Sorry, I will be with you momentarily. I have an urgent business matter that requires my attention.

“Can you check again? This one seems small.”

Thanks for your patience. I find myself in a quandary, torn between what I can do and what I must; between that which has the potential to add years to my life or to add life to the years I have been granted.

In some respects, I am a victim of my own ignorance, for naively limiting the hours I am willing to invest only to those where I can work productively and think creatively. While there is value in giving of your best to your best, there is little growth in preaching to the choir.

The result is that I have narrowed my efforts to reaching the faithful few and ignoring the opportunities that are only realizable if I broaden my message. After all, how much time should I spend poking a drunken Sparty with a stick? It’s a simple time vs. money story problem that most homeschoolers could solve without breaking a sweat. Certainly, it can be accomplished without the need for bloated administrations.

(Sorry, I got off on a tangent. Ivy, make a note; Tag it “soap box fodder.”)

Intellectually speaking, to parcel out your best to what needs the most is a function of its one’s circadian-rhythm’s; the natural patterns to which one’s body and mind are designed.

Quite honestly, mine have been jacked up ever since I joined the club.

Mr. Mitty…

It was not my first choice, the 2:00–4:00 AM time slot, but it was when my need for chemically induced stimulation was at its lowest and the time of the day when mind could return to a more nature state freeing it to wander, to ponder and wonder.

It was during those moments of silence that provided the solitude I need to dream the dreams, accomplishing the impossible and still walk with a swagger – unappealing as it is to so many, and play my small part to make the world a safer place, a more civil place, and a better place.

Sorry. You’ll have to excuse me again. “That’s better, but can you do me a huge favor, keep checking?”

Where was I? Maybe a better question would be ‘Where am I going?’ I used to think that I need to know my audience to write. I’m not so sure of that anymore. If the readers come, they come; if not, so be it. I might just be the Kevin Costner of my sandbox, opening a world that is only accessible and comprehensible to a select, maybe albeit delusional, few.

We Can Dream It

In the movie, The Field of Dreams, Ray Kinsella, the character played by Kevin had a dream to build a ball field so his heroes would eventually, or in this case, magically, show up to play. That was the extent of Ray’s business plan. With holes in his plan large enough through which a school of sharks could swim, his immediate need was to fend off his creditors. Convinced that Ray was suffering from a diminished mental capacity, (the first suspected case later to be referred to as “Biden-ism), the bankers and the nay-sayers tried to intercede.

We Will Build It

To them, the question was simply, how are you going to survive after turning your cash producing corn field into an empty ball field without players or paying fans? In short, how was Ray going to monetize his dream?

Even though he was ostracized, ridiculed, and maligned, he stayed the course. The story has a typical happy-Hollywood-only ending, Ray built it, the players came, and the farm / ball field is saved. Whether his dream was visionary, or a delusion will be debated in business schools for years to come.

Pardon me, hopefully, this will be the last interruption. “Wow, now that’s better. And we will be charged by the hour, right?”

We Will Savor It

Well, I built a ball field, really more of a sandbox. Some came and stayed for a while but far more stopped only to gawk and move along on the next spectacle — presumably unable to connect with my stories – stories intended to draw the visitor into a world that is unfamiliar, and introduce them to characters, many of whom had to redefine and personalize their definition of victory.

I admit, there were many a time that the tone of the story would land somewhere between snarky and sarcastic, irreverent, and irresponsible, between witty and whimsical.

Occasionally, I introduced the readers to one my friends, carefully, so protect their identity so they felt free to dilly-dilly around, raising a pint in celebration for something as ordinary as staying vertical while peeing in a urinal; and carefully so not to ruin your best shoes — a task the masses do effortlessly and take for granted.

Tips Welcome

None-the-less, there was always this question that begged an answer; “Is this just a hobby or does it have the legs to be so much more?” Eventually, I have to decide if my writing is a hobby meant for my personal enjoyment, or a passion to pursue with the purpose of  changing  how others view themselves. If it’s just a sandbox., that’s okay, too. Heady stuff to chew on before the cows need to be milked.

With that, I leave you with this… […awkward silence…]

What, She can’t sing! How embarrassing!

Ivy, you hired a fat-lady that can’t sing? But she can bake cookies? Might as well have her get started, we are being charged by the hour.

Al and his faithful, but organizationally challenged sidekick, Ivy the wonder Pup.