I would not say that growing up was one of the most cherished aspects of my life. However, I have learned much in my growing years. One of those aspects is the passion for creativity and writing. Ever since I was a young child, I had grown a passion for reading. Possessing a very active imagination and constantly writing. One of my favorite past times (before the internet, email and cell phones), I would always love to sit down and write a letter to family, friends, girlfriends and others. Unfortunately, most of those letters that I had received were either tossed away (not by my choice) or lost while in transitional moves. Not only would I enjoy writing letters, anticipating when I would receive a response via the old postal service, but I would love to read. Always racing the fading of daylight during summer to read until I could not read the words anymore (because I was too afraid of turning the light on). When I would wake up and unable to go to sleep, I would grab books and read them until I fell asleep. It would not be uncommon for my parents to come in and see me sleeping, surrounded by books. Essentially, the passion for writing was sown and did not start growing until I realized that I had a knack for writing. It was not until I was in the 6th grade when I couldn’t wait to write book reports, regular reports. If anything, English was not my favorite subject in school, but writing was and the trade off with english assignments was the ability to write.
As the desire started to grow, so the thought of writing grew with it. I was always with pen and paper, writing little stories, coming up with scenarios, playing what if and developing character profiles. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to write something. I wanted to write something that would move people, that would draw them in, tug at their emotions.
Looking back on it all now, the most significant thing I remember was always journaling. Not just about daily life, but thoughts that would come to me. Inspiration would hit and I would write it down.
It was not until my father brought home a Magnovox Video Writer.
Magnovox Video Writer
I would spend all my free time (as much as I possibly could) working on my early so called “writing projects”. All of my earlier poems, half started plays, fiction pieces have been lost over time.
Then, when the I discovered the internet, email and message forums, chat rooms, I was new to Apologetics and began to venture into online debating about religious doctrines, history, philosophy and practices. The majority of this was to defend my strongly held Latter-day Saint belief System. Much of my writing focused on researching and preparing arguments to show forth the proper understanding of Mormon teaching and belief system. Books were bought, marked in, highlighted and heavily used. The more focused I became on online debating, the more I honed my writing skills and the idea to write an expository work defending the LDS Faith against mainstream Christianity. Yet, much like all my other writing projects, this idea had met it’s demise.
It was not until after I left the LDS Faith that I began to study and research and write online debate articles to expose the presupposed errors of the LDS Faith. Yes, I became what most would refer to as an “Anti-Mormon” who would attack the strongly held belief system of the members. The more I studied the academia of religious thought, history and the such, the more I became aware of many questions I had, the search for truth led me down a path of intellectuallism. This eventually led me to question my own belief and testimony of God. I found myself on the precipice of almost embracing atheism. Unfortunately, many personal experiences in and out of the Mormon Faith were powerfully convincing enough to keep me on the path of believing that there is a God – a Supreme being.
The passion to write a fiction never disappeared, while it was placed on the back burner with my other passion. This is where I still recall two most significant dreams that I had. Both were within the same week.
Frustrated over not being able to actually show forth any evidence that I could actually sit down and write out a first draft to a manuscript, working and dealing with life and the stresses that I always tried to avoid to some extent, one significant dream captivated me (and even still does to this day).
Within my dream, I was walking along a pathway. Everything had a very lively and vibrant color to it (yes, I dream in black and white and in color and sometimes in both). As I was walking, I felt something sticky and wet around my hands. When I looked at my hands, I realized I was carrying a large piece of meat. Blood trickled down my arms, staining my pants and boots. I just kept walking, carrying this close to me. Further down the path I would go, the louder I would hear growling. First it was a pack of wolves, a white female wolf leading the pack (why it was a female leading I am not sure), then a lion and lionness, couger, a black panther ahead of me, a cheetah on the other side of me, and other carnivors in the brush. The faster I picked up the pace, the faster these animals would go, keeping their distance. Their hunger could not only be seen, but I could feel their hunger, feel their wanting what I was carrying, but their diligence, patience in maintiaing such control. What ended up happening is that I started to encounter people. These people would come out of the woods periodically and when they would cause me to stop, the animals would attack them, devouring them. Some would run back into the woods before they had a chance to cross my path. I picked up the pace and started to run, the piece of meat (I realized) was a beating heart, throbbing in my hands.
