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As a kid, we’re told to go to bed early on Christmas Eve because Santa Claus does not visit houses if little children are awake. In our PJ’s, we traipse off to bed because we believe that he will come.

To believe that Santa Claus had the ability to fly around the globe and visit every house on Christmas Eve could only be a miracle. And yet, each Christmas morning, we’d rush out of our little beds to find what goodies he left for us under the Christmas tree.

In shock that he had eaten all the cookies, but didn’t finish his milk, our little minds would race to process it all. As children, we processed all of it, the good and the bad. However, once we grew up, everything about Santa that we had heard as we were growing up changed, and we were told to stop believing in Santa and in the magic of Christmas.

I have seen that, even in the poorest of villages, people will give what they can to someone who has even less. People driving into town will pick up strangers walking into town. With no hesitation, they stop, and whether it’s the front seat, back seat, or the bed of the truck, they offer what they have.

As a country, why are we so generous and sympathetic for those who need our help during the holidays, yet we do very little the rest of the year?

I think of everything in my life as a gift, and not mine to keep, but to use somehow to do good; to share, to bless others where we can and when we can. I am aware that not everyone has the same blessings, which include joyful times spent with family and friends, a roof over their head, plenty of food for days to come, the warmth of a fire, and the luxury of a couch. I see the homeless and the lonely, the mentally ill, the poor, and the sick, and often they do not possess the basic needs to care for themselves.

I believe in Karma, as well as God, and that there is no act of kindness that is too small. There are things that we may do in life that will make a world of difference for someone else. Maybe we won’t even know that we even had an effect. To offer generosity, this compassion will always come back, rarely in the same form, but it will come back to you.

In closing, may you and yours have a Happy Holiday this coming week; and remember, not everyone knows it’s Christmas Time, and not everyone knows that someone cares. Let your gift be one of support, generosity, and kindness during this holiday season and, more importantly, throughout the New Year.

 

Ahh, Winter is here… It’s not the rain or gloomy days that signals it’s winter for me, it’s the smell of pumpkin pie cooking in the oven that does it. Okay, for the record, I actually grew up smelling sweet potato pie not pumpkin, but it’s the same right? There is a warm sensation that nutmeg and cinnamon creates as it crosses beneath the nose. It has a way of making you live in the moment, not acknowledging everything that went wrong yesterday or thinking of what you have to do tomorrow—All that matters is right now.

As we approach the start of the holiday season, I wanted to share with you the fond memories it holds for me. Ever since I was a little boy, the holidays for me started with the Thanksgiving holiday. Perhaps, it may even be my favorite holiday of the year. Family together, all the burners on the stove covered with pots and pans, and the oven continuously on. Mom cooking two pies at a time, one batch after the next in her avocado green oven that smoked like a chimney when the pies bubbled over.

As a child, for days leading up to Thanksgiving, I remember the dining room table covered with sweet potatoes pies, apple pies, and pecan pies. In addition to the pies, there was bread pudding with a lemon sauce, and rows and rows of sugar cookies. I guess I should explain that in our house there were six boys, and my one and only sister. My older brothers were all football players and there was always an extra linebacker or two at the house on any given day, so it all got eaten.

On Thanksgiving morning, I remember my mom getting up super early to get her turkey in the oven and brought to the table by five o’ clock. By the time I got up, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Days Parade was almost over, and the house was fully alive. Relatives came for the holidays, someone always had a friend or two that spent the night, and a neighbor or two that my dad had invited over for the day when he found out they would be spending it alone. On that day, because mom started cooking early, it was the one day when we got pie for breakfast. We could eat anything, just stay out of moms way. Her menu for the day was always the same, and we counted on it: Turkey, glazed pineapple ham, yams, collard greens, black-eyed peas and rice, gravy, fresh cranberries, and rolls.

With the football game on tv turned up way too loud, our den was full all day. My dad in his Laz-E-Boy recliner, and my brothers claiming their spot on the couch and loveseat. Of course, my spot always came down to the floor and a donated pillow from the couch. As everyone yelled and screamed at their players on tv, I was discreetly admiring the many chiseled bodies running up and down the field. On commercials, whoever left the room became the butt of any jokes that flew around the room. Laughing and joking, I quietly made my way into the vacant seat as if I was claiming it.

When the person reentered the room, all it took was a light pat on my back and that was my clue to move. They all made me get up with the exception of my brother Conrad. “C-rad,” as we called him, went on to play college ball, and was offered a trial with the Cincinnati Bengals. He would rub his hand over the top of my head and smile, then squeeze down in his seat next to me. He was so much more than a great football player, to me, he was a Star. May he R.I.P.

