A gift

 I don't question why I can recall moments in time; I see it as a precious gift that was somehow bestowed upon me at a very early age. While most boys were busy playing baseball or football, I occasionally joined in, but my heart wasn't in it. Instead, I preferred to spend my time writing about everything around me. At the tender age of seven, I wrote a poem for my grandma, who tucked it away in her memory box. She told me I had a gift and encouraged me to listen to my heart, rather than the people who said I was strange. I took her advice and continued to write as often as I could, stashing my work in drawers and eventually in boxes, as the volume grew rapidly.

As I grew up, I often found myself writing on bar napkins, paper bags, envelopes, and just about anything I could find to quickly capture the thoughts racing through my mind, sometimes faster than I could write.

During my carefree days in the sixties and seventies, with the help of some mind-altering substances, I wrote pieces that, upon revisiting them, left me wondering if I was truly alone in the words I had put to paper. An English professor once read some of my work and remarked that he thought I was channeling a great writer named Kahlil Gibran. After reading some of his work, I was both shocked and pleased, as it seemed plausible; his spirit resonated in the deepest parts of my writing. I recognized this as an important event in my life, a call to action to delve deeper into my thoughts.

To clarify, I continued to write almost every day without relying on chemicals, weed, or anything else to inspire me. For decades, I've accepted that I must write something every day. As a result, I've penned three books and blogged over a thousand stories so far. To refer to this as my passion doesn't do it justice, nor does it help to think of myself as crazy, but sometimes that thought occasionally crosses my mind.

While some people need that first cup of coffee in the morning to get their wheels turning, I need to sit down and write something, no matter how short or long. As long as my fingers are tapping away on the keys, I'm in rhythm with my own drummer.

Mike 2025

People have asked me why I write and where the ideas come from. What you just read is as good an answer as I can think of.