Memoirous

This will be a very personal post. When we write, even fiction, we are revealing a little part of ourselves. Indeed, this may be why I write: to crack open the soul. So then . . . after I've done my part, written and cracked, ached and revised, what next? I'm not a hobbyist, so I put it out there--for the world to read. Or at least I hope so. I send out my flashes and short stories and essays and generally after a lot of coming and going and wrestling, they are published. The novels take much, much longer. If I can't get an agent for the work then I try for smaller presses which are still reading manuscripts. Sometimes I go the self-publish route. Either way eventually these also get published. After all this then I help market and publicize the work. I begin to intentionally engage with readers. And, this is where I have hit the wall. I can't make people read my book, just like you can lead a horse to water but can't make them drink. I asked friends t...

Today, standing at the grill (I work mornings as a breakfast cook, so about 5 a.m.) I had a flash. A memory of someone I love. I say love because even though he is deceased, he isn’t really dead, not really. Sometimes I talk with Fred. In my head, not out loud. Though sometimes I’ve done that while out bicycling. I’ll look around and say, Fred you’d love this. But mostly I flash and think about him. I wonder: are flashes a bit like prayers? My heart reaching out to the universe. Are you there? I miss Fred. I miss talking with Fred. I used to have an office on 8 th floor, down the hall from him. So after working on my writing I’d stop by for a chat, and our conversations covered a multitude of topics, mostly the arts. One blog post I shared years ago had to do with a movie. I tried to tell it to him and he interrupted me, WAIT! I saw that one too!. And, together we finished telling each other the story and which parts we liked the best, and how we related to the main cha...