writing process

We Now Return to Our Show Already in Progress

~ Donald J. Lund

To blog or not to blog is sometimes the question.

When it gets to be nearly two months since the last public writing entry, the question evolves into, “Do you remember how to do this blogging thing?”

Why yes, yes I do.

The substantive absence here was not a severe case of the mind playing tricks on me with a lack of available consonents then organized into words, sentences and paragraphs, and/or more commonly referred to as “writer’s block” was not exactly at fault either.

It couldn’t be writer’s block, like my wise professor taught me, there is no such thing. However, I have discovered there can be some time in between decent ideas to share.

Initially, the blog delay was a refocus on the fiction fun I usually work on after a lovely posting here among the random readers of the world.  The stories, one contest, a couple poems and three hundred edits later, I realized we hadn’t visited here in a while.  And then it became a bit of a subject matter problem.

What to talk about with all the craziness in the world?

Election madness in the good old U.S. of A. seems easy enough, but those opinions appear to be numerous and just as confusing as most of the candidates themselves.  A serious and important batch of issues in the political world, but I’m not seeing a lot of solutions there on the horizon.  Maybe no politics in here for a bit longer.

The world of entertainment is certainly a topic embraced here at the Tymes on a fairly regular basis.  We could throw a virtual hug at the Oscar winners or talk about whether cultural politics need to be included in the movie award business, but that too seems redundant at the moment in the blog-o-verse.  More diversity sounds good to me, I’m just happy C3PO, R2D2 and BB-8 got some live stage time.  Robots and androids are the future, more power to them.

Travel is always fun, and after a couple nice pieces here about last year’s adventures, I could always relay more of those escapees here for you, but the winter has offered few road trips thus far.  We did get to see a Sherlock Holmes exhibit at the museum, and any chance to mention one of my favorite writers, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is always a good thing, it just does not rise to the worthiness of a full on blog.

The exhibit after all, missed the mark.  Mr. Doyle created Holmes to have a character who could deduce the the clues in front of the audience, and not magically solve a mystery at the end of the book with no rhyme or reason to how the protagonist discovered the answers.  Our exhibit had the interactive clue seeking and then presented a magical answer with no way for the audience to find the actual solution.

It was still fun.  Just not enough to fill up all the empty space here.

There are still plenty of life anecdotes in the arsenal to tell, but after a lengthy absence, it may be too soon to jumpstart things here with a happy or sad recollection.

Best to share some thoughts than none at all.

The writing continues, this is the year to publish items other than the words here in this normally lovable corner of the Internet.  Two short stories are about ready to go, a website to tie all this together nicely (blogs, stories, and requisite social media buttons) is being developed and really 2016 is just getting started.

Time flies, but as a wise online meme described, I am the pilot.

The ‘block’ real or imagined has been removed, and away we go. Again.

Thanks for checking in, please set your tray tables up, and return your seats to their original upright positions, we’re about ready to take off.

 

An Evening With Kevin Smith

~ Donald J. Lund

We sort of got to hang out with Kevin Smith last night.  Not in the he came over to the house and had a couple beers with the family kind of way.  My wife, youngest son and me walked around the frigid Colorado December air and found Mr. Smith at the Boulder Theater.  Twenty rows back, in an uncomfortable chair and in the noisy bar area, was about as close as we could get in the 850-chair venue.

He passed along some humorous anecdotes, dropped some big time Hollywood names, a substantial pile of f-bombs and some bits I was not expecting.  Dude was throwing down serious wisdom.  Yes, the guy who happily generates genital jokes, rolls around in nerdy comic book references, and rocks the hockey jersey wardrobe worked in some sagely candor to all who would listen in that small theater.

Boiling it all away, it could have been dismissed as a ‘follow your dreams kids’ mantra passed down from high upon a stage to the wannabes below.  But there was more to it than that.  It was a big hearted man, with great empathy for all creative souls to do far more than follow dreams.  He insisted we go and  make those things happen.  Will, perseverance, whimsy, whatever it takes — but go for it without sweating the critics who surround us all in this life.

