wars Universe would wane only to return with a vengeance, but through it all, one thing remained true. The story just wouldn’t die. Good versus Evil would constantly be a theme in the books I read and the ones I would eventually write. More directly, the subject of what defined good and what defined evil would become a theme that defined me as a person and a writer.

Evil is not absolute. Good is not absolute. Both are a product of choices both right and wrong that led a person down the road they eventually find themselves walking down. The eventual end result of that walk is not the interesting part. Return of the Jedi taught us this in a cutesy Ewoky kind of way. No, it would take the prequels to show us the downfall of a warrior for good took place because of love and misplaced faith. See no evil. Not a lot of good either, but you know what I do see? A heckuva lot of the human condition.

That’s the thing. Humans are screwed from the get go. Why? Because we don’t understand love. We grasp the concepts of need, want, lust, and possession pretty damned good, but love is an alien thing to us. We can’t get our heads completely wrapped around the fact love is about sacrifice. It’s about putting another person totally above yourself. No one can do that without some humanity seeping through to screw things up. We all fall short from time to time.

Therein lies the rub as the Bard would say. So what is this rub? Good stories aren’t about attaining perfection. Truly great stories are about the imperfection of humanity and those brave souls who fight against our natures to achieve not perfection but normalcy at the cost of who they think they are to see the person they were always meant to be. Good or bad, that is the story we love to read, or see as the medium dictates.

I think what I’m getting at is I love a good story and that’s what Star Wars is, a good story. And, good stories are hard to come by. Okay, the Prequels could have had a bit more work, but when taken into the context of the society mores of the Republic, I can accept the horrible acting as… Well, hell if I know what it is, but I like the three movies in segments. The last fifteen minutes of Phantom Menace, most of Attack of the Clones and everything that doesn’t involve the romance of Padme and Anakin in Revenge of the Sith. If you leave out the crap, the first three episodes are pretty awesome. Most importantly, they give you the total story of how New Hope came about.

For those of you Philistines who have never seen the prequels let me sum it up in a few sentences.

Little kid crushes on older girl. Same kid a little older obsesses over the girl and somehow brainwashes her into loving him. Girl gotten, boy kills girl by smothering her with love before going insane. Which if you ask me he was crazy to begin with.

Where was I?

Oh yeah. I love Star Wars. Now, I get to write stories that owe their lives to those movies that fueled my childhood.

As I wrap this up, there’s only one thing left to say.

May the 4th be with you!

Working on the New Me…

I know things on the Giggles have been pretty deep of late, but being a human being is a deep process. Least it should be if you are a maturing and evolving human type person. I think I have discovered why I have been going off track. I’ve been trying to paint myself into one corner so to speak. See what the problem is? Writers by definition suffer from multiple personality disorder. We’ve got all these voices in our head constantly fighting for dominance, demanding to be heard over the voices of their fellow delusional brothers and sisters. Delusional? Yes because they and the author can’t come to the realization these voices don’t really exist. They are figments of a highly over-active imagination and nothing else.

Just in case those voices happen to read this. The men in white coats made me say that. You totally exist, now give me back that memory from the summer of 1987. Pretty please? You know it’s the basis for my happy place.

Okay, back to the point of this blog. Is there a point to it? I’m really not sure but I’m going with yes.

In all my effort to self discover who I am, I stopped listening to the voices in my head to focus on hearing the normal me Me. By the time I remembered they were there, my ability to hear them had become dulled, if not erased totally. Yeah, it hurts me to admit that I have forgotten not only the faces but the voices of my children. As hard as that is to accept, I have to move on. Not sure what that means because the voices I came to love creating and watching grow until they were real to me on so many levels just don’t feel real to me anymore. I don’t see myself leaving them behind forever, but as I’ve said here many times before, writer’s block is the mind’s way of saying you’re walking down the wrong road.