What woke me out of this dream, I do not recall, but it bothered me for the longest time until I was talking with someone and they asked me what is the one passion I hold close and dear to my heart. The one thing I am always carrying with me that I wish to pursue. My answer was writing. Writing being the passion (the heart beating in my hands, bloody and raw). The animals representing the drive, the patience, the strength, the magnificence of this gift and how it would devour, consuming those who threaten to keep me away from this passion. Not only that, but these animals also symbolized the various aspects of creative thought and how such intensity of this one singular passion would cause some to dare not cross my path.
The second, and more poignant, dream that I had was where I was cleaning the apartment that I was living in at the time. No matter how much I scrubbed, mopped, vacuumed the more I realized how much cleaning needed to be done. In the midst of this cleaning, there was a knock at the door and I opened it, standing there with those yellow gloves on my hands, sweating, smelling like bleach and pine sol and the living room completely chaotic with all manner of garbage and debris. Standing there at the door was John Grisham. I asked why he was there and without answering, he produced a book with my name on it, asked me for me to sign it and as I signed it and handed it back to him, he smiled, thanked me politely shook my hand and left.
I say this was significant because my desire was to be up on the New York Number one bestsellers list. To write and be as well known as John Grisham and other such notable authors. To learn from them, to read what they have written and how they have developed their characters, plot and stories.
After both these dreams, I finally sat down and produced a first time ever manuscript. Mourning Ellyn was birthed. It’s earlier title was Remembering Ellyn. After writing this manuscript in 20 days, I realized that I finally arrived at the first step. I started working more on this manuscript, putting my heart and soul into it, developing it, changing it, reformatting it. It became my bride and joy. I was pregnant with such audacious aspiration that I started developing a sequel before I even finished the second draft.
No matter how bad my life had gotten, how bad of a situation I have found myself, this single manuscript I carried close to my heart and that no matter who came into my life, they did not take any priority because I realized I could do this, realize my dream.
Five years later, tragedy struck and it struck hard. Mourning Ellyn was picked up by an unknown publishing company that had just started up in Belguim. The Owner soon relinquished the business over to a lady I had only known over the internet, and she became the sole person operating the publishing house in Tennessee. The events that unfolded were less desirable. Shattering my hopes and dreams against the jagged rocks of the coast. The publisher failed to provide any proofs of the work, provide any decent form of editing, and required me to volunteer my time to read submissions for them to bring in other authors. The devastating blow came when I realized after three months of trying to find out when and where my promised published book was, that I requested the publishing company to relinquish the contract due to their breach of contract. (This will give you an idea of somewhat what happened: NF Publishing at Absolute Write Water Cooler Forums). After another month or two, I finally received 28 some books that were unprofessionally printed. Not because the printer did anything wrong, but because the publisher and the person I dealt with lacked the professional skills and qualifications to properly provide any decent form of editing. Essentially, a draft was used as the finally manuscript sent to the printers without any proofs sent for my approval or any editing done.
I decided that maybe I needed to focus on my life and not worry so much about my writing. Now, after a couple years of cooling off, the desire is here, building and the idea to bring back the original work of fiction I had started so many years ago is under a new plotting and rewrite consideration. Currently, I am also looking to work on my first ever serialization of a modern twist on the Detective Noir Fiction made famous by Mickey Spillane, Dashielle Hammett, and other such notables as that of Raymond Chandler. I am also partial to Raymond Fiest for fantasy, J.R.R. Tolken, J.K. Rowling, Ridley Pearson, Lisa Jackson and Laural K. Hamilton for Mystery/Suspense and supernatural thrillers.
Much like those early days, the zeal and passion is starting to re-ignite within my soul.
