Dear Reader,
“For with much wisdom comes much sorrow;
the more knowledge, the more grief.” Ecclesiastes 1:18
I miss long nights with the idea nothing was going to change by tomorrow, that everything was the way it was meant to be, and life was waking up to watch cartoons. I miss those days where running around with my friends where all that matter and the ideas of all the voices on the radio didn’t matter. We fought over what games we were going to play. We debate over if Spider-man or the X-Men were the best comics of all, not if the color of my skin cast some past sin on to me. A sin, I might add, I did not commit but someone, somewhere, in my bloodline might have committed it and therefore I must pay for the act.
When the world screams at me about these things, things which are out of my hands for I can not go back in time, I think of this line from William Shakespeare, “If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?” But to be truthful with you, I did not hear it from Shakespeare but from the Beast (Henry "Hank" McCoy) in the X-Men cartoon. I guess cartoons did teach me something.
I miss these days and nights thinking of them as my youth and yet, I’m still young. I feel old to the depths of my bones, but I am young. I pull hard on my pipe filled with tobacco staring out into the tree telling myself the problems of the world are not mine. I sigh and turn back to my pen to write a story, to write to you, and to write the truth.
My pen cannot fix the world, nor would I try such a foolish task. The world is lost and what more can I say on the matter. So, my pen and my words say nothing on the matter. It is a done deal. The world was doomed long before I walked into it and it will be doomed long after I leave it.
So, I do not let the weight of the world fall on my shoulders anymore. I am done with it. I am over it.
The ink on the page dries, and I wonder who I’m writing this letter to late at night. Who did I write this letter to in the hopes they can see into my world a little more. There is a no-name which sits atop of my page. There are names I wish to put there. Names which will not write back or what I long for sit in my bed, so I can speak to the person instead of writing my words to them. The Nameless One is not the person I wish to share any of these thoughts with because the pen did not write their name. There is nothing I can do on the matter. If the ink does not wish to speak to them, then I will not force it to talk to anyone. No, it would be wrong to put a false name at the top of the page. I leave it simply to the Reader.
Not that I’m ready to have someone sitting in my bed to hear all my innermost thoughts. I am not sure I could handle such an active right now. I have too many things rolling around my head to listen to other people. I’m trying to hopscotch over to the Lord and stay there for a while. I’m learning how to trust Him, not just have faith but trust in Him. While I’m learning how to understand this duty of my belief, He is also showing me what it means to love.
You see, I use my loneliness to punishes myself for acts which I carried out myself, and acts I was disappointed I committed. I felt unworthy to be or to love someone or the Lord, so my loneliness was the tool of my punishment. The one key thing; I have learned about loneliness, is it not the fact no one loves, for that is not true, but the fact, you do not love others as you should. You go about trying to kill what you understand love to mean, and I did that far too well and far too many years.
I made mistakes as we all do. And like everyone my mistakes have left wounds festering in me. I’m trying to let the Lord heal those wounds. I’m trying to stop hurting myself or punishing myself. I hum ‘Hurt’ by Johnny Cash while writing this to you. A song not about overcoming hurt but understanding it. Maybe, that is what I’m doing right now.
Right now, these letter is heavy. My words are impactful, at least to me and overly emotional. The emotions behind them are deep and more than mere ink on a page. It was not what I meant to happen while writing to you. All I meant the letter to be was a short and easy read to explain my plan for the next year.
By plan I mean just for my writing and that is to take a break from long-winded novels and to pen a few short stories. I am planning to do another year of short stories which means a story a month. At the same time, I will be editing two of my novels and working on a third to be published. I’m doing this more to take a small break from the depths it takes to write a novel. A lot of the time I have to place myself into the headspace of the characters in my books and that leaves little room for my space. I need some time to gather myself.
So, I shall start placing my Year of Stories online for your enjoyment. I hope you do enjoy them. They will mostly be a fun little story so to give me an emotional break.
As for Daughter of the Dead I have no real plans as of right now to finish the story. I might pick it up here and there, but I do not see it being done anytime soon. To be honestly, I do not have the time, the will, and want to end the tale. I have far more important stories to write.
I will be publishing one more in-depth or emotional tale sometimes soon. I started the story over the last couple of months and felt it must be placed in the world some point in time. I’m working on it now to make it perfect.
The problem I’m debating with myself it how long do I write my stories now? I have noticed anything over 1,000 words people do not seem to read as much, but I like to write and anything less I do not feel like I can tell a good story. I’m not sure how long my new stories shall be right now, but we will find out together.
Anyways, I must now be done with this letter. I need to go to bed. So, my friend, good night.
With a Handshake,
A Writer
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