Had I not walked into South Park Mall in Charlotte, NC that chilly Saturday morning what might have happened these past months of letting everything but the writing go? Passing thoughts that wouldn't wash free. Energy generated but no questions of who what where and why me? Admittingly I will make known...the attempt to keep pushing a book idea away lasted about three days. Then it bit into me only to be told, "I'm not asking anymore. You are to meet with me each morning sunrise and set or wherever else I request. Take from the air a thin line of nothing only for it to reappear on paper scratched by an instrument Mont Blanc calls John Lennon. When the handwriting is done you will know...a signature followed by a message no one would ever think came from you will be told. Now place it aside my dear sad writing friend. Emptiness caused by the conclusion of something creative will be refueled by an act of ferminting. Let all thats been handwritten set away from the path. Its time to separate the writer from the one, a self that'll need to type and type and type until its finished again. Embrace the chase by allowing creative flow to grow. I'll never share with you where the chapters arrived...that would ruin the entire surprise. You, the writer did what I asked. I said write and damn if those radio fingers of 33 years didn't find its true voice."
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