Some readers who know me may jump in at this point and remind me I can’t write about Kevin Smith objectively. It’s true.  I’m a fan. More than a fan, ever since I watched the movie Clerks in complete awe, I see him more as a brother who I haven’t got to hug yet.

In awe of Clerks?

Yes.

Because he truly made something from nothing.  And he did it by begging, borrowing, selling off personal items, applying for way too many credit cards, all to make a film he knew only he could make.

That was the perspective I learned last night.  The motivation I’d not heard before, despite years of lingering about as a fan of most of his work, and now as a fan of his endless perseverance.

He didn’t make Clerks for me.  Initially, I thought he did.  If you haven’t seen it, in essence it is a long day with two wacky dudes inside convenience stores talking about Star Wars and lame customers, and two crazy dudes outside the store, dealing and dancing. Throw in a little romance, some lasagna and dead guy in the bathroom and you have a fascinating day in the life in Jersey that stays with you.

Easy, right?  Go deep into debt, roll the dice on a little film and live a life of magic and wonder.  I think too many Kevin Smith fans look at it that way and maybe this tour in particular has him trying to explain, it ain’t that easy, but it is worth the hard work and effort.  The stuff people forget is Mr. Smith has had to constantly reload, regroup, and try again.  Create more, do more, sell more, work harder, and as he put it, ‘fail a bunch of times’ before finding more success.

I did laugh at some of the anecdotes.  I love Ben Affleck stories.  And it bums me out Bruce Willis is a complete ass.  But that information was strictly entertainment bits based on personal experience.  The message I heard was loud and clear.  If you have a creative soul, or big story to tell, don’t dream it, do it.

I was going to get in the question line at the theater last night, despite knowing so few questions get answered.  And the fan in me kind wanted the bonding moment to point out all of the places our lives intersect — if presented in those Venn Diagram circles — both of us love to write, love movies, love comics, love Tarantino, worked retail, owned comic shops, love Batman, lost our dads, he’s a Kevin with a brother named Donald, I’m a Donald with a younger brother named Kevin, roller coaster with weight issues, I’ve done radio and he does podcasts.

I keep thinking if I shake the family tree hard enough, a Smith has to drop out of there.  We have to be related.

At least I know we’re kindred spirits.  And the funny part was I started this writing trek this year, to make something from nothing.  It has been equally joyous and frustrating.  I keep looking at my words and thinking, “Yeah, this ain’t Mice and Men.  Or Plato would never waste his time with genre fiction.  Or damn this stuff sucks.”

Sagely Kevin Smith served some wisdom.  It doesn’t matter if my work isn’t meeting a social standard, or an entertainment norm.  I need to finish these stories for me.  I need to tell stories only I am capable of telling.  Send my perspective out into the world and someone may love it, or not.  But the process is worth it.  Fail a bunch, maybe succeed a little, or not at all.

I always feel better writing, so I’m going with that.  Some of the stories I worry about being rejected will now get sent out.  I have a kind, generous loving support from my wife and a pen, which is far more than a lot of folks have.

Just like that. Back on track. Wisdom from my man teaching me to go for it and how not to send inappropriate text messages.  It also does not hurt to know Johnny Depp.  See, I’m smarter already.

A little kick in the butt from hanging out with Kevin Smith.

Nice.

Our Story So Far

~ Donald J. Lund

Five months into this snappy, sometimes sappy little corner of the world wide web offers a brief moment to reflect on where we’re at and where we’re going.

I know.

“What’s with this we stuff?” Tonto asked the Lone Ranger after a bad day.

Whoever has wandered into this blog after it kicked off in late January with me is a part of the ‘we’ on this reading, writing journey.  This method to communicate with Universe, share some anecdotes, a laugh or two and some darts thrown at the philosophical dart board of life has been a great way to start many of my writing days.

Or writing daze on other occasions.

Thus far, it turns out there may be more websites, writing groups, workshops, magazines and conventions in the world than there are active writers.  And there are a LOT of folks in this writing boat with me. Again, all the better to me to have more folks out there, and the resources available are amazing.  And all that talk about craft can be surprisingly distracting. I think that is why so much modern writer humor revolves around the giant, shiny Internet destroying focus.

