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First of all I want to Welcome and THANK all the subscribers and readers of this blog, I know you’re out there, I had over 300 new sign ups when I finally checked this sites’ email. True, it’s something I don’t do often enough.

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When I decided to undertake writing as a career, though I’ve truly always felt I was a writer (and, something I didn’t realize 4 or 5 years ago is how much effort and lifestyle changes it would take), I was determined to find out a few things experiences in other fields taught me I would need to know, and endure. Having been an aspiring pro athlete in 3 different sports and a few other little endeavors in the past, I was, and am, no stranger to hard work and a competitive atmosphere.

I’ll say this to the younger and “new” writers out there: Your perception of “writing” and “publishing” may change as time goes on, as well as your own self perception when it comes to the idea and identity of being a “writer.” Don’t be afraid of this, or put off by it or how hard it seems. I’ve found that as your skill level develops so will your understanding and perspective of the industry you are trying to make a living in. You won’t be the same person 1 year or 2 years from now, in a lot of ways.

I can tell you this - the hardest thing in the world to do is sit down, shut up and write, and let the rest of it take care of itself. But it will. It can be devastating and discouraging when you look up and can’t see the top of the mountain you have to climb because it’s in the clouds. (That’s where many friends and family will think your head is too, just so ya know). But you’ll keep going, you’ll learn to climb because not only do you know there are people up there but they’ve left a crumb trail to follow that will feed you and teach you.

Keep this in mind too: Many times you’ll think you’ve just written the latest piece of classic fiction, or an article that will save or change millions of lives - but it won’t be. It may be a great start or a cool idea for a story with a fresh new hero who will save the world and swagger happily into the sunset with a girl and a dog. Or, it may end up being a major practice exercise that will add value and validity to you as a writer in the near and long term, or a manuscript you go back to and complete, worthy of publication.

The frequency, depth and range of the ever elusive “inspiration” factor will rise in you in a relative sense too. (You’ll know what I mean by this when it happens, trust me….)

Competiton? I couldn’t care less if there’s 10 or 10 million people trying to become best-selling writers. Great writing is still as rare and precious as gold or diamonds. Ask any editor or agent, they’ll tell you.

Some one told me this once: “Find out how good good is, how great great is and then find out if you’re good for it.”       For me the “life of a writer” begins and ends here, with this statement.  I’ve had the great privilege of having people pay to see me perform or design in the past and it’s a sacred thing to ask people for their precious effort, time and money.      You damn well better be good for it……

I’ve always hated hearing all the cliche’ terms like “writer’s write” and “write every day” and others, but, at the end of the day understand this: most of them came by hard fought dividend - blood, sweat and tears from authors who have found out what works. Mastery of the mechanical outlines and techniques of pro writing is a big part but by no means the only one and these terms reflect that, though on the surface they may appear annoyingly simple. I’m certain that for nearly every author out there, except for the insanely gifted few, the road to proficiency and success was a determined trek and they too needed to understand and accept a lot of things that took time and patience to understand.

Idealism may make  one feel all warm and fuzzy but reality very often feels like a cold hard slap.(I’m laughing, as I rub my cheek….)

Imagination is something - I believe - you can’t buy or teach someone, however, I also believe people can learn what imagination really is and perhaps find it locked away deep within themselves, and learn to release it. Everyone has it to some degree or another and it will affect your writing accordingly.

I’ll say this: I’m not trying to pas myself off as Mr. Success here. I have a LONG way to go as a writer but I’ve learned a few things along the way and I wanted to pass them along, hopefully they make sense to you. The life of a writer isn’t easy but it can be rewarding as you make your way down the writers road.

I write 2 blogs, 2 columns, I’m working on a short story and thriller novel, I also write poetry and song lyrics but I’ll probably end up writing shorts and novels only. I pray I might earn my wings and entertain the masses with my work and I know all too well that hopes and dreams are built on foundations of blood, sweat and tears. So as I sweat, bleed and cry……….I’m also writing.

Keep writing writers….ILOVEYA!

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I didn’t realize till the other night I have 12 pairs of brand new, never worn shoes, boots and athletic type footwear in one end of my closet as well as numerous shirts (15 - 20), and pricey sweaters which I’ll probably never wear unless I strike it rich and buy a 100′ sailboat or go-fast boat.

