I should have taken the blue pill! I could have woken up to a serene world that I could keep made up in my mind and been happy as punch without knowing all the dirty little lies life has in store for us. I don't suppose God in heaven gives us prewarning before our conception moment or the moment just before we arrive at some sort of consciousness. I talk to my 16 year old son *composes himself after yet again realizing he has a 16 yr old* and try to tell him about all the mistakes I can see him making in the next few years. I really want him to avoid them. But much like his father, he is quite stubborn and wants to fall on his face, get trampled by the masses and do it all on his own. *sigh* I guess I probably didn't listen much to my parents. Wait. I really didn't have parents that knew what was in store for me at all. No I didn't grow up with alien parents, although that would have been wild. No my mother and step-dad were Jerry Springer panel members before the show was a twinkle in the man's eyes.

None of this really matters twenty years later. I can beach and moan about it, but it changes nothing about how I will sleep tonight, what my deepest dreams and desires are and how I can obtain them. What matters is how I'm going to make it work. A little bit of luck and persistance and I'll be fine. Inspiration isn't the key. Working my ass off so I can do it is. All my life I've watched others tumble from their dreams when I thought they had so much going for them and yet I hear the whispers from others about the same of me. Only I can do anything about it.

Ever wonder why I whine so much on here? It gets old huh? The thing is I really don't have anyone close to me that understands any of it. I suppose anyone who creates art understands the pain involved, but I think with writing it is something beyond any other form. With poetry and/or music the artist looks for the flash of emotion in the few moments they have to express it. Painters and other artists have the ability to have a concrete showing of what was in their mind's eye. Even if it is abstract, there is little to judge about what the expression is meant to be. While novelists have to sustain emotion and describe every sensual event they wish their readers to partake in. This in no means belittles the other artists because their blood bleeds into their craft as does a writers. In my understanding, it is difference between a few drops and a whole pint.

It makes being a writer no less nor important to society. Rather it is a haunting scene getting played over and over in ones head as they stare at the blank paper ready to explore the arranged words that will concot a new magic no one else has ever tasted, felt, seen, heard or even had a hint of smelling. So many themes are regurgatated in the mainstream while those best left to experiment with new ideas are shunned unless their name gets them in the door. Editors and publishers want originality as long as you do it like everyone else. Reminds me of the old Far Side cartoon of a bunch of penquins standing on the ice while one stands up and shouts, "I gotta be me!"

I once tried to express this to Sandy. I felt as if I was talking quantum physics to her. Granted I never tried to impress her with my writing. I don't know why, but I did my best to show her some of the general things I had written and it amused her to a point. I felt like she was my ex-wife all over and she was wondering when I was going to put away my play things and get on with life. The problem I have is that I see writing as a huge part of my life. Everytime I give it up, I feel dead inside. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a child, but sometimes I think that is how I feel after I go a few months without writing. I don't expect many to understand. Hell I don't even understand me at times, but I do know that my happiness is predicated on what I am doing and what I want to do. So either hop aboard or get the hell out of the way! She got out of the way. heh

Another donut missing from the box...
me