Now many years later, my father has also passed on as well. Brian and I have taken over hosting the holiday festivities. In the coming days family will be here, the fireplace crackling, the oven on, and the football game too loud. We are building those same memories with our nieces and grand nieces, nephews, and extended family who come to share the holiday with us. They will surely drive me crazy just as we did with our parents, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Mom’s turning eighty this year, and will still be making those pies two at a time. I suppose just like my father did, I will smile at the table and shake my head at all the pies asking myself, who’s going to eat all these pies? AND, when did I become my father? Other than the pies, these days mom mostly just supervises all of us in the kitchen; her recipes long passed down, our traditional menu very much the same. The smells of nutmeg and cinnamon still fills the air and the house is full of laughter. By the end of the long weekend, our house will grow quiet again… but only for a month, for Christmas will be here and we’ll do it all again.

One morning I took a few minutes to read a comment someone posted in one of my writer’s groups on FB. In part, they were asking how long, and how many books, does it take before they could quit their day job and support their family as an author. At last count, there were over fifty responses to the question from many authors who were actually qualified to answer the question.

What I read from the many who responded was that it took writing two to three books a year, for several years before they were successful in terms of making money. I also noticed that several of those authors now have 20, 30, and even 40 books published.

DAMN, I could live 250 years and never write that many books! I knew I was a slow writer, but come on now. I thought I would be doing well if I could keep the pace of a new book every 12 to 16 months.

Initially, this post sent me over the edge, forcing me to take a look at my end goal. Was the purpose to write or to publish? Am I writing for me or for you? Just what the heck am I doing and why? Three years ago when I decided to get serious about my writing it came out of the sheer enjoyment of writing a story. I had fun creating characters in a fictitious world that mimic’s the world we live in. For me, it was the same as going into the changing room at a department store and trying on outfit after outfit and loving them all. Of course, you can’t have them all so you start mixing and matching to pull out the best pieces that would give you the most creativity from the few pieces that you are taking home with you. I found that I can not only do this with the characters, but the land in which the characters live in as well. I could put the city of San Francisco anywhere in the world.

So after publishing my first novel back in 2014, I learned that people wanted more. The question most readers ask themselves after discovering a new author is, “what else do they have, I want to read another!”

Well I didn’t have another to give you so guess what? I found my audience moving on, to find their next book. Well since you liked my first book, Ancient House of Cards, why not give you another and then another?

At the time, I was working full-time winding down my first career. I knew I was getting ready to retire and up to that point, I really had no idea what I was going to do after retirement to stay busy. After much thinking, I enthusiastically decided that I would write, publish books, and keep the old mind engaged. It was never about making money, becoming famous or establishing myself in the literary world; it was simply to keep busy.

I got to know other authors and the writing community, I found that over time within me was a growing sense of panic, that I should be keeping up with the Jones’, writing faster, and trying to publish more frequently than the planned every 12 to 16 months.

If I’m going to be honest, I found myself a little depressed, reevaluating if writing/publishing was something I still wanted to do. I can’t write three books a year nor do I want to. Those authors that do, I believe are gifted, polished in the profession. Me—I’m retired, and new to the writing industry. What I want, is to have fun, bringing entertainment to you in the form of books. Saying that does make me feel a little guilty, and less of an author, that somehow I’m not serious about this. But I am; I am very serious about delivering a quality product to my readers, one worthy of being published and bought.

Realizing this and saying it aloud helps me to focus on the goal at hand, and that is to just write. Stop worrying about what other authors are doing or not doing, I don’t have to keep pace with them. I love what I’m doing, and that’s writing from the heart. Although it’s fiction, my stories are very personal, developed from my past and how I see the world today. I have plans for many books in the coming years, stories that I can’t wait to deliver to you. This is a journey for me, an exciting time in life that I get to share with you. Now that makes me happy.

This month I did two events designed to help others who always wanted to write a book, but were not sure where to start.

Writing a book can be both exciting and daunting, and surely won’t just happen overnight. It takes months or for some, even years to get the story down the way you like it. Trust me when I say this; this is the fun part, letting the imagination control the pen (okay keyboard) and writing a story.

Earlier this month, I was a guest on the show ‘CENTRAL VALLEY TODAY’ on KSEE 24. One of the questions the host, Alex Delgado asked me was, “What would I tell an aspiring author who wants to write a book?”

I always tell everyone the same answer! Just start writing, and don’t stop until the story is done. Stop worrying about how to do it correctly and just write the story. It doesn’t matter how bad the first draft is, it’s only a draft. Think of it like baking a cake. Your first draft is just laying out your INGREDIENTS on the counter.
When writing your first draft DO NOT edit or proof read it, this will slow down the creative process. You should just be writing and letting those juices flow, and of course have fun!