The expensive tan suede cowboy boots are a must for anyone who plans on maybe owning another horse someday.Which I do.
It could happen….

At this point in my writing career I should be used to thinking like one. It’s almost a totally invasive thought process for me now. However, in rummaging through the items in the ceramic glove on my dresser I found 2 or 3 old, really old keys and my reaction was of course that of a writer.

Now, any normal person would grab the items and ask another normal person, if available, such as a wife, or elderly relative(who knows more than she’s telling) if they knew what these items might go to or if they maybe recognize them, right? But, if you’re a writer, an action adventure thriller mass market commerical fiction author, which I am, then the imagination goes wild with possibilities. It will ignore or in fact zoom right past a typical thought process. (It’s a gift…..the doctor says….)
After getting past a tidal wave of fear that I was suffering from early dimentia because I could recall no memory of what the keys opened or went to, my buzzing writers mind began to explore possible answers.

One of the keys looked a lot like the key to a safe deposit box and in fact probably is(I DON’T have a safe deposit box, so, right off the bat the plot thickens) but I imagined and had the clarity to structure it in a mental outline, that it did in fact belong to a safe deposit box in a bank  in another state or foreign country far away. And, that in said box were old black and white snapshots of people who looked like me, papers that a long lost relative left for me to find, and still more keys which were to an abandoned villa in the french alps that was waiting for me to arrive and discover who murdered my long lost relative, the patriarch of my bloodline and said villa, that also had a really big heated swimming pool with jacuzzi. Maybe they were my real mother or father and knew I would one day find the truth about who I really am, and my destiny as rightful heir and rebel leader of an oppressed people long held under the death grip of an evil dictator of this country. I needed to find that box, get into it, take the stacks of money, papers, maps (if any), cool Rolex diving watch, and begin a perilous journey into the unknown. I would need to locate and buy a weapon and bullets when I arrived, the cash would come in handy.

I wondered if there might be any good bbq joints in any of the surrounding villages.

But why an odd amount of 87,000 dollars, American? What if someone was watching for the arrival of a “deliverer”(which would be me or a character yet to be named) and had a plot in place to murder them too?                       I might need a team of mercenaries which also means I would have to charter a private jet or yacht (aha! I knew the meaning of the pricey sweaters and boat shoes would make sense to me!) to make a stealth entry through a friendly bordering country, one that would, for a price and through a contact named Calderone, be willing to supply us with weapons, night vision goggles and a helicopter, a fast one.

Hold on, 87,000 dollars wasn’t looking like so much money all of a sudden. I needed to examine the old papers in that box to see if they held the clues to how or where I might find the funding my ancestor surely knew I would need.

Yes! An account statement from this same bank, upon which I was named and had access to, held almost 3 million dollars. Ok, we’re in business, I was good to go.

How stupid I was to have walked past this key sitting on my dresser all this time.

Maybe fate played a hand, not letting me come upon the truth until I was capable and had a willing heart. Interesting…..

Perhaps this was why I had unknowingly bought and stored clothes I would need for this perilous journey. The sledge hammer made sense now too…..

It all seemed to fit together somehow.

But who could I now trust? The answer: NO ONE! Not even my dog, who seems to be eyeing me suspiciously lately.

As soon as “Wheel of Fortune” was over I would probe Granny for information on family history since any and all she could tell me might, just might, keep me and my team alive. It might require her potty chair, duct tape and a hot lamp.We’ll see if she cracks.

Trust no one, tell no one. Check. Passport. Check. Box of Twinkies. Check.

My thoughts are interrupted by footsteps echoing down the long, cold tile hallway. An assasin? Maybe. Or, it could be my sexy seductress wife wondering if I was ready to go out for BBQ. I deftly slip the key into my pocket, or maybe I should place it back in the glove so no one would know I now knew, and of my pending mission.
I decide the key stays with me from now on, let the chips fall where they may.

I think after dinner I’ll take my significant other, who could be a planted agent, to the “SpyShop” to see if it rattles her calm exterior, and to get some cool stuff.

