I have dreamed things of darkness and sadness. I have woken up in the middle of the night, searching for my pen. Waiting for the chance to put everything on the page. The feelings of lost come to me through my characters, I feel their anguish, their heartache, the very breaths of their souls. I wait every night for the chance to bring little things to life. A chance meeting between to long-lost lovers, a farewell to lost loved one, or the chance to scare the life out of someone for the sake of doing it.
I have seen places that I read of as a child, been to places that only I know about., written sad things that are usually between a mother and child, felt the scorn of a son whose father does not understand him. I ride along this thrill ride because it is who I am, it is what I choose to do. My life is one of a struggling writer trying to find his way to publication. This belief that publication will come some day is not what keeps me writing. It is the words, the story and the characters in my head, if not for them as my escape I would go mad.
I travel this road through its pendulum swings. I push forward, waiting silently for a new day to come. A day when I will travel to more places I haven’t been before.