I get all of those jokes now. Although they were funnier when I wasn’t writing everyday.

Ultimately, I have found some great advice, great ideas and a bunch of places to go when I need help through tough spots as an emerging writer.  See that?  New lingo.  I discovered a boat load of material directed at folks just like me, on the verge of getting stories out into the world.

I emerge, therefore I am.

Lots of wisdom out there laying around for the emerging writers. This blog is not a requirement for an emerging writer, yet, a lot of people suggest it is a nice way for people who do eventually read more of your stuff to find a place to read more of your stuff.

The tale of the tape looks like this.  Three projects being worked on at the same time.  The Princess book, the sci-fi short story being edited and reworked and the strangely fun crime book that writes itself faster than my earlier works.

Which one will land first?  First one done.  I have decided to not be picky, and that my finest work may be one of these projects or something I have not yet imagined. The bottom line is I have recovered from the fear that whatever I publish, self-publish or put on a bubble gum card doesn’t have to be perfect.

It worked for my newspaper and radio career.  Some of my best works were not planned and some of the articles I wrote were technically the strongest pieces I had accomplished, some the last minute deadline ideas resonated more with my intended audience.

There will be some not great stories and some less than stellar moments in this passionate pursuit to write well.  It is the way the rest of life goes, I should have realized the same applies to my favorite thing to do as well.

Write it, throw it out there and if it gets accepted or thrown back, write some more.

However, I likely pull all of this off without having to surf over to trending writer articles on how to find a better verb or top ten best places for emerging writers to look at on the Internet.  Cartoons about writing are still open season, I love those.

More Lundon Tymes as well, it is still a nice way to kick off the writing day. Stay tuned, more adventures on the way.

Channeling Elmore Leonard

~ Donald J. Lund

If you know of his work, I’m merely singing to the choir, however even non-readers may know of Elmore Leonard by osmosis — via the many adapted works throughout his incredible career.  Most recently, the FX television series Justified blossomed from a single short story, Fire in the Hole, portraying Raylan Givens as a U.S. Marshall or a modern cowboy of sorts.

If you love westerns, 3:10 to Yuma is incredible, and it is has been made into a movie twice.  Get Shorty, Jackie Brown (from Rum Punch), Out of Sight are a a few of the films that highlight a career with 50 or so novels, short stories and screenplays, with over half of them finding a place on television or in film.

I didn’t know Leonard was my hero at first either.  I initially ‘heard’ the voice and influence of the writer through the works of Quentin Tarantino.  Each creative force shares a love for dialogue driven stories with fascinating and unique characters, often with a darker edge.  In Tarantino’s case, his characters tend to have really, really dark edges.

Ultimately, each writer plays a substantial inspirational role in my creative process and I love the standard they set as I sit down at the keyboard each day.  And rather than brag too much about Elmore Leonard in a standard ‘favorite author blog’, I thought I could generate an example of said inspiration right here.

“What do you mean, right here?” asked Bart.

“A dialogue driven example of how a story can happen over a simple conversation, even where we sit,” Jed answered.

“In this old saloon in Laredo, Texas?” Bart asked again. “It don’t make no sense.”

“Sure it does Bart.”

“How long you been tracking me, boy?”

“Since Galveston, when you and your boys hit that bank.”

“Damn, you must have really wanted to talk to me, if you been following me since then.”

“I really do,” as Jed raised the whiskey glass to his lips.

“Best get to talking then boy,” and then Bart reached down toward his holster, as if to assure his Colt still rested there.

“I just wanted to thank you, for those years you took me in, before I have to go to work today,” Jed replied, eyeing Bart’s hand fiddle with a Colt revolver handle.

“Thank me?” And Bart forced a laugh.  “Well alright then, I suppose we had to take you in since you had no place to go.”

“You made sure of that.”

“It was me or your pa.”

“It wasn’t like that, he was just trying to defend his home and kin.”

“Like I said, it was me or him. All he had to do was step aside.”

“I guess I just don’t see it that way.”

“Well, that’s too bad boy. We didn’t have to take you in them years.”

“That’s true, but it wasn’t like I was gonna forget what you done.”