In the meantime I must collect my thoughts and potential best-seller ideas and commit them to paper, or a program in my computer. I pledge to myself to continue to monitor my surroundings at all times for good story ideas and at all costs to develop them.

The mind of a writer.

Some would say that were it not for the minds of  writers humanity might still be chasing food with clubs, still others might say - Thank God for patient editors, agents, mental institutions and artist communities.

Whatever your thoughts may be, I for one am blessed and pleased to have the mind of a writer.

Keep writing writers! I Love Ya!

Hello again fellow writers!

Sparing you the long list of reasons, many of which appear on page one of “Excuses For Not Writing”,(which will be out in the fall with a major publisher) let me just say Thanks to a writer who pointed out to me yesterday the actual amount of time it had been since my last post.                                                                                                                                                    Denial is such a sweet thing until shattered by reality.

So here I sit answering the call of the wild, the wild within me. Or maybe I’m just trying to quiet the accusing voice of guilt, or the deafening scream of fear.

I must tell you, to many of the authors and writers out there in internet land, that without your example and diligence many of us who aspire to write would quickly get, and stay, lost. Lost to time, endlessly chasing the tail of our dreams…  (I’m laughing, trying to picture myself doing this)

I write, sometimes, a trucking blog on another site that I actually visit occasionally when I run out of reasons not to. I’m one of those types who has to come to the end of myself to be able to see clearly where I’m at on the writer’s road.  More often than not, like right now, I am horrified at how much time has passed since I turned in any direction but a straight forward charge. All too often, too focused too far ahead, I neglect the foundational, the “here and now” aspects of effort that more experienced writers understand. Why is it, even the most talented, determined people still fall prey to this bottomless pit?

I can’t answer that.

I wish I could, but instead of trying to reason it myself or find someone to whine my finely crafted delusions too, (which I could easily do), I’ve chosen to sit….and write.

Victory? No. Triumph? Not even close.

Sweaty, bloody, battered, hotly pursued by the demons of my soul I climb over the last obstacle in my journey to salvation? Getting warmer………maybe.

The reality is that, for me, this is more than just a learning process. It’s a gauntlet, of sorts, that I am, at all costs, determined to “endeavor to persevere”  within. That is, if I can stay the course long enough to develop as a writer the skills and the bodies of work that might qualify me to stand alongside those who have gone before me. Those, whose example and courage has cut a trail through an otherwise impassable wilderness, one I never could have hoped to find my way in.

For some of us, the horizon of our dreams may be obscured by the clouds of our pasts, circumstance or doubt and fear. I would be the first to step forward to serve as the poster boy for the “unlikeliest” of survival stories, forget about ever hoping to be counted among the few successful “writer’s” of our day. But, just to still be alive.                            A living witness to the portion of dimension between the moments that will define my life, moments I cross between hanging precariously over the abyss of time, on the bridge of hope.

The moments I live and die by.

That I may yet become a “writer” remains to be seen, however, I am thrilled to keep putting one foot in front of the other here on the writer’s road.  Some of you are too far ahead, in the distance for me to see you, but I have your tracks here in the sand before me……Thank you for that……

Now, if I can just keep moving and not stop long enough to be too pleased with myself….

Characters in the 2 stories I am working on, soon to be set once again into motion, haven’t seemed to notice the timeless freeze frame they’ve been in, and still are, in….. except for one Chase Rage. He keeps looking at his titanium Seiko Dive watch and giving me that “look”…..shattered glass falls from his tattered clothing, the blood of an “innocent” runs down his face….millions of lives and the fate of several nations hang in the balance…..his co-worker, a lovable ditz and  trusted friend, mother of a 4 year old that could be his,  just took a bullet to the head, a bullet that was meant for him…..the bad guys are about to find out why he changed his name to Chase Rage..and why he’s decided “To Hunt the Hunter”

Chase says “we have to move”.  He’s scanning the surrounding office towers through the infra-red vision scope on his suppressed assault rifle…..the power outage due to a horrific west coast storm…..he’s taking the shot….

Keep writing writers! I Love ya!

Wrong….well, some of us can’t seem to find the time to do what it is we want to do most, what it is we feel we were born to do. For me, life seems to get in the way all day every day. Granted, and I’m extremely Thankful for the work so far this year, we all need to make a living somehow until we are “discovered” or sell our first manuscript to one of the publishing giants.

