Pages fly by like bats in a thick night air down by the rocky shoals of one of the little rivers passing through my hometown. Pages of poetry, fiction, prose, or whatever critics want to call it, but it can’t be helped. I am a curious man whose life is mostly in the rearview mirror and it’s quite true things do seem smaller in our rearview mirrors, yet closer than we believe. It really doesn’t much matter what critics might say of my writing. Why? I doubt very much if a critic has ever visited my site. I am not on their radar screens. Hell, I’m not even discussed around a buzzard’s dinner table consisting of road kill, maybe a deer carcass.
But as I listen to Adele’s marvelous album “21” I am compelled to feel good about my life as a recluse, a loner, or a blank tombstone up at the old Ninth Street Cemetery. I am okay with that, are you? If not for beautiful soulful music and a patient loving wife I would be sitting still on a curb in Altoona homeless, jobless, and confused. Thankfully I left that place. No not the city but that place in life, it’s in the rearview mirror and becoming smaller by the miles I drive forward.
Sometimes we must gaze in that rearview mirror before we change lanes in life. I’ve changed so many times there’s no highway made by humans that could hold me. That’s a good thing right? What I believed when I was thirty is so out of date, not even accepted as part of my mental process. It is so yesterday. The older and grumpier I become the less I want to think about all of my nonsensical beliefs and behaviors of the past. Basically I was naïve and nauseous to those around me.
Now I spend my time reading and writing. I enjoy a good Dean Koontz novel from time to time. I love to write stuff no one wants to read. It’s quite a sick approach to covering for my disappointment. If I somehow say that my writing sucks maybe someone will shell out a couple of bucks in pity and buy a book or two. Pity doesn’t seem to work so if you’re a newbie author I might suggest not to use the approach…doesn’t work worth a damn. Try all that nuclear cyber power to get it published, promoted, and read. Good luck. I am actually being sincere with the “good luck” thingy.
I’m not sure if this small piece of gibberish can be called anything. What the hell is a genre? There are so many blogs floating out there and now everyone has a newspaper…some of which I have given the honor of being on my reading list. They are actually fun to read and have some good stuff in them, but my brain gets saturated with links, leads, blog lists, ebook publishers, and tweets, My Space, Face-Book, Twitter messages, spam, scams, and cyber bullying. I could go on and include all the emails I get that are erased immediately. You know, stuff like Internet conferences, insurance policies for old goats, Nigerian crisis money, political extremists (I really hate those). All of this stuff stresses me. I’m tired of stress so I’ll bid the two guys I paid five bucks from Space Burgers to read this, farewell.