Prophesy of the Mind

Hello dear readers!

I hope you are all well. I wish a great day upon you wherever you may be, with a wonderful coffee in hand, or tea, if morning is your time. A magnificent evening cocktail to end the day if the sun sets for you, or a refreshing drink of the non-alcohol kind to warm the spirit too.

Whatever may offer relaxation and peaceful thoughts.

For me? Well, my coffee is to the right. Almost time to get another French press ready to steep the beans for some added refreshment. A dear friend many years ago introduced me to the wonders of coffee created in a press, and right now it is my go-to method. I need to clean the coffee maker, so the convenience and flavor of pressed coffee I cannot pass on in the moment.

Real talk here? I need the caffeine right now to get me up and going. I had a very restful night. But, I face an evil this week that torments my soul to the core. I need the edge to survive the wickedness that hangs like a blackened cloud over my head.

It’s tax time.

That dreaded yearly impediment to life that comes like clockwork. The thorn in my side that pokes and prods until the end product is done and sent off to the netherworld. Alas, right now though, I am taking a break to clear my mind and do what I do.

Write.

But, hang on for a minute or two. Coffee time.

Back and ready to go. This weekend, I had the pleasure of spending time with family and dear friends at one of our local wine hangouts. A wonderful family-owned business that also serves great food. So, chairs and blankets out on the lawn for the kids and us to enjoy, and I got to relax and catch up. Inevitably, the talk goes towards a subject that makes me a bit self-deprecating to discuss.

How are the books coming along?

Not that I do not relish sharing updates. I do. What makes me shy, I know, me shy? Well, the talk always opens up so many things that can be talked about, it can be a bit hard to figure out which way to go to start. There is talking about the next book in the pipeline coming, which is, Sins of the Father. Soon to release, there is what is happening there. Which then evolves into what is next in line.

That one my dear readers, is the Pandora’s Box.

I have four books in various states of progress waiting to complete their journeys. A children’s book my wife and kids want to read. That is at the halfway point. Then, there is a really chilling thriller that I cannot wait to complete, sitting about a third of the way done. Another book is in the very beginning stages, so just a mere baby. Then, I have a wonderful fiction novel in the works that completes a saga, about two-thirds complete, that will breathe life. Oh, and I have three complete books too.

Say what, writer man? Let me take a step back, and try to explain.

See, when you ask me what comes next, it really is a weird and honestly open-ended question. The road splits into too many forks ahead that the sweat beads on my forehead. I don’t know which way to go, tripping over my feet and words, in a vain attempt to answer a question that honestly, I have no clue as to what to say.

Many eons ago, I wrote my first book. I have mentioned it before, but if you are a new friend to me, please bear with me. I was in a weird place, new relationship that seemed great but had its flags. I needed a mind break from my work, so I put my imagination and life experience to good use and wrote a novel. Sitting in a local cafe, I wrote it by a very old and tested method performed throughout millennia.

All by hand.

Yes, you heard that right. My first book was written by hand in notebooks. I didn’t relish at the time hauling a laptop around. I would ride my motorcycle and the idea of a computer bouncing around didn’t feel like a positive outcome. I loved the idea of creating using a pen, putting each word on paper. Being able to use the margins and backside of pages to scribble notes and thoughts to reference later.

Notebook after notebook.

When that masterpiece was done, yes, I said that, I repeated the process. I wrote my next work of fiction at the same cafe. Pint glasses of coffee to fuel me, open air on good days and sitting inside on others, all to warm my spirit in a creative venture that brought joy to my heart. Weaving my life intricately inside a modern fiction novel that for me, was a movie inside my head playing over and over. Who cannot feel joy and glee there?

Well, remember I said weird space? Well, the relationship didn’t work in the end. Yeah! I say that because if it had, I would not be sitting here today doing this. I would not have my wonderful wife who supports this insane life I lead now, nor the kids we spawned that drive me batty, but I love with every ounce of me. I could not ask for a better bunch to be my ride or die posse. They are my world.

Hitting the time machine button to take our talk back in time, I moved on and to make a short story, met a great person that still to this day, I would call a friend. Every so often we have a chance to talk or see each other, and she has met my wife and children. All good there. While the two of us didn’t succeed, she and I shared great times, furry pet kids, and ended on friendly terms. Life sometimes wants different things, and that’s OK. The point of this revelation?

I wrote book three during that time in my life.