But, it’s not just work and how fatigued the type of job I do makes me, it’s, well, I’m not sure I can tell you what it is. In the past, my past, when I’ve been determined to do something I was always able to make the time, to push aside other aspects of my life, or plan better when it came to “time management”. Looking back, the “me” I remember was fearless and oh so determined to succeed. I was able to juggle as many balls as I needed to all at one time and still streak down the highway of my hopes and dreams, of life.

 Not so, lately.

Even, we’re in the 8th month of 2009 and I have barely written a few chapters and made a paltry half dozen(if that many….) or so “weekly” blog posts…..yeah I know….what the hell have I been doing?                                                                

     Trying to run a radio station for one thing, while blazing up and down the highways of America almost non-stop for 6 months or more probly close to 8 or 9 I’m thinkin’….it’s all kind of a blurr, really….and then there’s the gutteral clench of worrying about my darling wife working 2 jobs while she waits for the doctor members of her new and not so improved insurance at her work to get their act together and assess the cancer in her arm, and to check the one ovary she has left to see if it’s cancerous too…..And, I try not to worry, but sometimes I come home and she looks a bit too pale and seems to have had an awfully hard time holding down the fort……I guess you’d have to be in the position to understand and I’m not crying about it either, I want to be clear on that, but it seems to wear me down at times, more and more. Most of what I’m up to, and what I’ve undertaken is and has been due to my aspirations as a writer, to be a writer, yes, even the radio station. It’s actually a spin-off of my wildly popular trucking blog.

So, as my little world, which looks more like a raging inferno lighting up the night sky, crashes, bangs, and thunders around me, the moment, the chance to pour myself into a few scribbled words seemed to want to dance just out of reach of my heart and fingers again today. But I couldn’t let it, not again, not this time.

Are my hopes and dreams fading? Were they ever real? Was the netherworld my youthfull ideals constructed - tangible, achievable or simply imagined? I don’t know…..I really don’t, sometimes….                                 

The monster of stress, anxiety and fear paces behind my chair as I steal a few moments to write to you. I feel the heat and smell the stench of it’s breath, yet, here I sit feeling like I’ve  gained back a little ground, like I’ve taken a few steps toward the light glimmering through the trees of a darkened forest.

How? Why? Well, (I snort….) because writer’s write…..right? DAMN RIGHT!

Stay tuned writers……….I LOVE ya!

From our entry into the world as babies, as kids, teenagers, young adults, then as adults, we see ourselves as we were in a moment in time. Good times, and sometimes even moments we’d rather not remember or wish didn’t have to happen, are a part of our history. A history many may treasure.
Most of us.
As I look through the small handfull of snapshots I have managed to save, snapshots of me, and family, I see points in the history of one kid. And, I am suddenly struck by the odd fact that there isn’t much documentation of my life. For a number of reasons, some understandable and some not, only a few pictures and papers remain.
I don’t remember much of the first few years. Flashes, glimpses of a chaotic and turbulent begining are all there is in my memory.

As a teenager, almost nothing remains, but for a few glorious moments of peace and fun I enjoyed living with my long gone grandparents. Moments like warming rays of sunshine on my face that will live forever in my heart.                     The photo above I call “The great hunter”.

As a young adult, the same. Nothing. I was able to uncover a few snapshots, of a troubled, bitter, self destructive and angry young man in his twenties, before during and after bids in 3 different pro sports fields.                                        Baseball, surfing and karate.

In my mid twenties a half hearted attempt at a modelling career, on into my late twenties to thirties as an actor and wanna-be stuntman and the thirty something films, tv movie of the week’s and commericals I was in.
Nothing.
Even now, at the age of 53 there is little of the last twenty years of my life. If Barbie weren’t a little photo bug, there would be absolutely no record of the happy times I’ve had being married to her, which are so far, the best days of my life.

