I have had my critics regarding the work I have recently done, and I am reminded of a thought I had when I was young and felt very wise. If we allow ourselves to be governed by our critics, we will never find the success that our heart craves. Many times in my life I have been that person who sought approval, I am however seeking my way through the corners of my memory to find that which My heart craves.
Unless you know me personally, the stories that I share may seem a bit off, or not quite what you think a normal generic type story might be. I am a person who loves words and telling stories, I have a genuine affection for the written word. I have worked professionally as a writer on several occasions. Most of the work that I have published I really like but what I am doing here is what I truly LOVE.
My childhood growing up was not what normal, TV families look like. Mine was more like what you would see in a scary movie setting. You will notice that I use terms for people in my stories that don’t actually tell you who I am referring to, I do this on purpose as to not subject myself to lawsuits.
I have family that I do not deal with because they might be in jail or not, looking for a lawsuit or payoff, being sought by the authorities or any number of other things that make them people who I really don’t want to have to deal with. Some of my family are wonderful people and others yet are the people who I have decided to be my family. This is why I don’t always use people’s factual names even though the events are factual to my memory.
Conroe was and might still be the county seat for Montgomery County, being a child with time on your hands in Conroe, my hometown was a kids paradise. We could ride our bikes anywhere in town and pick up coke bottles along the way to the little store down the street and have enough money to buy a soda and a candy. Gather up enough bottles through the week and it would be Saturday movie at the “picture show” downtown. Several times in our life we lived across the street or down the street from our cousins and aunts and uncles and it just seemed like we had a great life going to each other’s house and getting chased by our brothers and cousins until we ran out of breath or ground to run on and had to climb a tree to get away from a possible beating, or at least that is what we thought at the time.
A childhood memory is just that, a memory. It is for a reason that they are not always good or bad, just our brain’s way to protect us from the ugly truth and allow us to dream about that which our heart craves.