“Okay, well you tracked me, you thanked me, now you best get to movin’ on.”

“You didn’t ask me about my new job,” and before Bart could ask, Jeb slipped his overcoat back to reveal a slightly battered and bent, five star badge with the words “Texas Ranger” etched across the front.  Bart’s jaw dropping reaction was all the time Jeb needed to draw his weapon, level it and fire before Bart could raise his Colt to fire back.

Bart fell back onto the wood floor, a small plume of dust enveloped him as his body settled onto the ground.

“I guess all the talking is done then,” Jed said.

What A Novel Idea

~ Donald J. Lund

Or, what next?

The nice little blog is kicked off, where everything from favorite authors to silly movies can be discussed.  A place to talk ideas, inspirations, progress or lack of progress, it can all appear here.  This area will certainly offer us the the best of Tymes, and the worst of Tymes.

Now for all the stuff that happens between these ramblings — it is starting to gather some momentum.  I had previously offered concern about being trapped in the first genre that finds some level of publication, yet, an initial story must be sent out into the world.  Adventures hiding away in desk drawers or computer hard drives will not ever be discovered.  Protagonists’ bold moves against crafty villains cannot forever lurk in the darkness, yadda, yadda, blah, blah, etc.

I was taught by a very cool playwright I know, that I should always multi-task. Specifically, that I work on multiple projects in various phases.  That way I am editing one story, plotting another and flat out stream of conscious writing another.  That way, if I get stuck on one idea, I can edit or fix another, or plan for a new short story contest deadline, yet always stay productive.  My professor and a couple of my favorite writer’s do not believe in writer’s block, and I shall follow that path.

Ultimately, I selected one science fiction short story that I’ve had for a while to edit and repair. And for the first book, I’m going with a fantasy novel. When I run out of ideas on the book, I just to the crime noir piece for fun, or the tedious edit of my western from a screenplay to manuscript.

It was brutal picking my fantasy story over my crime fiction novel, and the western for first one to completion.  I love and fear all three future books equally.  The initial effort to go out the front door has to be solid enough to push this beyond a cute hobby for the old writer guy. Or so says the ego.

The fantasy story won because my female protagonist called to me the most.  But I have to admit, anything fantasy I wanted to shy away from, because it is one of my beloved genres.  When I think of elves and dwarves, they are J.R.R. Tolkien’s, not mine.  Fallen knights are George R.R. Martin’s and not mine.  The dragons I see in the skies are Anne McCaffery’s and not mine.  The shadows in the dark still belong to Robert E. Howard and not me.  And the magician I see is Raymond Fiest’s Pug, and not mine.

So, I backed off a high fantasy concept the book originally held. Instead I have generated a character driven piece far closer to a medieval vibe with some hints at fantasy elements.  I am merely an apprentice on this day, and not quite ready to challenge my masters of epic fantasy just yet.

However, the setting does include knights, the political intrigue of monarchy, lots of fire, swords and a really, really bad guy I like a lot. Female protagonists are more plentiful these days, yet, still somewhat rare in the medieval/fantasy books I’ve seen.  Mine is pretty cool, I like her resilience the most, and she reminds me of me and how fast I had to grow up.  While too young to be a Red Sonja prototype or not yet cynical enough to be a Beatrix Kiddo type from Kill Bill, she is a tough kid.  I am cheering for her to win the day.

I’ve gone through three working titles over time, and spent way too many hours trying to find one I like well enough, since I have to see it everyday.  It had a latin title at one point, which is cool, but I seemed to be the only one who knew what it meant, that’s not good.  Then it was a super generic title I hated — no title with princess in the name worked for me.  Besides, Princess Bride haunts my brain in a good way.

After overthinking it too much, my book is currently called, The Last Duchess of Soahren.  Well, it at least sounds slightly better than Duchess Badass, but she kind of is.

The outline is complete, the ending is my favorite part, the cool flashback scene has been added, and I should have a manuscript ready to go through copy editing over the next month.  With some luck and good cover art, the query letter will follow.  The odds are generally against literary agent love at this stage, but I will attempt to find it.  Should that falter, then self-publishing, both hardcopy and digital via Amazon is the backup plan.