How can I explain this both subtle and obvious void of personal history? I can’t, other than to say that most of my life was spent moving from place to place, home to home, and career to career.
Barbie and I have moved 4 times in the almost twenty years we have been married, all upgrades in home and real estate levels, thankfully.
Yet still, in sitting down to write this piece I mistakenly thought I had more. More of something. Anything. But sadly I do not. And I can’t explain it either, other than to say maybe it’s a matter of self worth or just that in battling the demons I was cursed with, for whatever reasons, I may have been always looking past the moments before me to days ahead. Better days. Days that until recently have managed to elude me.

I, like many, have always been a writer. Since I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. I remember my dorky writing’s began in Mrs. Grant’s 4th grade class. For some reason that year was a prolific year for me. (I’m laughing….) I had my first published poem and wrote my first song lyric, “The Monkey Men”.                                                                                                         The teenage years, though I do recall writing, I wasn’t able to locate anything in my (very) little bag of memories here in the file cabinet next to my desk. My twenties are documented in the dozens of song lyrics and story ideas scribbled on napkins and an odd assortment of pieces of paper. One such lyric became a number one country music song years later in 1994. Several more charted at various points, even up until 2006.
I laugh, and sometimes cringe, when I review my stash, a stash I keep private, of song lyric and story ideas. They all reflect periods in my days here on earth in one way or another. Gratefully, as a developing writer, I am able to see growth and skill level increases in my writing’s, more of late than the years long past.
For me they represent much more than just scribbling’s, or amateurish attempts at professional writing. They’re snapshots into my life, my heart, my mind, even my soul. Snapshots in which I sense, now, who I was, what I was thinking and feeling, moreover, my perception of the world around me , at the time. I’ve noticed the emergence of  a kid kicked back and forth, abused, to a young man and high probability tragedy, to a maturing adult, scarred but thrilled to be alive and facing the wonderfull possibilty of a real career as a novelist and songwriter.

A handful of photos and a pile of scribbling’s are what remain of my life, a life I’ve done my best, most of the time, to survive. I see my hopes and dreams….and pain. I recall my thought’s, my heart’s feeling’s, my confusion, amidst what few moments of clarity I was gifted with. And most importantly, I see myself.
It’s impossible to determine the story, my story, from the fragments of visual history, the writing and photographs, but, when I review the writing I have produced over the years, there, in them, is my story. They, for me, have become “snapshots” of Daniel’s life. My life. And, I’m okay with that.

Yeah, I’m okay with that.

Stay tuned writers……..I love ya!

This is the only photo I have of my Mother, a few months before her  tragic death in August of 1969. I never knew her, but still, I love my Mom.

Sometimes I just can’t remember what I was saying, or, wanted to say, or, was supposed to say. Or write. And I’m not sure to whom I was saying it.                                                              

Do I know you sir?   Cool wings.                                                   

I hate when that happens, but it does and probably always will.

I wonder how the greats in the best seller fiction world stay focused. For me, the stage that I’m at is filled with distraction, or potential distraction, and, lately it really burns my ass when I look up, the clock says 3:43 and all I’ve gotten done is to tell thousands of people that a new chapter will be out soon. The chapter that has taken me 3 weeks to try to sit down to write, yeah, that one. Pissed? Yes. At who? Myself, of course. It’s so easy to get caught up in the hoopla and the social crap, like Twitter, Facebook(I’m still not sure what Facebook IS….), answering inquiries, reading other authors excerpts and blog posts, studying, outlining, deleting spam, figuring out how to pay bills, and the million other things we call life…(or not). Hopefully this is just a phase. Maybe I’ll get a sympathetic e-mail from a great author encouraging and exhorting me to still greater heights of writer-dom. A letter filled with wisdom and step by step practical advice on how to stay focused, how to produce a masterpiece of mass market commercial fiction with little or no damage to my fragile emotions.        Yeah right. That’ll happen.

