My Muse is a finicky spirit. As a writer, I have a tenancy to blame my Muse for my lackluster writing.
    In truth, it is my own wanderings that distract my daily writing. Writing, like any other discipline, demands vigilance. I have learned that to master one’s craft, one has to be dedicated to writing every day, but I am constantly bombarded with distractions.
    Requirements for living is a demanding master; you got to eat, keep your living space relatively free of pestilence, and maintain a social life.
    Being blind and a so-called writer makes it difficult to have any resemblence of a social life. The business of writing is the quality of time spent between one’s self and his computer. The demands of writing often isolate the writer. Ironically, one must socialize to experience life with others in order to mimic Life.
    While attending Augusta College, I dated. When we had a fight, I found it difficult to focus on my studies as I rehashed the issue that we fought over. Of course, my studies suffered. From that lesson, I have used those times to become celibate. Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. The other excuse I use for not dating is that I’m blind and can’t find anybody, for I lack the ability to see her from across the room where our eyes lock in passion.
    So, like most readers, I write to escape reality. And my Life recycles itself. And yet, I am distracted by not having someone to share my thoughts, my needs, and my love. So, it’s damn if I do and damn if I don’t.
    Another way of avoiding working on my manuscripts and the AWOL Muse, I write blogs.


 
 
This Week’s Blog

     Paying for past sins is something I live with every day. I’m fifty-four years old and a diabetic. It’s not the bad kind, that is to say, insulin dependent, but bad enough.
    Growing up, I lived large; not in the sense that I had everything given to me, but lived life to the limits. You couldn’t tell me not to do something, for I would do it just to spite the adult. I can’t blame my parents; I was just a wild child.
    My father once told me,”don’t knock it until I tried it.” I followed his advice to the extreme. I did drugs and anything else I thought made life worth living. Now, I am paying for things I regret doing.
    While working for a soft drink company, I was living large. I had the best job ever, even when I was sighted. I made more money and spent it like a drunken Indian. That’s what my own father said of me. I did all the Coke, or rather drank all the Coke I wanted. I ate everything that was good; thus that meant it was really bad for me. It was these bad habits that made me into a diabetic.
    This disease scared the hell out of me. I was like a deer caught in the oncoming headlights. I did everything I was suppose to do for a healthy life, but it was too late. I quit Coke to write full time and I finally started exercising. I changed my eating habits, cut down my drinking, but it was too little, too late.
    I heard one can beat diabetes, but it takes a discipline I lack. I maintain a quality of life and living as a monk on bread and water is not living.
    I have fallen off the wagon in my discipline and the disease has gotten worse. I am still taking pills, just more potent . It sucks, but I am paying for my bad habits.
    If I was given a choice of do overs, I might change a few things, but for the most part, I would keep it as it was lived. The lessons I learned has served me well; even if they were hard.
    I have always tried to live by by a saying I read in a book. Man’s purpose in life is not merely to exist, but to live! What else were God’s intentions for us?
    I try to follow my beliefs, coupled with moderation, and so I hope to live a little longer; God willing.

 
 
     Being blind ain’t for sissys, but then again, it’s not that hard with today’s modern conveniences. Screen reading software allows me to write, read e-mails, and pay my bills. With all these adaptive devices, I still must rely on the kindness of others to help me edit my manuscripts, find a book cover, and get the manuscript published.
    My biggest issue is being patient. I know I could do all the above myself, if I could see. It’s frustrating to wait for my friends to help me. I hate depending on others to do for me, but I can’t see and I need help to make my dreams a reality.
    Getting Paradise: Lost and Found published may actually happen tonight; if I’m lucky. The story itself has been in the making for over sixteen years! So what’s another few more hours, right?
    “I had a dream,” the blind man said.
    It’s true. I did dream -- the story, I later called Paradise.
    I was still attending classes at Augusta State U., when I had this dream. It was almost a motion picture for its color, realism, and vividness. It was so real that I felt I was living the story. The core of the story came from the dream.
    The part of the story where the Daltons move into this valley where it seems like Paradise. However, like anything else, there’s no such thing as Paradise and in my dream, Paradise was in reality a sacred Indian burial ground.
    I can remember wearing overalls and driving a wagon with horses pulling it. Some believe it might have been a previous life.
    In any case, I said, while still in the dream; I got to write this stuff down. It wasn’t until I was standing at my desk, did I realize I was still in the dream. Spooky, huh?
    I wrote the dream as a short story for my exit exam and I have been lengthening it ever since.
    So, if God is willing, I will publishe it at Amazon tonight. Stay tuned.

 

    Leaping Tiger Books

    Willow May Jennings

    I’m a blind writer. I write chick lititure and that’s why I use a pen name; To protect my reputation as a southern redneck. I can’t have the good old boys at the coffee shop learn I write chick lit.

    Tomas O. Black

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