A Season for All Things

I am not young. I am not old.

I was born happy. I have learned sadness.

In my youth, I started telling stories. I am still telling them, but now I use the written word.

I grew up knowing I was worthless and, slowly, I am learning that was wrong. I have value.

I will never be dishonest with what I write. I will tell lies, but they will be honest lies. If you know what I mean then you’re nodding your head.

I want you to see what’s in my imagination. Some of it’s pretty scary, and much of it’s disturbing, but it’s all pretty fantastic. I’ll keep the disturbing stuff to a minimum, I sorta-promise.

I think my writing and my stories are pretty good. I hope you think so, too.

This is the blog of a man who has only recently understood he was born to write. I know my weaknesses. I am learning my strengths.

I pray others may find joy in what I write.

I pray I will get published.

I pray, and I write, and I hope others find something of value. If you do, please let me know.

blossoms

Springtime Blossoms in Eastern Pennsylvania

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