The thing of it is, is that I have no idea how to navigate the often trecherous road that lays before me. Yes, I’m thrilled to be on it, and yes I intend to, and hope to, go much further down the writers road, but, sometimes I stop, look around myself and I’m gripped with this terrific fear. The time is passing so quickly and I don’t feel as though I’m getting as much done as I could be, or should be. Days pass like minutes used to, weeks pass like days used to, months pass like weeks used to. A swirling collage of laughing, smiling faces, familiar voices, some, many are strange and new to me. Insights to levels I could only dream of walking the hallways of in years past, are now familiar, but, still, in a strange way, not where I want to be. Not where I feel at “home”. Maybe from this point on I never will feel at “home”. Maybe I never will be able to return “home”, to the place I began this journey down the writers road. The landscape has certainly changed. I’ve gone away from the people I once knew, people I laughed and cried, sweated and bled with, to people who want to pay me to laugh, cry, sweat and bleed, in 80,000 words, due by the 29th.  I realize I’m no longer the naive, ready to rumble kid I was just a few years ago, in some ways still, I am maybe, but for the most part I’ve matured quite a bit, mostly for the better….I hope. But, do I have to leave behind treasured moments, real, heartfelt moments and the familiar faces that uttered them? The  souls I may never see again in my life, as it is now? Thinking back, at this moment, I can’t tell you how many echoes surround me.

Echoes of ”Go get em’ kid” and “Don’t forget us”, and “You’ll be great” and “We love you”.                                                                 

Echoes I would give anything to hear whispered in my ears, right now, just to be near those who uttered them.

I accept responsibility for making the choice to become a professional writer. I do. And I will give it my level best and a fearless warriors effort. I didn’t undertake this wonderful craft to fail at it. Yes, sometimes I wonder what the hell I was thinking, that, there’s no way in this world I can do this stuff, write like David Baldacci or Steve Berry. No way in hell. I even question my own mental stability over this issue.  And, other times, especially lately, the e-mails and letters and phone calls from people around the world wanting more and wondering when the next chapter of “Warrior Queen” is coming gives me such hope, encouragement, and the greatest gift of all…inspiration. 

Still, in my heart I treasure and protect the memories and love of those who knew me as I was. Loving hands and hearts that sent me on my way with tear filled eyes. I find myself looking back often to wave to people who are no longer there. As I turn to look up the writers road hoping to see my destination I am greeted by someone from my future, someone sent to help make sure I arrive. We are always engaged in a conversation begun while I was looking back.

So…what was I sayin’? I say…..

Stay tuned writers….I love ya!

      As writers, most of us want to, hope to, and,  are DRIVEN  to, develop our skills. Some of us however, write for fun, while others write to record thoughts and events in our lives, and still others, like me, write to get better as a professional writer. I write in both the non-fiction and fiction worlds regularly. My non-fiction work is seen and read by many thousands of people every week. My fiction work is finding an audience, slowly, as I write and submit to various writer sites garnering the attention of notables in my field.
     Yesterday, I was just rolling along during my talk radio show, looking at the work of other writers, and posting tweets on Twitter(love Twitter), and 2 things happened. 1. I got called down, rightfully, by a guy on Twitter about profanity, and, 2. I was reading a blog post by a young writer who posts tweets on a regular basis, pointing people to his shared domain blogsite. At first the two things had nothing to do with each other, so I thought, it wasn’t until later in the evening I realized that they certainly did. The man who called me down about using profanity in my posts on Twitter with his name tag in the post i.d. asked me not to use his name when I was planning on using profanity. Okay, a fair request I thought, feeling miffed and muttering something about people with too much starch in their underwear, I took a look at what I had written and also took a look at who this guy was via his profile. His profile really didn’t make any difference to me, I was looking for a kink in his armor because I was embarrased and pissed off! It was what I saw in my own writing when I took a look at something I had posted an hour or so earlier while on a political rant, a response to his post on something that we both agreed on, and still do. My own writing suddenly struck me as oddly and amateurishly excessive, in that overly “shock value” kind of way. I had posted a wildly flagrantly angry response to a news item and used the term “F’ ing” to punctuate my statement, and sure enough it completely invalidated what I was trying to convey. I recall, of course writing it, but cannot remember if I even thought about whether or not anyone would be offended or not. Well they were, but that isn’t my point here. My point is that when I took a look at my writing, only an hour or so old, I was struck by how little thought I had given to the actual writing in a technical sense, and how the profanity only seemed to highlight that fact. Soon enough, it dawned on me that I was becoming “full of myself” in my writing….and it was detracting from the integrity of my work. If the attention my writing gets, and it gets a lot, is a true indication of my status as a rising star in the crowded world of prose, then, maybe I should give even more thought, not less, not just to WHAT I write, but HOW and WHY.
     The old saying, “It’s the little things that’ll get ya killed” is profoundly true when we’re talking about the infinite number of pitfalls we can fall prey to, both personally and professionally, as writers. Very often, for me, both elements are closely intertwined and this was a clear example of that. Additionally, different levels of skill have different types of pitfalls, and, in my case I was Gratefully and Thankfully humbled and re-focused by a man I do not know, but will always remember.
     Point 2 I want to make, and tie into Point 1, speaks to the way I feel when I look at stuff I’ve written in the past. The young guy I mentioned at the begining of this piece is a begining writer. His work is filled with all the elemental mistakes we all made when we decided to take a crack at writing and first struck out down “the writers road”, into the public arena. Confusing short sentences, way to much reference to “self”, lost points in the meandering sort of off-shoot targeting directions our work tends to take when we haven’t yet developed a clear picture of what we’re about to attempt to transmit through the written word, and little, if any, editing. The usual stuff you might expect for a writer at his level.
     Horrifyingly I did, and here’s the hook fellow writers, see hints of similarities when it came to assumptions that whatever I write and however I want to write it, is fine, because I don’t know any better. Only, because experience has taught me, and I DO know better, I was able to quickly catch myself, re-humble myself and re-focus. Same pitfall, different level, same effect.
     I have thought of almost nothing else since last night. If there is a “bottom line” here, and I’m not sure there ever is when we’re talking about the “great learning curve of life”. But if there is, maybe for me, it’s that the gift of knowledge, the precious blessing of TRUTH sometimes comes wrapped in brown paper, un-marked, in a little box left on my doorstep by a total stranger.
I smile to myself as I watch that masked man gallop off. Standing there on my front porch, feeling a little too special, I open the box and a big fist comes flying out and hits me in the eye. A little ice and a lot of self searching thought later I’m grateful. Not for what happened but because now, I get it.
                     I………………GET………………. IT!
  Gettin’ better all the time……