All easier said of course, than done, but my substantive first foray as a storyteller should be shared one way or another this summer.

Fired Up Over Ray Bradbury

~ Donald J. Lund

If you know what the temperature is when paper burns, you can thank the lovable legend Ray Bradbury.

As so many wise people before me have observed, anyone who wants to write, must first and always be a reader as well.  My brain is where it is today, because of many good and great books across many genres, and starting with an appreciation for Mr. Bradbury is a really good place to begin being thankful.

Fahrenheit 451 was one of those early inspirational, live changing books that forever altered my perspective of my Universe.  Published in 1953, I did not discover this gem until about 1980, and I recall it was one of the first books I could not put down once I started reading it.

While all fiction reflects some aspects of the human condition, the genius of Bradbury was recognizing a pattern long before the rest of us, and in essence, predicting the potential outcome of the human behavior he observed decades before.

I will include some minor spoilers in regards to characters and setting, but there is no reason to reveal the plot, because I would rather keep those elements a surprise for those who have yet to discover this science fiction masterpiece.  And as this particular piece is to honor the writer, I should note he did not consider himself a science fiction writer, but more of a writer overall, who happened to write a lot of fantasy and horror.  For example, he considered the Martian Chronicles more of a mythological retelling or fantasy than science fiction.  I could also tell he was a big fan of Edgar Allen Poe’s work when I read Something Wicked This Way Comes.

Moving back to the joys of Fahrenheit 451, it seems society in general jumped in on the horrifying premise of burning books, and the irony of firemen of the future destroyed rather than saved things with fire.  Silly me locked in on that singular concept, and I assumed that since the book was written less than a decade after World War II, it served as a caveat about government thought control and book burning.

My family had much love, but very little resources when I was younger and books were an enormous part of existence, because it wasn’t too tough to hit the library or snag a cheap paperback.  So here was a book illuminating my greatest fear, building a dystopian world sans books.  Bradbury showed me just how frightening life could be in such a place.

Bradbury’s protagonist Guy Montag was very easy to relate to, he struggled with his world and how it should be, but when we first meet him, he happily goes along with the program.  After all, his job was burning books as a modern fireman.  His journey is one that really stuck with me, and so many characters I write have a little bit of the Guy tragedy in them — wanting to do the right thing yet, not really sure how to do it.  Add to that, I initially missed the primary point of his character learning by what others told him to do, prior to trying to learn/read and make his own decisions.

Of course, then there was also the great Bradbury quote always hanging in my head, “You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them.”

And yet, I didn’t fully understand the lesson or the bigger warning within the tale.  It wasn’t fire or burning pages that we should fear. It is the lack of attention to another, the lack of empathy, the fear of intellect, knowledge and life experience that allowed books to fade from society.

The genius of Ray Bradbury is he saw our world today in 1953.  Book stores, newspapers are vanishing, and science and intellect is being mocked at every turn. We get lost in big screen televisions and portable devices instead of each other.  Even if the next logical step isn’t to burn them, it is scary the banned books list in communities grows exponentially each decade.

As education is at crisis level in many parts of the country, the argument seems to have fallen to what should not be read instead of the concept everything should be read.  Love or loathe a book, it is not the idea inside that will hurt you, it is ignorance that occurs by avoiding differing ideas altogether that sets us back.

But I digress.  Merely taking in a fictional adventure ride with the likes of Ray Bradbury and we need not have such concerns.  In other words, if you have not yet read Fahrenheit 451, run, don’t walk to the book store or your favorite reading device.

Do You Want Lies With That?

~ Donald J. Lund

A serving of truth, with a side of lies please.

Is this not fiction?

Of course there are all manner of collision between reality and fiction, and a story can emerge from nearly any life experience.  And it is especially fascinating as I find myself an aspiring writer who is currently writing full time — yet is required to explain such an existence to a society with extremely practical standards.

It was a cold winter day, like many similar days before it, and I left my writing chair to run some errands through the snow to integrate among normal humans.  An early afternoon journey to the bank kicked off a list of seemingly innocuous chores, when my identity was questioned.