And that’s where I’m at now. On the wrong road. Somehow I’ve gone down a path that isn’t truly me or the books I write. Or, maybe the books I’ve written aren’t me any more. I’ve grown just like my characters have. I’ll freely cop to going through a slight midlife crisis. Becoming a grandpaw has had scary implications. It has made me wonder if I’m O-L-D. Yeah, I spelled, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening. Heck, I’m only forty-six. That’s too young to be wrapped around a little guy’s finger. He calls me BoPaw by the way. Yeah, I got it bad. That bad has had me redefining my place in the cosmos. Maybe it would be more correct to say redefining my perception of my place in the cosmos. Since that could be a pretty much ongoing process, I’ll keep you updated on how that goes.

Right now, I’m going to address the author part of my cosmos. After spending the last two months slamming my head against the barriers between my worlds, I finally fell into a fetal position and just laid there. Funny thing, between the sound of my whimpering and the TV blaring in the background, I heard a voice. Well to be perfectly honest a Facebook status started the process rolling. Sabrina, thanks for the update by the way. Without you, I would never have popped in my Robert Johnson CDs and went down to the crossroads with a hellhound on my trail.

Because while my head was standing at that crossroads listening to Robert, a new voice started speaking to me. It gave me the beginning of a story that has been unrolling in my head for the last two days.  Will it go anywhere? That remains to be seen. I hope it does, because I really love this new character. I won’t go into detail right now. I’m superstitious enough to be afraid I’ll jinx it if I do. Give me a little while to really get a feel for the darkness and light at play in Dora’s world. I will say this. It isn’t a Romance. Urban Fantasy might be closer to the truth, but I hate that label. It narrows your playing field as an author. I write what I write. I leave it to others to put it in their niches. I myself don’t define books. I just accept them as being my kind of book. Whether that is a good book is my choice and not yours, but hope others agree with me from time to time. That way my favorite authors keep putting out books. Selfish of me, but I do love reading. Not an excuse just justifying my actions.

Once upon a time I loved writing. Way before I worried about pantsting or plotting. Or, agonized over missed deadlines and endless edits. Or, got bogged down in the business side of writing, and judged my success by books sold instead of the quality of my writing. So, I guess what I’m saying is I am about to enjoy what I do not for the promise of material gain, but for the spiritual joy it brings me to share that joy with others through the words, or worlds depending on how you see things, inside my head.

If you’ve enjoyed the worlds that came forth from my warped sense of reality, thank you for reading my books. If you’ve only read my blog or this is the first time you’ve stopped by, I invite you to try one of my stories. Desert Breeze Publishing has a free read of mine available, so I’m not asking you to blindly go buy my books. Read my Love Bites ½ and judge for yourself if you want to continue the journey through my books. For now, I’m going to see what new worlds I can stumble into and hopefully one day share with you.

Til then, have a great week and happy reading! Oh and here’s the link to my free read. Enjoy!

Changing the World One Book at a Time.

I posted something here a few weeks ago and then sort of disappeared again. I am going with this to explain my absence. If you have nothing to say, don’t blather about being pointless. It also closely follows my grandmother’s sage advice that if you have nothing good to say, keep your mouth shut. The last couple of weeks have been a bit of both. In the spirit of not polluting the airways with rubbish, It have kept my ramblings to myself and saved your ears, or eyes in this case, from being forced to deal with it. You can thank me later.

So why am I here, if my mood has been telling me to keep my tapping fingers out of everyone else’s pie?

Well, yesterday I saw my life come full circle in a way. My earliest and happiest memories revolve around reading. No surprise considering my chosen profession. Yet it is those formative memories of my grandmother reading to me that started me forward in this lifelong addiction to the written word. Another strong memory is of me and my dad reading together. Him in his chair and me laying on the floor while records, yes records, played on the stereo.

As I sat watching my grandson play, I got to experience my youth once again only in a reversal of roles. The little stinker after throwing more than anyone’s fair share of toys around, decided my lap would be the perfect place to rest up before starting up for round two. I had no problem with that, as you can well imagine. He paused along the way to snag the book his YaYa and I bought him. Climbing into my lap, he flipped the book open and began pointing. Cows go Mooooo. Elephants go Mooooo. One is pronounced Two. All dogs are called Molly. We went through the book from start to finish, and back a page or two to clarify things. He felt it important to let his PawPaw know dogs are not dogs but Mollys when I mistakenly called a picture of a puppy a doggy. Well, in his defense, PawPaws don’t know everything.

