I Remember

A new piece of writing:

I remember the first time I saw you. I was intrigued by your beauty. I was captivated by your intelligence. I was slayed by your wit. I was heart-broken by your rejection. And all this within the first day.

From that point on, my passion only grew. 

You became my inspiration. You became the smile etching my face. You became the wings lifting me to heights previously unknown. You became the dream.

Then I melted within you.

You were the frog in my throat. You were tingling in my limbs. You were the sun upon my face. You were the grin of never ending joy. You were the giggle of a baby to my soul. You were the warmth within my heart. 

Then we parted. 

Yet, even half a world away, you were still my everything. You drowned my every thought. You stopped my heart with every text. You stayed me with the sound of your voice. You were the light at the end of the tunnel, the temptation to continue on.

Then began the decline.

Doubt entered, though I know it was always there. But when the door cracked open, years of insecurities piled in. I could not contain my fears. I could not temper my heart. I could not silence the memories which haunt me. I could not quell my loss of love.

Finally time torn us asunder.

I became desperate for hints of meaning. I searched for what we once had. I dreamed of the day I meant something, anything, more than just an echo of my own words. And the more I needed, the less I received.

In the end, I ripped us apart. 

I became a shadow of myself clinging to something so precious, so dear, I couldn't see the forest through the trees. I couldn't stand what I'd become as my temperament fluctuated like the weather. But I tried. I tried too hard to maintain something that could no longer be sustained until all that remained with a burning ache in the center of my chest.

Now I have nothing but a memory.

But it's been a time of discovery. First off, I shall never love like this again. Secondly, I shall never want to love like this again. Both are too painful. Both bring me to near tears. Both can never end well. Both leave me dying. Now nobody knows my troubles but God. I wonder if he cares.

You were my dream.

Probably Crazy

I'm not a romance novelist, yet I've written and will soon publish a romance novel. Does this mean I'm crazy...probably. But I have had a few good influences in my life and I have a personality trait which is now part of a dying breed: I'm a hopeless romantic. Yea, and I'm a guy. So what's that mean? It means I always see the best of every relationship I've ever been in. I cling to the dream of love. I hurt when it fails. And I shed a tear from time to time. But it doesn't make me soft. It only means that I care while I'm stapling my wounds together because I'm not one to give up. I persevere. I step back in the ring. I endure a little more punishment for the sake of another smile, another hug, another kiss with the knowledge being a romantic at times counters logic.

One of the other influences I have is a close friend of mine who writes some amazingly emotional poetry. Today I read this line from something she'd written: You feel like home to me. Somehow, that single line conveys more emotion then the entirety of my novel. And as I've stated before, I'm not a romance novelist so don't expect things like this in my book. On the other hand, I'm a realist in my writing. I tell a story. I convey thoughts, not emotions, which reflect most guys. That's why I wrote the book from a perspective I'm familiar with. A perspective I truly understand...my own.

Now this may not work for some, may not work for most, but it is what it is. It's what I wrote and one day I'll be proud of it. That day isn't today...nor tomorrow. But one day I will see it on my shelf and I'll be proud I had the courage to bare my soul.

There is one other thing I'm going to leave you with and that is that one day I hope all of you have the pleasure of experiencing the writing of my friend. It is truly amazing.

And that's it from me today.

Learning Experience

I thought I'd share with everyone the things I've learned within the last 2 years concerning writing and publishing.

1. Learn to take criticism because in the end it will only improve your writing because no writing is perfect.
2. Learn to edit your own work. For me, editing was my nemesis, but I've learned to edit by a cheat-sheet of common mistakes I make.
3. Grammar rules can be broken but only if it makes the text flow more smoothly. The last thing you want is for someone to have to re-read a line or paragraph for lack of understanding the first time.
4. Word count doesn't matter. My first editing job trimmed 10,000 words from my first book and its better for it.
5. Live your characters. Each one should be individually identifiable within your mind and should have their own personality trait.
6. Self-publishing is easy. Seriously. If you doubt me, then ask me and I'll walk you through it. Advertising, getting readership, is the hard part.

Also, here is the new back cover for Azazel. Thoughts?:

Azazel: With Jeremiah near death in a hospital hundreds of miles away and Limbus under attack, Azazel looks to be on the verge of Armageddon, but Azazel has more enemies than friends. Yet, despite his immortality, he can still be beaten and it’s up to Limbus to figure out how. But with the pressure of the world weighing on his shoulders, Limbus realizes he can’t protect everyone he’s placed in danger and flees into the hands of Opus Wright. So in a last ditch effort to save his family, Jeremiah puts his trust in the one entity who hates him above all else; the demon Hades. Is his faith justified or has he just doomed the world for eternity?

You Above All Else

There is time I've spent in Paris. I have seen the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. I have seen the Mona Lisa and been in awe of every detail. I have seen the flying buttresses of Notre Dame and wondered at the inventions of man. There is time I've spent in Rome. I have seen the ruins of an ancient empire. I've seen the Vatican and all that’s within. I've even had mass with the Pope.

I've spent time on the sandy beach of Sicily and let the waves crash against my soul. I've seen lightning storms off the Sahara that strike fear into the hearts of demons. I've even been to Jerusalem and walked the path of Jesus. I've felt the masses of emotions overcome me why standing beneath his resting place because nobody stands above the Son of God. And I have shed tears at his sacrifice.

I've been a hundred other place and done a thousand other things, experiencing the best any man can enjoy. And I've imagined great things, things unbelievable, thing incomprehensible to anyone but myself. But what I fail to understand is how all of them pale in comparison to spending a single moment with you.

I wrote this piece a long while ago, but after finding it in my romance novel I thought I'd share it with you ahead of publishing. I hope you enjoyed it.

Relegated

So I'm reading through my romance novel and rediscovering a bit about myself when I came across this very short paragraph. I think it describes what we all should want along with what our problem could be. At least, I know it is in my case.

He wants to smile at just the thought of his ideal woman. He wants to enjoy sharing those surreal silences with someone who understands what they mean to him. He wants to share the joys and tears of a person as if they’re connected on a higher level. He wants undying passion. And of course, he knows he’s asking too much.

I think I might of posted this tidbit of writing before, but when I checked I didn't find it. Anyway, I recently updated it and thought I'd put it here.

Relegated: Relegated to a secondary thought, that is my status. Or rather it is how I think you view me because I’m longer the focus of your attention. In fact, to me it’s as if I’m the last thing on your mind. Meanwhile, I impatiently wait for some indication that you even care about me, but as the minutes tick into hours then days, I know my place within your world. It bothers me, not because it affects my life, though it does, but rather because it’s just plain rude. I’d never shove someone off to the side in such a manner and I find being treated in this way pushes me past the point of caring about how you’ll react to my disappearance. What really angers me, however, is that I hate myself for being drawn into such a situation, but that’s a problem I've dealt with for a long time. What’s nice is that this time I’m actually doing something about it. It doesn't feel good, far from it, but it settles the twists in my heart. I guess being decisive at times does limit the pain and gives a person a sense of worth. For a person of low self-esteem, it’s about adding a bit of pride among the sorrow. I must admit it’s not much, but it’s something. And of course it’s all I've got out of this turmoil. I wish it were different. I wish I could regain your sight, but I know I’d just vanish from it once again. Sadly, the truth is… you don’t care enough about me for me to be part of your life. Because of that, neither can I care about you…at least not anymore.