I’ve moved!

I have been working on my personal website, and have now moved my blog to my site.  The content is the same…so please visit me at my new home.


All about writing…

The world revolves around writing.  Isn’t it amazing?  Talented artists can say what they want, but ultimately what sells is the writing.

An actor reads dialogue.  A writer provided the dialogue. 

Television or movie producers envision the scenes on a script.  A screenwriter wrote the script.

A singer belts out lyrics.  I don’t think I have to elaborate.

Books, Magazines, greeting cards, advertisements, speeches, declarations, announcements…the list can go on forever.

The bottom line.  Writing is part of life.

It communicates to us.  It tells us the morning news, and what the weather will be like this afternoon.

It announces a new product, or reinvents an old one.  It introduces us to history, or gives us a glimpse of the future.

It teaches proper grammar, algebra and ethics.

It promotes an ideal, or bashes an opinion.  It expresses love, hate, passion, disinterest, indignation, praise, scorn, life and death.

I don’t know why I’m raving about this.  I think because I just realized what an important job we have.

And I say we very loosely.  Only a selected few get to write for the world to read. 

But if deep down inside, you cherish every word.  If in the pits of your soul, you clamor for a pen and paper (or a keyboard in our day and age) to truly express yourself. 

If the only way you know to tell everyone what you think, how you feel, what you imagine is through words, then most likely you’re a writer.

And as writers, we need to continue writing.  In a society where it seems that words get lost in the media, I think it’s important to still see the greatness of the written word.

Lets instill it in our children.  Let them love reading, and they’ll come to appreciate writing.

My daughter goes to bed with a book clutched under her arm.  It warms me to know that she loves her books, and never will there be no time for reading in our home.  I think I’ve started a tradition.

Hopefully from my household will stream a slew of readers.

And maybe a few writers. 

My daughter comes to me with a pen and asks for paper.

Can I write too daddy?  She asks.  I can only smile as I hand over the paper.

Time for writing….

All the time in the world.


A barren field
white with solitude
quiet with despair
no stalks or leaves or crumpled roads.
No falls or trees of any sorts.
Just cotton white, touched by skies
as white as light where heaven lies
no steps or trails, no horizon lines
where his old eyes fail.
Just white as bright as the morning light
A white as right, forget the night
A barren field
white with solitude
quiet with despair
with nothing to see as his old eyes fail.


Traffic moved slowly, as the lifted gray clouds began to drizzle.  The miniscule drops, falling as slow as the snow, landing and staining the windshields, halting commuters, seemingly stopping the movement.  As the red lights burned before me, I wondered what was it about the rain that caused everything to move so slow.  The wipers smeared the water across my dirty glass causing me to strain through the streaks.

Let’s go!  The wipers seemed to agree.  The rain began falling harder, splashing and exploding on the hood and the roof of my car.  I looked over at the clock radio.

Damn Rain!  Im gonna be late…