side tracked

I haven’t been side tracked, but the blog has been put on the proverbial burner — something you probably figured considering i neglected to write for over a month.
As of late everything has been slowly falling into place. Most of my days i spend writing. Last week i managed to get through the parts of my novel that were a mystery to me for so long and had proven bothersome —  now i’m on the home stretch.  I can see the end and i’m full of beans, high as a kite, bright eyed and bushy tailed, whatever it is positive people spout when life gives them a break in the dark.
When i haven’t been writing and working 8 to 5, we’ve been enjoying having our evenings + weekends back now that i finished drivers ed. Thus far we’ve been knocking things off our to-do list consistently since we’ve arrived in Wyoming.  This weekend we’ve been out mustang chasing, photographing and caring for a wounded bird that curled up by our back door Saturday morning.  The bird issue was NOT on my list however– surprisingly  when we took it to the vet they refused to help us and animal control/wildlife centers are closed during weekends. Thus it fell to us to put the birds leg into a splint with antibiotics, and it seems to be much better this morning. With any luck it’ll have wind beneath its wings as soon as possible. Hopefully we can keep it comfortable as possible without stressing the shit out of it.
Anyway I guess you can assume that life is pretty great, or gone to all kinds of hell, when i’m not blogging. Nevertheless  i should attempt to remember to write when things go well, and not just when i’m in the mood for an unmerciful diatribe at the expense of some ignorant fool who was brave enough to cross me.

But i digress and this blogpost is finished.

Adieu.

In a desert amongst the American mustangs with my books on my mind, and food.

born of stones

Born of stones, and by that I mean I’m a tough kid, tougher than most I’ll wager. The days are trailing on and the heart of the west is beating at a pace I can’t catch up with. Like a door that moves further away the harder you try to grasp it. The sweet west where the wind is bitter, the sun is a son of a bitch and every day is a gift. Today is the second of July. My birthday has gone and passed as it does every year and I’m another wrinkle richer; another year bolder. The sun has slept and the moon risen — as they do every day. The eaves weeping. I’m supposed to be working but instead I’m bleeding at my keyboard counting the hours till I can go home. Lately I’ve been entirely engrossed in my writing. When I’m not writing — I’m thinking about writing or dreaming up something macabre from a memory, lacing characters with a realistic mean streak and a fat lip. My mind is so full of ideas and dreams and an honest wonder at how to achieve them all when time runs so damn fast. But its running in the right direction. With me loping behind grabbing whatever the stagecoach of time leaves behind.

So far summer in the granite state has proven fruitful with warm afternoons and lapping lakes, bee’s bugging the shit out of everybody and groundhogs dead as dickens doornails by the side of the road. Instead of blogging and losing hours a day to Instagram – I’ve been meddling in photography, cinema trips and enjoying the last of what the northern states can offer us as we ready ourselves for new adventures and new horizons wherever they may lay. And as I said previously, writing and writing and writing. I’m becoming more aware of how ready I am to let me people read the work that I’ve kept so close to my chest all these long years. My secrets. The dark. And the characters peppered like stars cut out from an old curtain finally seeing the light of day.
And as my darling mother tells me; let them read it.
The day will come, to be sure, that I’ll let you read the chapters I’ve ached and wept over for the past few years, the many characters that came from the cruelty and the broken hearts born from death.
You’ll know them all when the time has come.

Soon there will be some changes to my blog, just like my Instagram of abandon and I can safely say that I appreciate those of you who are still reading and following; even after my constant disappearances and ramblings. But here’s to the future — to you, to me and to us who have struggled.

the discouragement of being

So i’ve spent hours writing a blog post for today that ended up just not being quite right or what i wanted, so it’ll have to wait for another day when the sun shines a little brighter and my mind is in the right place. I think the issue is that recently i’ve felt uncommonly discouraged. I don’t know what i want and maybe i don’t have to. It feels like everything is a little tougher even though nothing has gone wrong but nothing has been right either.

It’s the January blues in April.

I’ve spent almost my entire day writing, as i should be spending everyday, maybe not on the projects that needed it  but a start is a start. I’ll take it. I’m hoping i can finish reading my current book Rhino Ranch too — if you want to write you have to read, because what other way to learn & improve is there? Jack is constantly encouraging me to try the “Stephen King” method of writing for 4 hours and reading for 4 hours. I’m going to give it a bash, and if i dont have the time i’ll do my damnedest to make time.

Today was not successful because i’ve been writing for about 3 hours and only some of it was on my novel, the rest i’ve been messing about with social media but im close to giving up on that front. I’m shit at it. Can’t figure it. Can’t make it work.
Writing is hard because my mind feels like ” i should be doing something more/with faster results (if you please)” but how can you finish a book without writing it? You can’t. And i for one have a very complicated way inspiring myself and feeling what i’m writing (this will be a blogpost soon so till then).

So thats what i do. When i’m not out on an adventure or travelling i’m usually sat here. Writing. Or watching terrible paranormal programs because not everyday can be a day of happening. Thats something i have to realise. Not every day can be seized the way you had planned, and its ok. Behind the social media facade is someone working hard. Hustling day by day and dreaming up new ideas every night.

I carry notebooks with me everywhere just as i carry my camera(s) wherever i go. Often i see it as a burden because you’re never off. You don’t stop. If theres a great shot you’ll want to take it. And thus nice day out to the local harbour can suddenly become a job, but such is the life of a creative. That need to create never stops and thats the the beauty of it. You will never stop seeing the things you see that make you special, and the fact that you’re willing to share such a thing. Is poetic.

You do what you do in hopes of sharing a vision, a sound or something else with people who otherwise just live without art day to day. Almost as if you want them to see the world as you do. Though they may never, you wont stop trying. Because if we stop trying, then what do we have?

A bunch of dead dreamers.

the discouragement of being