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Writer published on various sites such as Bleacher Report, Relevant Magazine, and The Good Men Project. Now focusing on writing on Medium.

We’re only young once

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

“So scared of growing old/ I’m only good at being young.”
-John Mayer

Candy bar wrappers and Mountain Dew cans
and packs of cigarettes we’d sneak down
a Carolina back road. The days of our youth.
You’re only seventeen once.

The radio played I remember running through
the wet grass, falling a step behind.

For us, it was a dirt road, twenty miles
per hour, skipping class because
consequences skipped us.

In the winter we made promises we knew
we’d break in the summer, just like the
hearts of shy girls we pushed into the pool.
You’re only eighteen once.

A 90’s pop-rock song taught me about death and moving on

Photo by Noorulabdeen Ahmad on Unsplash

The first time death blew its cold, violent wind through my forest I was 12. I soaked it in visually as my grandmother’s already small body withered into an unrecognizable mess of blankets and tubes hooked to beeping machines in a cold room. Her mind was gone for months, if not years, and now the smallness of her would be swallowed up along with the faded memories of her days teaching, playing piano, and wearing pretend Sunday smiles for church as a pastor’s wife.

No moment in life is more sobering than when you know with full certainty you are…

Wake up earlier, reflect on kindergarten, and stop making excuses for not writing more

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

There’s debate among those in the writing community as to whether or not writer’s block is a condition that exists among every writer. Many believe it’s just an excuse to not work at the craft many are so passionate about.

Prolific suspense writer John Grisham was once interviewed and said he has never struggled with writer’s block. He’s sold over 300 million copies of his books and produced 28 consecutive best-sellers.

You and I will never be John Grisham. But there are some ways that we can overcome the writer’s block that tends to plague many of us who claim…

Cars, freedom, and the songs played loud in our car

Photo by Engin Yapici on Unsplash

It all starts with a bus. A big yellow bus with uncomfortable seats and no seat belts. A bus with wheels that go round and round. Yes, they go round and round.

The Wheels On The Bus may or may not be the first song you remember ever hearing. For me, it was probably some nursery rhyme or a Sunday school song., neither of which was as fun as a large yellow vehicle making its rounds through the neighborhood.

You realize early on in life the joy of traveling anywhere on wheels. A Schwinn bike with baseball cards in the…

1, 15, 27, and 33 deserve special attention

Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash

Birthdays in the 21st century tend to be quieter when you’re not on social media. The barrage of well wishes from friends, family, and 8th-grade classmates you haven’t spoken to in 32 years doesn’t exist away from Facebook.

I’m okay with that. I turn 40 today and have pondered what it means to hit a defining age such as this. Here are 40 brief reflections and lessons from life.

  1. Time is the most valuable asset any of us own. The strange thing is, none of us know how much of it we have. …

More claps, please

Would three more claps have killed you?

Photo by Werner Pfennig from Pexels

I’ll forgive you this once. Just. This. Once.

I noticed you clapped for my article. That’s great! I really appreciate you and the affirmation you give to my writing. I also appreciate the $0.08 my article has earned me thus far. That must be the life-changing money so many Medium authors talk about. Here’s my one issue:

Why did you clap 7 times for my article?

Was clicking three more times that difficult? To that effect, was holding the mouse button down just 10 more seconds to get the count up to 50 that time-consuming?

Oh, you were reading it…

Finding your freedom is better than being curated

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

Ernest Hemingway once gave sage advice for any writer struggling with ideas, about where to even begin with the pen to paper. He said, “just write one true sentence.”

I’ve wrestled with sentences I thought were true, only to erase them, pondering if it was a figment of my imagination. Worse, I’ve penned entire paragraphs of niceties posing as truth when they were just decoration, a pendulum swinging toward the neck of intimacy.

Because to know the truth about something, it has to be told. It must be communicated in some way. …

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