Stay tuned writers…I love ya!

Hello again fellow writers!

     I tried to get over here yesterday to post my blog but I was trapped in Twitter land! I’ve been spending a lot of time over there networking and letting people know about my wildly popular trucking blog, my trucker talk web radio show and of course thewritersroad.com blog. I’ve also been trying to locate and make friends with other writers, groups and industry pros in the literary media and publishing worlds too. So far - so good!

My first short flash fiction piece was featured on a very cool, kind of underground, FF site called www.flashesinthedark.com  hosted by horror writer guru Tony Smith. It’s a great and well known site to showcase work. “Warrior Queen” came out yesterday, I was hoping to get a little attention from it and I did! I’m planning a series version so stay tuned here on TWR for news, updates, and excerpts. Maybe I’ll even get lucky and a publisher will take a chance on me. If the immediate attention Warrior Queen generated is any indication I may have something here.

     As many of you know, I’ve been a poet, a blogger and a country music lyricist for a long time. Making the commitment to mainstream fiction almost 2 years ago my journey down the writers road has been one of learning in many ways. From the technical aspects of writing, to the business of publishing and the very hard work of self promotion, to the harnessing of my wildly vivid imagination. It’s also been an extremely enlightening tour-de-force of self discovery for me.

     Having been an aspiring pro athlete in 3 different sports when I was younger, the idea of training and progressive development is nothing new. I can, however, say to you with all candor that the writers road will take you deeply through the canyons of your mind, heart and soul, in addition to the obvious physical disciplines you must learn and master. I’ve learned many things about myself, some good, some bad, that no other professional vocation or craft could ever have taught me. My view of self, people and the world around me has changed dramatically as I’ve morphed into a pro writer in training for the “big leagues”.

I Thank God every day for the strength, energy and mental capacity to undertake such a colossal effort.