Living in a different city, I had to find a new coffee house to write. Which for those who know, college towns with bean establishments are not in short supply. I would go and write while my then girlfriend was at work. Page after page, word upon word, the story found its way to infamy and a collection of notebooks. I had done the impossible, in my mind.

I was a writer.

Then, as life likes to do, I got consumed. My books sat idle, waiting for some love. Years went by, the books tapping the back of my brain, never forgotten. Just, biding their time.

So, you see where this is going?

Fast forward. People know about the first books. My wife REALLY wants to read them. Like, she keeps asking when I am going to dust them off and get them to my editors and be published. As my first works, I cherish them. They created the monster inside me. When I get asked how are things and what am I planning, you can see my dilemma.

I have way too many choices.

It could end up being a flip of the coin. Or, it could be I take one fork in the road over another. Maybe, I bounce like a kangaroo and go back and forth between all my creations and see which one makes the finish line. The asylum down the road beckons if I make that decision. I do not lack for material. Not. At. All. I have way too much strewn around my desk, table, even smacking me in the forehead with a very loud and boisterous voice.

Give me life!

After providing details this past weekend and hearing thoughts, I am left with what to do. The children’s book, per the children present that day, really want to read it. Finish it! The adults, well, not much help there. Support yes, but nothing that could sway which book is next one way or another. More of whichever works for me and my storytelling journey.

Blah.

Me? As I sit here, sipping my coffee nectar, interacting with you my dear readers, there is a light that beckons, just a wee bit. Like a moth to a flame, the wings flapping and carrying the slight body towards the glow, I see a path.

I might break the mold.

No promises here. However, I have been yearning to jump back. To dive headfirst into the original psychological thriller that tossed me the keys to the car and said go for it. The first novel steeped in a story that for me, so intertwined with aspects of my life and the desire to bring an original story to an audience to love as much as I do, the draw motions me over. I feel it in my bones.

To go back in time to where it all started for me and publish my truly first novel.

It would be a departure, sure. The books were set in the current time and climate I sat down and produced them, so today, they would be period books. Settings and details specific to the time they were written. Nothing wrong with that. Many novels and works of fiction take place in the past. Usually though, not from the standpoint of being written long ago and then deciding to wipe of the dirt. I will keep them situated in the year they took place, and details consistent with world events and locations. Having to update everything would really take away from the plot, since what happens is within the framework of what happened then.

Yea, bring the past back to life.

That my dear friends, is the prophecy of my mind. The thinking that goes on within the walls of my skull. Never in a million years did I think I would publish a well-received fiction novel. Available around the globe at your local bookstore, online, wherever books are sold. I couldn’t fathom living through that, and then preparing for the next book to come out.

The sweat is building up.

In short order, my second novel, Sins of the Father, is awaiting release. Some believe it is even better than the first, my beloved, Pandemic-19. I will be a twice published author, which is a dream that for the life of me, I didn’t believe possible. Not from a feeling of lacking the capabilities or creativity to write.

No.

More from the angle of life is such a strange existence. We get on the rollercoaster and go round and round. Up the first rise and then hit the drop that becomes a twisty turn to make your stomach rise. Upside down, right-side up, left and right until coming back to the station. All to repeat each day, each week, over the course of our lives.

As an author who will have two books in the ether, I get what is called breathing room. You see my dear people, once you publish a first novel, the pressure cooker to write a second book compresses your body. You get asked constantly, and you put upon yourself a whole numbing wire harness that constricts and tightens.

No one wants to be a one hit wonder.

While there is nothing wrong with finding that is your reality, to just write one great work and be done, that is not me. Being a writer is my next step. My second freeway to speed down until the end. Get my next book to all of you and then allow myself an opportunity to choose what comes next. I am in a place that many never see. Most create one book, let it go to the masses, then onto the next. Repeat and rinse. They never have breathing room to relax or choose a path. It is just keep on running straight.

I have books ready and willing to go.

I make no promises. Life nowadays is one of those insane containers you step into and out of at every moment it suits. What fuels my brain, the details that construct my works, I grab from the events I live. My novels can place you into the pages with details you may know, have experienced, or even thought about in your mind. Nothing is off limits as to what I grab. I could pause the four books that are in varying stages of development and completeness. I could wait on the first three books that started this whole mess. Or, go and write a brand new book as the next incarnation of me, the writer.

Only the future will tell.