Story start 08/31/2018

As he watched the house burn in the early morning light, he let out a sigh of relief. The chill from the air hurt his lungs, but he could not have cared less. The deed was done. The bodies that were presently being roasted in that conflagration had paid the ultimate price and bought him a new life. One far away from here. One that would never feel the endless chill of a Soviet winter. One where no one would ever know his real name. 

Thirty-six hours later, he was staring down the barrel of a double barrel shotgun and sweating more from the heat and humidity than from the situation. This would not be the first time that a man filled with envy and rage would threaten to end his life. Nor would it be the last. 

168 hours he had just crossed the border into America. The land of the free, supposedly. A land governed by Lyndon Baines Johnson. An individual who he personally had put into office. This was not where he was supposed to be. This was the last place that he was supposed to be. In his thirty-two years of life, this was the first time that circumstances were working against him and putting him in a place that he felt truly afraid. 

Not because of who he was or what he had done. But those who knew. And those who knew that they could use him again. In the land of the free, this was the place where he had the least amount of liberty. And, unless he could make it from Miami to Canada within the next twelve hours, he was truly and completely trapped. 

Even a lion gets ensnared in a trap that he could not see. 

On Writing.

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“To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it’s about, but the inner music that words make.” — Truman Capote

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Ask any writer, no matter what the purpose of their craft is, what the most intimidating thing is and you’ll get one answer: the blank page. That ticking, blinking cursor just waiting for you to start pushing buttons and jumble about the alphabet enough to produce something…hopefully good, at least. The expectation to create greatness from absolutely nothing is quite paralyzing at times. Especially when you have a deadline looming over your head. Consider this Insight #1 on the crafting of words.

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Insight #2 is that there are no rules. Oh sure, you can take all the creative writing classes you want and they’ll tell you that there are steadfast guidelines on which you need to follow — but the fact of the matter is that unless you’re in journalism or any other paid format writing business, there aren’t any concrete commandments on how you go about it. 

I have three perfect examples for this: Finnegans Wake by James Joyce, the children’s books of Dr. Seuss, and the collective works of both Hunter S. Thompson and Kurt Vonnegut. Finnegans Wake was, according to Wikipedia: “significant for its experimental style and reputation as one of the most difficult works of fiction in the English language…The entire book is written in a largely idiosyncratic language, consisting of a mixture of standard English lexical items and neologistic multilingual puns and portmanteau words, which many critics believe were attempts to recreate the experience of sleep and dreams.” Dr. Seuss took the format of children’s books, filled them with rhymes that they would love and would remember for years to come, and then use the format to teach children about racism, environmental issues, and other topics that we would assume would be far over a child’s head. And, let’s be honest, the collective works of both Hunter S. Thompson and Kurt Vonnegut are, for lack of a better term, hallucinogenic. Exhibit A: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Slaughterhouse 5.

So stop worrying about breaking some all-binding literary decree and start making art. It’s as simple as that.

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Insight #3. There are far too few honest writers out there. Anyone can write a book. At times, it feels like everyone but me is writing a book. But how many tomes sitting on shelves in both book shops and inside homes were written to serve the sole purpose of making both the author and publisher some money? How many books out there actually SAY something? Ask yourself this as you’re browsing through the library or book store: How many of these were published because they fulfilled a genuine purpose? 

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Insight #4. Don’t try to get into a writer’s head or try and figure them out. Period. Most of the time even we don’t know what our thought process is. The best quote for this was by Victor Hugo: “A writer is a world trapped in a person.”

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Insight #5. Your favorite writer, whoever it may be, is probably screwed up in the head somehow. Wikipedia has an article on writers who have committed suicide and the list is quite lenghty (at least 200). Also lengthy is another article on Thought Catalog listing writers who were alcoholic (99). May others were addicted to other substances — I learned this morning that Robert Louis Stevenson, the author of Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde once wrote 60,000 words in six days while on cocaine. 

But the number one thing all writers are addicted to: Writing. There’s a genuine need for it and life is unfulfilling if we go too long without writing.

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Insight #6. Writers love words. Love them. The way they sound, the way they look, the way they perfectly describe something and give it meaning. When I was in high school, I would randomly start reading the dictionary. Before I start any sort of piece, I have a separate tab for the thesaurus website open. I have fallen in love with how something is phrased— many times. I’ll even jot them down so I can read it again later. 

