Out of anything I hear most, I often hear people comment, “So you like to write books?” which is something that always follows with the same idea.
“I should tell you my story,” and then people say things like, “I guarantee you it’ll be a bestseller!”
I’m sure it will be. The truth is we all have a story. Each and every one of us has a story to tell; whether dull or wild, unbelievable or uninteresting, we all have a story.
Little details of our life are like tiny windows of travel. I use these windows to create show boxes, each with its own theme. Someone can look through and imagine and see this through the eyes of their own interpretation.
I love this.
I love how a written story can turn into thought and create a picture. For example, as I write to you at this early hour of 4:00 a.m, I am sitting in the loft of my home. My loft is vaulted over the entryway of my front door.
The lights are out but the whiteness from my computer screen gives off the gleaming understanding of someone that should be sleeping, but yet, I’m not, and partly because sleep eludes me but also partly because I wake early for work and this is where I come to start my day.
I write this to you to give a picture. I write this to add substance so you can feel what i’m trying to say.
My home is set in the palm between mountains in a small place in Upstate. NY.
I have a chalet styled home, which is humble but not small, I have a little more than an acre of property that rolls from a hill that slopes downward from the front of my property to the rear. The back of my home faces a few tree-lined mountains that run parallel to Haverstraw, which is the name of the road behind me.
The front of my home is facing a road by the name of Spook Rock with an old Church off to the left that has an old cemetery that dates back to the early 1800’s.
My surroundings are country like, yet, I’m a city kid as well.
What I love most about this is the background I offer, which develops a texture to my stories. The idea is to give a picture and create a new window to look through on a daily basis.
I love these windows of mine. They are all valuable views of my soul, which I share with you for a reason. I share this here because this is my art. This is my way of breathing out and exhaling the thoughts that swirl around in my head.
I say art is the relief valve that helps me keep sane. I say the written word goes beyond the measure of critics and people that always have something to say.
I say this is my therapy and as such, these windows of mine are like little pictures of memory that created and led me towards my personal redemption. Each of my windows has its own feel and substance, each with its own texture, some sad, some brilliant, some hopeful, and some of the windows represent dreams of mine that I hope to see one day.
Robert Fulghum once wrote about a day he lived that if he could, he would live it the same way again, exactly as it was without changing a thing. I read about this and wondered if I ever had a day like that. I thought about his day and what this meant to him.
I wanted to have a day like this too; and, as a result, I learned to build myself a day like this.
There are times I relive. And some are remembered with sad regret. There are times I recall dark places, lugubrious and heinous at best, and there I was in some dingy place, or gripped by the drug culture and swarmed by illegal matters and violence that adjust the screen to fit such a colorless scene, which hopefully you can see as desperate as ever, but yet still, the idea is to report a scene and add depth to the picture.
There are times when I write about my childhood. I write about the good and the bad as well as the ugly and the beautiful, but yet, as ugly as the times may seem; this is still art, which ultimately makes all of my ugly things beautiful. And the truth is all I want is to be beautiful.
I love this. I love the way I feel when I come here to see you. Here I am typing away and gulping down the last of my coffee because it’s time to go. I guess what I’m trying to say to you is thanks. Without you and these windows of mine, I’m not sure what my life would look like,
Then again, without art, I suppose life would just be artless.
That’s just not for me.