Authors, Entrepreneurs, and other Creative Individuals Pursuing Their Dreams
… in those “fabulous high school years” we all loved so much, years that honestly weren’t all that fabulous, was to one day be a journalist. As I understood it at the time, my job would be to ferret out stories and tell them to the public in a style people wanted to read.
Oh, and to tell the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the truth.
That was also very important to me. I had an image of myself similar to Bob Woodward of The Washington Post reporting on “Deep Throat”, toppling corrupt political empires and ferreting out illicit activities. A crime stopper with a typewriter instead of a .38 revolver.
Okay, so I grew up a long time ago. Gimme some rhythm, huh? Cut me some slack? I’m an old guy and these are long-ago memories.
As we all know, those idyllic fantasies of our youth usually either don’t come true, or we find out the dream was way off base. As an example, another of my hopes was to sell cars. I had a vision of what it’d be like. Yet, when I did it for six miserable years, I found it’s one of the least enjoyable ways a man can spend his time and it’ll make him into a lesser quality person all too easily.
On the other hand, as some but not all of us eventually learn, our Father does occasionally answer a prayer even better than we hoped. At the same time, there’s seldom a clarion call to announce it. We have to remain alert or it may well slide by unnoticed.
While I may be blessed with a big number IQ, I’m the very first to admit I’m not always the sharpest knife in the drawer. Some things I just don’t catch on to with the speed of light … like getting married, smoking, drinking, hounding, dating Democrats, (wait; they’re fine to date; it’s those conversations afterward that can be so painful), and a few other items. Yet, a blessing was sent my way after spending 4⅓ years homeless, living in my car. It was even further enhanced with the resumption of my most important mission ever.
These blogs are, as I can finally see, the ultimate level of journalism. I get to write about things of interest to our readers. Better yet, I get to write about things our readers don’t yet know interest them, so I spring it on ‘em as a surprise. Step by step, little by little, I’m seeing progress. Things like readers saying when they see a homeless guy they think of me. It means all the things I’m saying are sinking in a little. Even better yet, I get reports of readers who saw a homeless guy and helped out. Gave money, or food or clothing. A warm blanket, maybe. Little signs I’m doing some good for a group who needs so much, yet gets so little.
Even better with my novels, none of which are honestly written “by me”. I’ve confessed in the past The Holy Spirit writes ‘em. I do the keyboarding in stories with subliminal messages He wants you to read. Because no one would read ‘em if they carried His name, I get all the credit. In addition, it helps the homeless community, a group of people with whom I’ll always have an affinity and toward whom I feel an obligation and a debt.
Who says our dreams can’t come true? Sure ain’t me. Not the way mine are blooming.
I’m just sayin’.
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