The other thing that we love is writing instruments — particularly pens. The way they look is important; but also the sounds that they make when scratching on paper. Weight is crucial to a good pen. If it’s too heavy, it creates hand fatigue. It also (and this may sound stupid, but it’s important) must be portable. If a pen is too large, it will be set down and promptly forgotten somewhere. And whoever came up with the concept of tiny pens and pencils was clearly not right in the head.

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Insight #7. The true keys to being a phenomenal writer are actually quite simple: Read good writers. Your writing will start to mimic them, so focus on someone who is truly talented. Write a lot. Daily, if possible. The more you practice the craft, the more you’re able to perfect it. In fact, you don’t even need to focus on one project. Sometimes all you need to do is throw words on a page and walk away. Sometimes, many times, that’s all you’ll be able to accomplish, any way. Especially if you are going through a bout of writer’s block. And lastly, don’t give up. As with all aspects in life, it’s a marathon, not a sprint. You will fail. You will write utter crap. You will get shot down by many publishers. But giving up isn’t an option. No matter what that little voice in your head and the doubters outside it try and convince you.

The Hustle

Well. guess what. As I type this, I am now a full time writer. That's right, the dream has finally come true. And it too a whole lot of shit and work to get to this place.

I have this blog. Thank God that I do. This is where I can be the real me and not sugar coat anything. This is where I open up my heart and mind and let it all hang out. For good, bad, and truly ugly. This is where the honesty happens. So, count this as blog #1.

A few years back, LinkedIn invited me to try out their new service that would allow people to post blog posts. I was one of their inaugural members to take advantage of it. And it's still something that I still do to this day. So, count that as blog #2. Passive, but I still post and keep it active, from time to time.

And, now, less than a week ago, I started blog #3. https://medium.com/@gheamale This particular one is for the start-up (surprise!!! I have a new side gig. Then again, when don't I) http://sphere5.com And this particular one I'm stupid proud of. They (and I mean the founder and CEO) who loved my writing and asked me why I wasn't doing it full time. Why I wasn't doing it professionally. Two and a half months later I've edited one ebook and written another.

That's right. I've written a book. And you know what? I got a huge rush out of it. As I was pounding out words, I knew that it was going to be published and I would officially be an author. It was a high, brand new and I wanted more. I was hooked and couldn't stop. I wrote 90% of the book in two and a half hours - counting the research I was doing for it, as well. I was finally doing what I was put on this Earth to do and it was a rush unlike any other.

So, the new blog, Medium, I'm updating six days a week. With rest on Sunday. But...next month is November. Meaning NaNoWriMo. Which means I'm going to take another stab at being a fiction author. And, you know what, this time around, I think I got it. I have a wizard (non-metaphoical) that I've been cooking up for the better part of six months that I'm finally going to put to life. Give him an adventure.

Which clocks me in at three blogs and a novella by the end of the year. And I couldn't be happier.

Purging Harvey

So, before I begin, this afternoon, I gave my depression the name Harvey. As in, the giant, invisible rabbit from the James Stewart movie. The name fits - as no one but me knows the full effect of Harvey. And no one hears Harvey but me. And, sometimes, many times, Harvey won't shut up.

The importance of this is that giving something a name gives you dominion over it. The first step a person does, psychologically, to place control over something is to name it. A nickname is a perfect example of this. People name their children and pets. I named my depression.

So, the reason I go into this is depression reared its ugly head this afternoon. I won't go into details, other than plans falling through unexpectedly and my brain taking hold of it and running hard with it. As my brain can be prone to do. Now, I will say that there were other factors involved  (especially with how stressful this week has been), but I was, unknowingly, prone for another episode. So, this one seemingly innocuous incident snowballed immediately mentally.

Now, instead of me discussing the topic further into detail, I'm going to go further into detail about me fighting it. What I'm doing when the struggle is truly real. Because, when it comes to depression (and, from what I understand about other mental illnesses) is that there's really only two options: defeating it or letting it defeat you. Again, there are days when the battle is lost before it even begins; when all you can do is ride out the storm. But even just struggling through it is a way of fighting it.

Now, each person has their own way of coping in a healthy manner. Mine is writing. I have found that, with depression, the analogy of "better out than in".  Which is what I am now passing on to you.