In retrospect, I understand why.  A late 40’s male, unattended in the middle of a weekday, sans work boots or a briefcase clearly looks suspicious.  It was well beyond the standard lunch hour, and people needed to figure out just what it was I was up to.

The bank teller asked with accusing eyes, “Did you get off work early today?”

“Oh, me, I work from home, I was just taking a break,” I answered.

“Really? What kind of work do you from your home?” her eyes narrowed.

“I’m a writer,” I said meekly.

“A writer, eh. Anything you have written that I might of read?” she said, and then she signaled to some people behind the bank counter.

“Not really, unless you were a loyal newspaper reader in Wyoming,” I answered, but my voice broke as if I was fourteen-years old again.

“Well, we don’t believe you,” said a man with a heavy German accent, wearing a grey uniform, a black hat and holding a completely unnecessary riding crop tucked under his arm. “No man runs around merely writing in ze middle of the day. Vhere are your papers?”

Damn. I didn’t have any identification papers. My cover was blown, but I’m a creator of fiction, so I improvised. Two more guards appeared behind me, so I did a shoulder roll, tripped the men behind me, grabbed a weapon, jumped to my feet and prepared to blast my way back to freedom.

The bank teller’s droning voice shattered my daydream, I shook my head and my focus returned me to similar bank surroundings. She repeatedly asked if there was anything else I needed today.

“No, thank you,” I replied. “You’ve done quite enough already.”

In truth, it was a bit awkward, and I may well get a number of questions exactly  like her query until someone can read something more recent and entertaining than my old journalism days.  All that, and it was funny to imagine the simple scenario blossom into a noir history set piece story, complete with bad accents.

It is all part of the joy now as nearly any dialogue I hear in public becomes fair game to be included in anything I am working on or a completely new idea for something else. Every chore can become an adventure, and each aisle in the grocery store can evolve into a nightmare. Well, that happens anyway. The grocery store really is a nightmare at this point in life.

So, go ahead, ask me what I’m up to, just understand there may by some embellishment on the side.

Tell Me A Story

~ Donald J. Lund

Once upon a time, a little boy moved around quite a bit.  His family was on a life altering adventure from the chilly shoreline of the Atlantic Ocean, to the foot of the Rocky Mountains.  With change all about, he made up stories for himself and his little brother to help ease the tension of the new places and faces.  The boy would tell tales of kids taking the helm of giant sailing ships, soaring the seas of centuries before, battling pirates and monsters and winning the day.   As with the kids in the stories, the boy and his brother would overcome the real world adversity they faced.

Well, that sure seems where it all began for me.  And when I ran out of original material, the real five-year old me would read comic book stories out loud to my two-year old brother.  I had to get better at telling stories, as my audience grew to three brothers, and visiting cousins and eventually friends at sleepovers or scouts on a camping trip.  A storyteller never wants to let down the audience, regardless of size.

I was able to utilize elements of those first stories in a screenplay project for a class.  Some of the concepts still work, some of them need a lot of work, but that is the essence of storytelling.  Edit and improve and hopefully with that experience, I will tell better stories along the way.

Apparently, I am not alone in wanting to do this writing thing.  Research over the last few weeks, exploring the writer Universe around me, revealed that there are hundreds of websites, Twitter feeds, Facebook support groups, organizations from one coast to the other, all to help the writer in me, or you.  One of the messages among the reports about writers in the modern day claimed that over sixty percent of the people in England want to write a book.  I think that number sounds small.

We all have stories to tell and we do it everyday.  Whether it is about having to deal a dork in traffic, or a horrible customer service experience or perhaps finding a rare kind human in line at the driver’s license bureau, these adventures are in turn retold to our family, co-workers or some poor soul stuck next to us on the seat of an airplane on a four hour non-stop flight.  We love to tell stories.  I don’t mean relating facts in order as things happened, oh no, that is kind of boring.  We add some color, descriptions, some projections upon the characters observed in these ritual retellings and perhaps some humor or added tension to transform the experience into something more than what it was.

