Mr. Scotty

Life is frustrating. I'm not a pharmacy technician. I'm not a construction worker or a shoe salesman. However, I have held these positions and still do with the first. I am a writer. I just find it difficult to do as much as I would like. I would love to quit this job and write for a living, but I also realize that it wouldn't be easy. Perhaps, some day I will realize my goal, but for now I will continue to push forward. I guess I think a little too logically and understand that this situation, while not ideal, is my best means to provide for my family, which is ultimately far more important than landing my dream job. I plan to pursue writing while I can. In fact, I'm writing this on my lunch break at work. It's a small step, but will hopefully lead me to where I need to be. Expect more short posts coming more frequently.

                This poem was inspired by a group of people I know upon their return from over a year in Kuwait. I have been around military my entire life. As a child, when we went home to visit in West Virginia, I was always excited when my uncle Bill, the “real-live G.I. Joe” would be visiting as well. I’ve also had other uncles that served, as well as a fairly large number of friends and acquaintances. I admire them all for serving and helping to protect their friends and family. I could not imagine living in another country where doing something as simple as writing this would not be permitted. I recently found the notebook which the poem was originally written. Though the majority of the people I’ve mentioned are still with us, I felt it would be appropriate to post it on this Memorial Day. Thank you to all of the soldiers that have given everything, including their lives, to protect us, as well as thos...

                I don’t know what it’s called, but I think I have it. It’s more of a subtle, subconscious thing. A fear of success. That’s the best way to describe it. It’s not that I don’t want to succeed, more that I won’t know how to react when I do. The thing is, I have my bad days. Times when life seems much more difficult than it should be. Times when I wish I could afford to go out and get everything that my family needs all at once. That’s not always the case. Sometimes we struggle.                 It is during those times that I come up with my greatest ideas. Ideas that, if brought to fruition, would end the struggle. Ideas that could provide the means necessary to give them not only everything they need, but also all the things that they want. We have a home, clothes on our backs and food on the table. Much of it comes wi...

                I am not really a people person. At least, that’s what I say. I think the issue isn’t so much that I don’t like people, rather, I am more disappointed with people. Especially those that seem to make up the majority of this great country that I call home. This society has its priorities mixed up. Instead of turning on the news and seeing world events, watching the revolutions take place in other countries where people who are genuinely oppressed are fighting for the same rights we take for granted, we see that Miley Cyrus is acting like a whore in front of millions of people or Justin Bieber was street racing in a Lamborghini while drunk. I, for one, am sick and tired of hearing about these idiots. The major issue is that “our” media perpetuates these behaviors by constantly reporting on them. They simply want the attention, good or bad. And as long as someone with a camera is willing to broadc...

                I thought it would be nice to go for a walk. It was a cool summer day. A bit overcast, with occasional showers. Most sensible people were at home, out of the rain. I headed to the local park to take the nature trail, prepared to see the usual wildlife. Deer grazing in the woods, chipmunks scurrying across the path, the songs of the birds in the treetops. A relaxing stroll. Or so I thought.                 I was toting my black umbrella as I meandered toward the opening of the trail, while the few who had braved the occasional downpours rushed to their cars. It was barely sprinkling. Less people to interrupt. I was fine with that.                 The canopy overhead kept most of the rain at bay. The pitter-patter of drops on the leaves only se...

                I have embarked on a journey. It is a journey that I have been longing to take. I have tried more than once to write a book. I have, obviously, yet to succeed. I think the biggest problem is having difficulty focusing on one project. I may have found the solution.                 Those of you who really know me already know I have always loved horror movies. I have particularly had a special place in my heart for the zombie movies. I embrace that. The funny thing is that when I was in high school, I would avoid zombies. Not out of fear. Not out of a dislike for them. The reason I avoided them was because I knew that once I started, I wouldn’t stop. I knew I was in for at least a good two weeks of not wanting to, or being able to, watch anything else. I blame George Romero. And Sony. Romero for making what I consider to...

            There is no such thing as an "artist." At least, that's my opinion. There are, obviously, people we call artists. Painters, sculptors, poets. We (yes, I include myself here) aren't creative. We do, however, have a gift. But, we aren't creators. More like a psychic or medium. Just as they give a voice to the dead or to past events, we give a voice to art. We give substance to the abstract. Life to the unliving.               I can see why the Greeks created the muses in their mythology. An unseen force whispering inspiration into one's ear, prompting them to create some of the greatest works of art humanity has ever seen. That is kind of the way I view it. We don't create art. Art creates itself. We are simply the physical presence it requires in order to manifest itself. When inspiration strikes, at least for me, I don't feel as if I am writin...