Something About Homes

There are days where it seems no matter what you say – WHAT YOU SAY IS WRONG!

I’m having one of those days… and I have done NOTHING wrong… that I know of, now…?

I’m going to switch gears, here.

You can never really go back home. That’s what I believe, anyway. Once you have left your parent’s house, from underneath the roof of those that have cared for you, there is no going back. You can only go forward. Or, in really BAD circumstances, remain in a state of perpetual hinderance from evolving or devolving.

You can NEVER really go back home…

I got that line from a James Baldwin novel, Giovannis Room. It’s not verbatim, but the message has stuck with me for 19 years.

But I have not, for the better state of my being, started to write this to wax philosophic about such things as domestic displacement… or lack of thereof.

I’m here to write a story.

This is the story of all stories. It’s about a poor schmuck of a writer that NEEDS – desperately NEEDS! – to talk about January of 2022.

Now, I know, that is a few days away. Four… maybe five… my head is clouded with the worry & anxiety of other things out of my control.

Anyway, next month, this poor writer schmuck has convinced himself to publish a book. Self-Publish, no less, which makes him feel LESS like a writer, and more like a HACK. However, what is truly driving this wretched soul into the world of Self-Publishing is the belief it might help someone.

See: this writer greatly admires another writer that went down the Self-Publishing road to get The Word to people. And that has been the goal: to have The Words reach people!

Is it not?

Tell me! Anyone, tell me different. Books are printed so readers can read. Writers write so people will read them… but, that is all together not true.

I write because it is WHAT I FUCKING DO!

But, just like the wretched soul I speak of, I am getting to a point where a book is NEEDED. Almost to validate all the work & hours through all the years, through all the pains, and all heartaches… something MUST come of it.


I started this article days ago… days have gone by where I have been sick with worry.

What if the book – what if I – FAIL?!

Dear Readers, I love you.

Please, keep reading.

And I’ll keep having some kind of faith all will be well. And I’ll stop referring to myself as a wretched soul.


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