Now write it down, edit it a bunch and sell it off as a short story.  Not as easy as hanging at the water cooler and talking about a near tragic traffic experience or finding the most shiny silver dollar ever made on the floor of a bus station, but it is a potential starting point.

The immense number of humans writing and creating can add to the doubt dancing at the back of the mind of anyone attempting to write something entertaining.  However, I dream of a perfect world where we all take our turn at the campfire, relating our life adventures to each other, or just making something up to scare me, or confound me, make me laugh, or the best yet, make me think.

I am glad there are a lot of people looking to tell stories.  I hope whatever my unique perspectives and voices are, that they are enough to entertain.  Or at the very least, when whispered or read quietly in the dark, offer some comfort and distraction away from the daily adversity.

Why Write Now?

~ Donald J. Lund

Write right now.  And then every moment every after.

It does beg the question, why?

For those souls who discovered the writer within and then dedicated themselves to the craft at far younger ages than me, more power to you.  There is a part of me that tugs at the question of why it took so long to jump into this with both feet, but I’m not big on regret.  I think it took all of the moments, previous jobs, life experiences, piles of miscues and flat out failures to reach a place where the light only illuminates the path I am on now.

As noted previously, I’ve always known what I wanted, but the practical aspects of such a pursuit pushed the priority to write on to the back burner.  It took several life events to literally shake things up so radically, my entire life perspective was altered about everything I thought I knew.

I was certainly going through the motions, doing what society deemed I do next, finish a college degree, find an acceptable vocation, work a job 10-20 more years and retire to shuffleboard or travel to warm places.  And then on a day when I was walking around in a deep funk, my wife hit me with a question, “Why did you ever stop writing? You’re a writer.”

I wasn’t certain my loving wife, who has a busy career of her own even read any of my newspaper articles over the years.  The fact that she had, and she noted the impact those words had on her and the community did give me pause, and I had no answer to her question.  I really didn’t know why.

The next life changer was losing my father.  He was the healthiest, happiest man I knew and he was taken from this world far, far too soon.  A seemingly innocent misdiagnosis of indigestion turned into stage four esophageal cancer.  If they caught it any sooner, the incredibly brave 14-month battle could have gone my Dad’s way, but it didn’t.  I still wonder the how and why it happened.  However, his indelible mark on my existence was to truly live happily each day.  He wasn’t a laid back chill kind of happy, he worked very hard everyday, played hard, and laughed at just about anything.  It was his example of how to approach each moment that further altered my perception.

A few months after Dad was gone, I walked into a college classroom taking a course about writing plays.  As an English minor, it was a random selection and to be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn about this particular process.  The professor, a published playwright herself, began a class discussion about the excuses potential writers make.  We covered most of the bases, fear of being unoriginal, trying to write the next ‘great’ story versus simply writing, expertise on certain topics, fear of critique, not enough time, and a number of others.

Suddenly I was surrounded completely by kindred spirits.  Humans who shared the same passion and held the same fears as me.  For years, I utilized every one of the excuses posted onto the white board in front of the classroom.  I was not alone.

You know what else?  Writing plays is an absolute blast.  Any topic, any conversation, with proper format and structure can be a play.  Okay, so it sounds so obvious now, but it certainly felt like discovery.  My fellow students were all incredible talents, and they were each very kind and supportive at every step of the creative process as we all exchanged edits and critiques.  Our professor packed in more information into a semester linking every aspect of what it would take to become a successful writer.  The class was more than inspiring, it was transformational.

Everything I’ve done leads to this moment.  The military time to help my wife finish college, the painfully unpleasant corporate job that followed, the joy of journalism for a decade, the life in and around comic books and artistic creativity on multiple levels, and the seemingly endless pursuit of education bring me the experience I use to generate my own adventures on paper.

A loving supportive family, a wife who somehow likes me for me, two frighteningly literate sons, a Mom who reads my silliness, my talented brothers three, and lasting friendships across various state lines and several decades all helps a bunch as well.  Actually, I don’t know that one can be thankful enough of a great support system.

Why write now?

My path is clear, the excuses are gone.  It is who I am.  Words beyond this blog may or may not entertain others, the stories may or may not be of epic quality, but it sure is fun trying.