When sunny skies suddenly turn into a squall? Write.

When you've been faced with an overwhelming situation? Write.

When you get some bad news that comes out of nowhere? Write.

When you wake up in a funk and you have no idea why? Write.

No matter the reason, or even if there is one, the best way I have found to fight off the demon is to write.

Even if it's just screaming on a piece of paper or a Word document. No one says you have to keep what you put down. You just have to get it out so you can move on and move forward.

My Latest Discovery Upon the Path of Writing Certainty

Alright, my comrades, faithful friends, and those poor souls who suffer through the drudgery of my banal existence who stumble upon by most random of musings, I have news: I, yes, this guy, has come upon a typewriter.

Now, I realize I just lost you, but understand this: the typewriter, is but the Holy Grail and ultimate muse for those in the writing craft. It's like stumbling across the Sistine Chapel in its blank slate and being told "Have at it. Do what you do". The blank slate of all insane(ly brilliant) minds who have birth most, if not all, of the classics you were forced to read in high school. And, let me tell you, it's a thing of beauty.

It's manual. As Ernest Hemingway put is, you beat your heart and soul into this and a book or two comes out. You sacrifice your entire being and sanity and the most precious thing that will far outlive you will come forth. There's nothing taken for granted with this thing. It weighs like a brick. You beat all the buttons and have to physically push the bar back and forth. I have dreamt about such a masochistic piece of archaic machinery since...well, the writing bug struck me back in junior high. Since I broke out my Dad's old typewriter (which was electric, but still far from forgiving), started generating stories that were absolute rubbish, and enjoyed every facet and second of it. The sound. The smell. The effort into creating a masterpiece (which, my early works were anything but). And, above all else, the pounding of the keys. And now, waiting in an absolutely terrible second hand store, is the magnificent piece of machinery that shall become mine.

You see, while it's pen and paper that brought forth the founders of the curse, I mean blessing, of this craft that I have been born with, it was those who enslaved themselves to the beast that is the typewriter that were the ones that truly experiences the true beauty and brutality of this instrument of carnal reverence. The crafters of worlds both known and never made. Lives were birthed and died by the madmen (and women) who were possessed and did posses such a common and largely under-appreciated device.

Now, if it sounds like I'm "fan girling" (yes, it's a term, and yes, I'm using it appropriately) over this, understand something: typewriters aren't all that easy to find. Especially the manual ones. And, when you do stumble across them, they're bloody expense. I am crazy fortunate to not have either of these circumstances be the case. And, really, the fact that I seriously (not literally, though) stumbled across it makes me feel like it's a sign. Whether is actually is or not is not the question here. The point is that it is going to be mine and thus forth shall begin my cracked path towards becoming a truly published author. And, you best believe, I'm making copies upon copies before I submit anything. The last thing I need is for someone to steal the one copy I spent months, if not years, to create.

So, yes, while it is but the most mundane of news, words cannot express how genuinely pleased I am for this to enter my life.

Blurb From My First Book

"Arrested Development

Chapter One:

Everyone remembers where they were when Shane Murphy became an orphan. At 8:14 on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, 2001, James and Janet Murphy boarded United Airlines flight 175 heading home to Los Angeles. Forty-nine minutes later, they would lose their lives on live TV as their plane struck the south tower of the World Trade Center.  Three thousand miles away, on the set of Days of Our Lives, Shane watch his parents die."

Keep in mind, this is a work in progress. But here is the opening to my new book.

The Fables We Live

"A story has no beginning or end; arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead." - Graham Greene (The End of the Affair, 1951)

We humans like to imagine that our lives are this one linear path; when the truth of the matter is that the points between life and death are hardly that. The grand selection of roads that we travel on during the journey from crib to coffin is staggering if you stop and think about it. Even the most boring individual has loved, laughed and mourned multiple times in their lives. Children have begat from two strangers who just so happen to be in the throws of passion. A slight mistake from one individual can lead to the demise of another. Relationships and careers begin and end and begin once again numerous times. Random excursions become daily routines and more random excursions occur to break the monotony of daily existence. 

Not all the roads we travel are highways and dead ends. Most of life lies somewhere in-between. 

