Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: He wrote stories
Author Mike OConnor: He wrote stories: Often I sit down with a blank page and wait for a word or a memory to work its way towards me. Then I take it and run as fast as my min...
He wrote stories
Often I sit down
with a blank page and wait for a word or a memory to work its way towards me. Then
I take it and run as fast as my mind can spit out sentences and stories. The
amazing thing to me is I don’t know where I'm going with it, like how are the
characters going to evolve? Will it have a happy ending, or will a thousand
tears fall?
It's so quiet here
in the back room where I write and dream and realize who I am and my purpose
for being here. There is one noise, my elderly neighbor doesn’t believe in air
conditioning, so the sound from her TV softly enters my cracked door. It has
become a part of my silence.
Some writers will
tell you they are inspired by this or that, and they find building a story can
take years off your life. They say sometimes it just flows without end and
other times they don’t write for weeks even months. That’s not true for me. I
write something every day. It may be a paragraph about a thought or a complete
page filled with one-liners I keep writing down. Writing for me is a drug, it’s
the booze I don’t drink anymore or the joint I wish I had. Its food for my soul
and water to quench the thirst for a story.
Writing is the very
lifeblood of who I am, and as I grow in age, the importance of it grows with
me. Once it was for the fun of doing something others wish they could.Now, its
because I want to leave behind a part of me that made up who I was. For reasons
only I know its important that my children and grandchildren will be able to
read a book I wrote where they could see the funny part of me, or browse
through stacks of my work where they will wonder if the stories are real?
Painters create
great works of art that will adorn the walls of those they left behind. Writers
work will gather dust until a broken heart needs comfort or dreaming about
adventure comes alive in written words. I want my stories to be a comfort and
an escape into my private world full of who I truly am. I want my great-great
grandchildren to read and be proud of the guy who wrote the stories.
Saturday, September 7, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: Ashen gray
Author Mike OConnor: Ashen gray: The sound of coins in my pocket has been replaced with the silence of cotton. The fullness in my heart now a dark hole of despair, and...
Ashen gray
The sound of coins
in my pocket has been replaced with the silence of cotton. The fullness in my
heart now a dark hole of despair, and the clarity of my memories an ashen gray.
Time hasn't been
all too kind, yet my tattered boots keep heading forward.Hope is a powerful
potion combined with beliefs in one's self and its all I have left other than
my name that is sometimes softly spoken by someone who once loved me.
Thursday, September 5, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: Clean your mind
Author Mike OConnor: Clean your mind: Sometimes I have to stop the thoughts racing through my mind, to let go of all that is my life. It's not easy to create a quiet spa...
Clean your mind
Sometimes I have to
stop the thoughts racing through my mind, to let go of all that is my life. It's
not easy to create a quiet space when the noises are pounding at the door of
emotions.
I have discovered
that if I leave some of the noise inside like specific memories or thoughts of
someone or something dear to me, it makes it easier to quiet the voices.
We need to do that,
and we need the brightness of life to dim on occasion and even grow dark and
without meaning.How else will we rid ourselves of the unwanted commotions?
I think of it as
spring cleaning for the mind, getting rid of useless thoughts and opening the
windows of the soul, letting in a breeze of freshness to take away the stagnant
thoughts.
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
Author Mike OConnor: Small scraps
Author Mike OConnor: Small scraps: Small scraps of paper lay strewn across my desk each a thought dismissed. A story started but no end, a poem without love. It goes this ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)