Sitting there glowing with the wonderment of holding the future of the world in my lap, I couldn’t help but wonder if this warmth wasn’t how my Nana felt reading to us as kids and later to her great-grandchildren. I know in this digitally dominated world reading seems old fashioned. Why read when all knowledge can be accessed via the History Channel or you can learn to do anything from watching a YouTube video? I mean when you get right down to it, reading is just so old-fashioned.

To that I say yes it is, and thank God for the small islands of old-fashioned left in this cybernetically enhanced world. I know this might sound hypocritical coming from an author who deals mainly in the digital press, but the world needs more old-fashioned ways of doing things. Besides, you can still read a digital book to a child. It’s not like I’m slapping a child in front of a screen and leaving them to work it out on their own. The best part of the process is doing it together.

Reading is a bonding tool as much as touching, the sound of a loving voice, or any number of things that creates a lifelong connection between a child and those who love them. I can still hear the faint echo of my Nana’s voice as she read to me. The warmth of her arms surrounding me, letting me know I was safe and nothing could ever harm me. Yesterday, I felt her arms around me for real. Holding my grandson, I knew she was there with us both. The love she gave me all those years ago, I now had the opportunity to pass along to another generation.

I’m not sure if everyone feels like this, but to me the act of reading is an expression of love. Because, when we read to a child, we share with that child the love we feel. We share the wonder of expanding our imaginations. We share the ultimate gift of knowledge that can be found inside books, and help them to find new worlds to both create and discover. Now, I’m embarking on the next stage of that journey. I thought being an author would be the fulfillment of the dreams of that younger me sitting in my Nana’s lap, but no. As I held my grandson, I saw his smile as he turned the pages of his new book. I saw my dreams had taken on a new role. Instead of seeing them through my eyes, I’m going to start seeing them through his. So, instead of acting my own age, I now have an excuse to act his.

The main thing I want to share with you is that reading is an expression of love. It truly is the love that keeps on giving. So next time you’re wondering how to spend some time with your kids, grandkids or nieces and nephews, spend it in a book. Who knows, you might not just be the hero you’re reading about, you might become a real hero in the eyes of a child who will one day become a hero too. See how it works? With one simple deed, you set in motion one of the greatest acts of love known to man, giving a child the imagination to change the way they see the world and just maybe change it along the way. That’s the way love works.

So until next week, happy reading!

From the Darkness

I haven’t been here in a while. For those of you interested in the things I have to say, I apologize. This year has not been the most conducive for writing. At least, my brain has seemed to think so. When I first began Giggles from the Darkside, my intent had been to promote myself and my books. To some small degree I succeeded in doing just that, but during the process of developing my weekly blogs, it became a cathartic exercise for me to, well, exorcise my inner demons and thoughts. It was in that that I think I succeeded beyond even my own unknown expectations. The sad thing is that until recently those inner demons weren’t so demonic in nature. Not that I was the victim of demon possession. No, rather I allowed my demons, my own fears and petty concerns, to take root and grow until they consumed me. You’d be amazed how easy it is for that happen.

I have always firmly believed that anyone who is creative exists in a dual nature of being. We must conform to the world around us and appear to be ‘normal’, while at the same time be true to ourselves, or at the very least true to the ideal we see ourselves as holding. That presents a terrible burden at times to bear. The real world is a harsh, unforgiving place, where right and wrong, just and unjust, sometimes gets lost in the rush to attain that thing all humanity strives to grasp in our greedy hands. For the sake of brevity, let’s call that thing happiness, though security or normalcy might be closer to the truth. Whatever it is, we all want it, and sometimes sacrifice things we shouldn’t to get it.