I started this blog on a whim and its continued success and existence surprises even me. It helps that I have no agenda for it beyond just telling the story of my life as it occurs. I make no illusion of perfection and I try and be as honest about my shortcomings as I can be. I disclose much; but also refrain when the need arises. You could easily make the case that I write about everything and nothing at the same time - and be correct in doing so. And the full reason I continue on is simple: to tell my story.

You see, we as a species need stories just as much as we need food, water, and air. Whether it's in the form of a song, a play, a novel, or a painting; we need an escape from our realities and the ability to dive into others. In this modern age, we have the luxury of ebooks, blogs and vlogs, podcasts, and Netflix; but they all fulfill the same need.  it's fact or fiction matters not. Honestly, not even the quality of it matters (our "guilty pleasures"). But, nevertheless, as much as we need the stories that are told, we need those who tell them. I was born a storyteller and I honestly don't feel fulfilled unless I am telling one. My existence is but one speck of sand in a universe of beaches, but the fact that it's narrated draws others to it. And so, my story continues.

The point I'm trying to get at is that you don't have to be famous or a historical figure to have your story told. I have encouraged friends, family, and even strangers to start blogging. We all have facets of our existences that are fascinating to someone else. Lessons we have learned (or should) and mistakes that we overcome that someone else needs in their life. Storytelling is an integral part of the building of relationships and communities. And, let's be honest: it's what we need to keep us sane in this utterly chaotic world that we live in. And I can personally attest to how completely cathartic it is. To purge what is on my heart and dwelling in my mind is freeing - to say the very least. It keeps the demons at bay, helps me work out problems that seem too insurmountable, and even allow me to see the opportunities that are staring me in the face. 

So, long story short, we all have a story to tell. We all have lives that matter to others - even to individuals whom we may never meet. But, unless you tell your story, it remains with you until the very end. Because, even the most skilled biographer cannot truly tell your story for you.

The Only Thing That Changed Was Everything

So, first off, bear with me. I've been awake since five in the morning and have barely had a nap. So I'm going to make this as coherent as humanly possible. Bear with me. Also factor in that it's been a bit of a long week. I'll be going into further detail in this post.

In short, my life is once again in transition. When is it not is the real question. But, this particular transition is a solid good one. A future building (I hope) one. You see, I have a new career.

Now, before you roll your eyes and say "here we go again"; this one is truly a solid one. Why, you may ask yourself? Because it's not sales. Plain and simple. I have accepted a position as a Inventory Control Officer at a local hardware store. A Monday through Friday position. Early morning into early afternoon. Full time. Zero commute (which, if you recall, has been a serious issue).

Which lead me to put in my notice at Barnes and Noble. I'm not going to lie - it was much harder than I originally anticipated. Despite the struggles with the schedule, commute, and lack of hours and pay, I made fast friends there and loved being back in the literary environment. That doesn't mean I won't ever go back (in fact, I gave them a three week notice, not the standard two), it just means I will be a common consumer when I do.

Which also means that for the next few weeks I'll be juggling two jobs and working multi-week shifts. It may sound odd, but I kinda miss doing that. Sometimes I wonder if it's the insane work schedule that keeps me sane.

So, what does this mean for you, dear reader? Plenty, actually. Meaning, I'm going to start blogging regularly again. And writing other things. And getting published...

You see, one of my first goals of this year is to turn my blog posts into a book. A modern day memoir, if you will. Not just this blog, but also my first one, a few chosen from LinkedIn; and even some poetry that I posted on Facebook, once upon a time. The title is going to be "A Life Less Ordinary" (which, yes, is one of my posts on here - and I will include it). There will be a plethora of material, so, deciding what material is harder than expected (I've already begun the process). I have already decided to self publish (for now) and offer it as both a digital copy and a physical copy. Give the reader a choice as to the format they desire.

Speaking of writing, oh yes, there will be plenty of that happening.  I still have two NaNoWriMo projects I plan on finishing and starting the process of publishing. Plus, there's NaNoWriMo this coming November, as well. I'm using that to write the first book in my fantasy series. Seven books will be in there. And, most importantly, I still have the goal of writing the next Great American Novel. Especially since Harper Lee (To Kill A Mockingbird) passed today. No clue what that plot will be.

In summary, the only thing that has changed is everything. And, from what I can tell, it's all for the better. As my roommate summarized last night, this year will prove to be an epic one for me. But, it's in my hands to prove that to be true.