The Making of a Strange Mind (part 1)

Trust me when I say this, I am not posting this for you to “feel” anything for me or about me. I wrote this out this morning and for whatever reason I feel compelled to place it here. I don’t know why, all I can say is why not. Feel free to leave a comment if you feel you must, but please let me know if you think I should continue to share with you by rating it, liking it or any way that you know to let me know that I should add more.


I haven’t been able to put more than three words together for a while now. I would like to think it wasn’t anything special … after all I was able to pound out Deadly Pawn in just a few months. But in a way it’s the last thing I have been able to get through in a bunch of years, almost five to be exact. I was able to finish The Beginning … or at that time, The Travelers Adventures in Valdore: The beginning. After that, well after that not a lot, a hundred or so pages of the sequel, that’s about it. Not that I am even sure I am on the right page with sequel. I don’t know … I have it out for “review”. I second guess myself every day … not that there’s anything unusual in that but it does seem like it’s becoming more important than getting words down on the screen. Does there ever come a time when it falls together or does it even matter in the end?
I know I have a lot of problems with things that have happened over the past few years. And I have forever been looking for a rewind that will never come. Then it continues to pile on and only makes me look for that rewind even more. I am not good with a lot of things not that I don’t want to be better at them it’s just that I’m not good at them. Talking comes to mind … more because I never know what to talk about. I am not one to talk about myself … and there are many people that would agree with that as well as those that would think they know me better than anyone else. In a way some of those might be right. The problem there is that they only know parts of it and not all of it. I guess if enough of them got together in the right place they might just know everything they think they know, but even then I think they would be a little short. Not that I am complicated or anything like that. It’s just that I don’t think I have shared everything about me with anyone person since I was much younger. Even then I am not sure that shared enough of me for a person to know everything. Unless of course they were there with me at the time … which … well I was alone a lot even then. Sure I spent my time with a few friends, some of them gone now, who am I kidding many of them are gone now. I always felt myself an introvert, not that I always knew what to call it. Except that is when I was behind a bar and even then I never shared too much about myself. It was more about having fun with those seated on the other side of the bar. Sharing their stories with them and listening to what they had to say. Of course my sarcasm wasn’t very far behind any of it and it got much better as the years went on. I think being behind a bar was my safe zone that one place where I didn’t have to be myself. It was a place where I didn’t have to be me, and a place where I could be me all at the same time depending of course on my mood. One thing that most everyone knows about me is that I am now and have always been a bit of a flirt. Of course now that I’m old and way overweight it seems and probably looks pathetic. Maybe there in itself is some part of the reason why I find myself hiding inside all the time. I know in seem revolting and no doubt even look the same. As some read this they might begin to think I have a major self-esteem problem they might be right and for that I think I would have to go way back to my childhood, but we’re not going to. Again being behind a bar changed that for me I knew what I was doing I knew what needed to be done and I was pretty good at. I even enjoyed it more than any job I’ve had. Don’t get me wrong, I loved taking photographs but in truth it never paid me anything that amounted to a living. Writing, writing is and always has been part of me. Where it goes from here who knows, and who can say for sure. When I was young I would make up stories about things, places, and people. I never told them to anyone. Oh, sure bits and pieces of them like any kid with “imaginary friends”. I know there are none that I truly remember at least not put a story with them. I once believed that some of them revealed themselves again to me when I was I junior high school. Now there was the year that I realized I had stories to tell and that someone liked them. I still can’t remember her name but as teacher she was great at seeing to it that I explored that aspect of who I am. I sometimes wish that she had stayed around so that she could have encouraged me more. I often think that if she had her way I would have been a published author long ago. Not that I am sure I would have been any better or worse for it as an author and that is not the point.
One thing I want to make clear I am not writing this to point any fingers at anyone in my life to say hey you; you’re the one that fucked me up. Because I can’t blame anyone in particular although I might be able to point to a few, but that was then and this is now. You’re right … I have been dancing around something. That would be what I mentioned at the top of the page. For now though, I think I will leave that for another day as I have found this a bit therapeutic believe it or not. And maybe I will have to have that part out at another time.