The Explorer
Philippians 4:13
A long time ago there lived a man. I am that man. No, no the one you're thinking about. The Hero of my Own Life Story! The Sailor of the Sea of Dreams! The One, the Only, The Rook of Hearts himself!
Control.
I've fought for my dreams within my own dreams, and I've always wanted to be a real Hero.
But I was afraid of myself. Afraid of what I could become. Afraid of my own Control and what it would do to me. Well, that's the end of the first book. Shall we begin anew, scene by scene?
Chapter One
Blank
A Blank Page. Something all writers fear. Well, not all writers. I never had Writer's Block. Just the fear of unintentionally hurting others with my words with a wound so deep they could never recover. Those wounds are powerful, and I know far too well the pain that they can cause. Then I woke up one morning, and I realized. I didn't care. Me! Me of all people. I hated that. I've always cared. But not dismissing the evidence that my word was also gone and had somehow mysteriously vanished. I named that man "Blank." He is one of my many, personally-kept secrets. Not personalities, but Personifications of my Will to Live. Personas, if you will. I have many hand-crafted personas, including "The Idiot", "The Poet", and yes finally, "The Writer." And they all help me in different ways. They meet their specific jobs. But Blank! Oh my God! Blank! He just didn't care, it was almost as if he was ME! Not some construct of my very active imagination, but the very power I had been dreaming of delivered on a silver platter. But he is fickle. He will only do exactly what the opposite of my brain commands. As if he knows better what I need! I cannot believe the audacity! Can you?
I don't have many stories of Blank. He is like a vapor. But I know in some mysterious way he is still with me.
Dream on!
Control.
I've fought for my dreams within my own dreams, and I've always wanted to be a real Hero.
But I was afraid of myself. Afraid of what I could become. Afraid of my own Control and what it would do to me. Well, that's the end of the first book. Shall we begin anew, scene by scene?
Chapter One
Blank
A Blank Page. Something all writers fear. Well, not all writers. I never had Writer's Block. Just the fear of unintentionally hurting others with my words with a wound so deep they could never recover. Those wounds are powerful, and I know far too well the pain that they can cause. Then I woke up one morning, and I realized. I didn't care. Me! Me of all people. I hated that. I've always cared. But not dismissing the evidence that my word was also gone and had somehow mysteriously vanished. I named that man "Blank." He is one of my many, personally-kept secrets. Not personalities, but Personifications of my Will to Live. Personas, if you will. I have many hand-crafted personas, including "The Idiot", "The Poet", and yes finally, "The Writer." And they all help me in different ways. They meet their specific jobs. But Blank! Oh my God! Blank! He just didn't care, it was almost as if he was ME! Not some construct of my very active imagination, but the very power I had been dreaming of delivered on a silver platter. But he is fickle. He will only do exactly what the opposite of my brain commands. As if he knows better what I need! I cannot believe the audacity! Can you?
I don't have many stories of Blank. He is like a vapor. But I know in some mysterious way he is still with me.
Dream on!