     Every little victory, like getting a short piece “Warrior Queen” published yesterday on FITD(which gives it a good chance of becoming a series) or my upcoming 75 word micro short called “Still” appearing March 10th on www.paragraphplanet.com  or poems like “Vision” being featured recently on  cool pro writer sites like www.NovelMaker.com  or “To Hunt The Hunter”  my “Chase Rage” series opener and novel in progress taking form on the pages of www.textnovel.com, an author site that is designed for readers to download and read a  novel chapter at a time on their cell phones. Even rejection from the prestigious writer site Smokelong Quarterly of my short piece called “Mercifully Numb” was a positive experience(I should have sat on it longer and taken a fresh look at it for a re-write instead of rushing it off for consideration..it was a lesson learned) so I repeat, every little victory, and failure, is part of our journey down the writers road. It’s a road frought with danger, true, but still a path that will lead you to the bestseller list if you’re fearless, honest with yourself, determined and clear thinking enough to stay the course.

     Honestly fellow writers, some days I don’t know, I wonder if I can do this, while other days I feel invincible. But every day I get up determined to forge ahead, hoping to become a better writer than I was yesterday, and tomorrow, to be a better writer than I am today. I can’t wait to walk into Barnes and Noble and see my bestselling novel featured on the new release rack.

Thankfully, a clear trail has been hacked through the jungle of ignorance, uncertainty and industry by those who have gone before us.

     My personal heroes are Steve Berry, Alex Berenson, Michael Connelly, John Sanford,  mega hit-maker James Patterson, real-life adventurer Clive Cussler, and of course superstars John Grisham and David Baldacci.          All, masters of the craft of writing and great artists of  the art of storytelling.

For me one of the greatest epiphany’s of my life was the revelation that writing is a craft and storytelling is an art. Great writers of yesterday and today have been, and are clearly, masters of both.

     God only knows if I will ever be counted among them, but thrilled I am to be travelling behind them down -  the writers road.

Stay tuned writers…I love ya!

                                                     Daniel

My toenails had gotten really long, almost out of control.                       

Oh no!  I thought.  Am I?  Can it be true?  Awesome!  

     Maybe, at this  point I need to give you a little background.

Barbie, my darling significant other, has kind of a running joke going that began several years ago. I’m one of those over achiever types who has a tendency to immerse myself deeply in whatever I do, particularly when it comes to an aspiration or professional endeavor, or eating chocolate. Writing, being extemely near and dear to my heart, without a doubt falls into both categories. Days, even weeks, may pass with little or no attention given to the world around me as I study intensively, soon trying to apply what I’ve learned on the pages before me. Often, time will pass in the form of days, but to me it may feel like mere hours. My only sign post, usually, is a very high level of fatigue, or fainting, not the clock.  Many times over the years Barbie has said to me “Honey you’re turning into Howard Hughes !” , while pointing at my ghastly, albeit clean, but still way too long toenails.      A clear marker of my departure from the normal everyday attention one gives themself. 

It’s sometimes even a bit un-nerving. 

“Yes, but”  I say, waving an index finger in the air, “I - am a writah!”

In case you’re wondering - “Does he write barefoot and is he on any medication?”   I do, and  no.  I can be found shoeless, even in the worst  weather, even when it’s 40 degrees outdoors. This will be the first winter, (and, no doubt a sign of father time trying to kick me in the ass just to let me know he’s there) however, I have taken to white athletic socks and dark brown moccasins, usually accompanied by my “official” writing uniform of a ripped t-shirt, the more ripped the better, and khaki shorts. More proof of my sneering and blatant disregard for the modicum of high fashion.  But - in a general sense -  I can be found with dirty bare feet shoved underneath my theatre of pain, and into the wall here at my global headquarters, otherwise known as - my desk. Thus making it easier to notice my shame, my Howard Hughes toenails.

Is this a sign of my focused genius? My dedication to the arts as an aspiring professional on the verge of greatness? Only time will tell grasshoppa….   

       For now fellow writers, I shall willingly endeavor to perservere          (translation - write my ass off….) to impart, or part with, wisdom for the ages, while sacrificing time spent in the outer world among the normal people that I might someday count myself among the elite, privledged few who are blessed with the opportunity to reach the masses, with my own way too long  sentences but commercially viable and extremely intense prose.                                                                                                                                 

Maybe even verbally abuse a few publishers, sell a few books, buy an Alienware laptop and a cool car. Oh yeah…and a pair of toenail clippers.