Writers Write

There is part of me that despises the fact that I reduce complex events into two dimensional stories. I’m sure there are plenty of well intentioned people who would defend me for doing so and even commend me for my efforts. But I feel entitled to my own criticism. It helps me examine my truth which I trust also eventually leads me away from self loathing. I know all the universal quotes of nearly every philosophy that we can chant until the end of time. But I also realize that most of us feel like impostors in our own lives at least part of the time. So I’m going to try to get completely real with you today.




Writers write, but readers give the story life. The only artistic statement is the statement received. What I mean is, what you bring to your experience and your study of life or art or history is what gives it dimension and meaning. This is universally true. That being said I can justify what I write. It is a two dimensional version of memories and fantasies that have been pulled out of complex events and very multidimensional people. I share snippets of who I knew and who I loved. You provide the substance. I count on you for that. It’s my passion. And now it is my therapy.


A recent bout with cancer has given me what could be described as a severe reality adjustment. But I tend to find a use for negativity and hope for a positive result. Part of cancer recovery is getting back to normal. This is remarkably frightening for me because the way my mind processes this concept is that what I was doing back at normal was what led me to getting cancer. I’m not saying this is true or reasonable thinking. It’s just one of the twists in my personal mental toolkit. But I want to go back to normal, but smarter and safer, if that’s possible. 

I keep thinking my doctor will tell me that my energy will instantly return once I go back to work. Or one day I’ll wake up just knowing that I won’t feel slow and confused and strangely awkward and helpless. I can’t spend the rest of my life changing my bandages and watching bad movies on TV, so I wanted to get past this dark place at least a bit before writing. Sifting through my own thoughts has honestly been a chore. But it’s time to put one foot in front of the other. I still can’t get all of the Christmas decorations put away. But I can start taking things down one at a time. And I can write. The people who read will bring it to life. I think it’s because I remember enough of the good parts to make you feel like it’s worth your contribution. It’s a beautiful thing really.