This year, I am calling a transition year. If you followed this blog last year I think you saw glimmers of what was ahead for me. I myself felt it coming but found myself unable to comprehend exactly what I had coming. If it has a name, I would call it a knowledge of my own mortality.

Children have no concept that life has an eventual end, or God bless them, they shouldn’t. Teenagers and most idiots who live between the ages of twenty to thirty, normally hold some falsehoods concerning immortality and indestructability. It is only when we reach the close of our thirties and the beginning of our forties the truth about our nearing end becomes all too apparent. This year is my turn to face the impending doom call mortality.

2015 has been a depressing experience so far. I have seen people I love pass away this year. Relatives that made up the magic of my youth have lost their struggle with disease and found peace. Same with friends from school and those gained over time. Two more passed into those gentle lands this month. Those losses so close together alone would be enough to stagger anyone to their knees. Such is the purpose of the passage of time. Surviving these loses and continuing on down the road is a learning experience that comes with a heavy price. It costs us our innocence. We pay in full with the vitality of our minds and with the strength of our bodies. And when this journey is all said and done, we depart this world with the weight of living heavy upon our broken bodies. For most of us we approach it alone with only God to offer us comfort in our last feeble moments.

Morose? Yeah, but these thoughts have been thick about my foggy head. I have lost people I love and the weight of that loss sits ever on my thoughts but that isn’t the only thing to wrap itself around me. The immortally of my youth has left my body a little more broken that I’d like. Worse still, the medicine to make me ‘all better’ really doesn’t offer better, just good enough for my trouble. Before you get the idea I’m moaning over the fate dealt to me, I am, but I’m also saying this. I might have thought about giving up over the past month or two, but it ain’t happening. Please don’t cue the Rocky montage. I still have a few issues to work through so any and all prayers would be appreciated.

Why am I telling you this? I could have very easily kept my issues to myself and just faded into the shadows. I dearly wanted to and still do to a certain degree. No, I came here not to gain sympathy but to share my thoughts so that you know you are not alone. The one thing I’ve discovered over the beginning of this year is when life is smacking you around, it is so easy to get into the mindset that you are alone and the things happening to you are a unique experience. Well, it isn’t. You are not alone. People love you and support you. You can’t kill yourself worrying about things to come. I’ll be honest with you, worrying is one of my best worst habits. More importantly, that junk you earnestly believe no one can understand? Well, they can because that crap happens every day to people who don’t deserve it just like me and you. Allow yourself a few hours of regret, melancholy or whatever then move past it. I’ve taken a few months, but that’s because I’m stubborn and heavily medicated. No excuse, but I’m giving it nonetheless

As I sit here wondering if I have the strength to bare my frailties for all to see and post this blog or not, I don’t know what the future holds for me as a writer. The stories don’t rise up in my head like operatic visions demanding to be told like they did when I first began to write. They murmur and lurk behind my fears, as if they are the ones afraid to give voice to the excitement I once felt over the act of creating worlds within my mind. I will admit to feeling like a failure. The listless worry that I write for no one but myself. Then I remember if I write for only myself why fear failure. I am my own worst harsh critic. No, the real failure would be quitting before my own story is told. In life, tribulation is simply the roadblocks that make us stronger. As I sit here doubting myself and my abilities, I have to hold one divine truth firmly in my head. This might be my journey but I don’t walk it either alone or without guidance. God knows the path ahead of me, and will never let me walk it by myself. Whether in Spirit or through the blessings of the people He places in my life, He is there with me. Believe me, I might not be rich, but I am overwhelmed with the wealth of friends who love me and never once allow me to sink into unending sorrow. You know who you are, so thank you for being my strength.

Like I said back at the beginning of this blog, the creative mind has a dual nature. From the darkness light can emerge to overcome the night. I am coming through that darkness and when I get to the other side, I promise you I’m going to be stronger for doing it. Hopefully my writing will reflect that. On that note, I’m going to bring this thing to a close. Hopefully my brain will be my own next week and I can get back to the business of sharing how it feels to be a writer, instead of how it feels to be a writer who can’t write.

Wishing you all a great week, and happy reading!