 

So now you got that first draft done, you wrote the story. No worries on how long it is, this will change. It’s an unfinished cake, you haven’t decorated it yet so stop being so critical of your work. You might want to share your work with everyone, but don’t! It’s really not that good yet, trust me.

At this point, read what you wrote, edit it, move things around, add, delete, research, fact check, and clean your manuscript up. You’re not trying to finalize it; you are just shaping it up here. During this process you will spend a great deal of time thinking instead of writing and this is okay.

Once you’re done with this first edit, it is time to hand it over to someone (an Alpha Reader) who you trust to read it and give you honest feedback. Someone not afraid to piss you off. Ask them to read it, edit it, and write down their constructive criticisms on the WIP (Work In Progress). You’ve done your job, now let them do theirs.
When you receive it back, don’t argue any points with your Alpha Reader, just listen. Change what you want and leave the rest, but listen to them.

Now rewrite the draft with any changes. After your done, this is when you either send it to a professional Editor and/or several of your friends (at least five people) who are called Beta Readers.

A Beta Reader can also be someone you know and trust that a good understanding of grammar. They can assist you with nailing down errors in the book and making more changes.

The second event I did this month was a panel discussion at the Book Barn in Clovis, CA. The panel discussed the many details in what it took to write the first novel.

One of the questions asked was what is the hardest thing about writing? Although I had many answers to this question, by far the hardest for me is giving my characters an individual voice, distinct, so clear that you know who is talking without me telling you ‘John said’. Have you ever read a book and you didn’t know who was talking, who the dialogue belonged to; that’s what I’m talking about. You as a writer will meet your own challenges, view it as such and not a roadblock. Master the challenge by going over your drafts, asking yourself, did I master the challenge? If not, then pepper it into the draft piece by piece until it’s just right.

Now your story is done and you’re ready to either send it off to potential publishers or self-publish… what, you don’t know how to do that either? Okay, no worries, subscribe to the newsletter and stay tuned so you don’t miss information on that next step.

Let’s Get Started!

You might remember your mother telling you when you were a child; “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never hurt you.”       Well she lied!

Words do hurt, and if heard enough times over and over, they will leave an internal scar, that can last a lifetime.

As a child, I was often teased for my blond hair and light skin. (Yes, I really did have blond hair) Other kids called me ‘Cornbread’ because they said my skin tone matched the color of Cornbread. If they were really mean, they called me an Albino. This usually got their asses kicked by my big sister, but the words still hurt. 

In High School, I had a Guidance Counselor once tell me that a Vocational School after high school might be a better choice than college. Mind you, I was a ‘B’ average African American student from a middle class family, in a predominantly white school.

In my Law Enforcement career, I worked as an Internal Affairs Investigator and was told repeatedly that Officer’s couldn’t trust me because I was no longer one of them. They said that I worked for Administration and somehow by holding them accountable to standards and policy, I was against them.

I read not too long ago in a colleague’s blog that he was actually thinking about quitting his writing career because some of the ‘meanness’ that goes on within our industry.

So do you really believe words can’t hurt, that you just need to develop a thicker skin, not be so sensitive? We live in a society that thinks it’s okay to say whatever you want. That this is your ‘right’. As an effect Cyber bullying is on the rise. Some people love to do nothing more than show off their self-imagined intelligence by being critical in a comment or thread. To be super critical of someone else’s creative work gives them power they seem to think. They are not creators, not original, not powerful, they are simply commentators.

I have learned that in our cyber world if you disagree with someone’s post, just keep your mouth shut and keep scrolling. You are not required to reply to everyone’s post or comment. Don’t be mean, don’t make an ass of yourself, and don’t be a Cyber Bully. If you wouldn’t say it to their face in a conversation (usually because you realize it is rude, inappropriate, or hurtful) then don’t write it!

 

As most of you already know, I write Male/Male Romance with real emotions that represents a moral dilemma that the characters face in pursuit of love. In Ancient House of Cards, Ian dealt with his own mother’s bigotry and Father Sebastian had to contend with the homophobic realities of the Church. In Before Sunrise, the bigotry and bullying was a reflection of what is currently playing out on college campuses every day, discreetly and not so discreetly. My current Work-In-Progress (WIP) deals with the issues of moral dilemma as well.

There is not a single person in the world that doesn’t know how it feels to be hurt, so knowing how it feels, I cannot comprehend why someone would deliberately hurt others. It’s not that hard to be kind. A lack of compassion and understanding of a world beyond one’s own eyes is not human. Isn’t that what separates us from non-humans?

The Dalai Lama once said-“This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness”.

What happened to common decency, the golden rule of ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’?” When did it become okay to just say whatever you wanted without concern? I live by a simple rule- Is it helpful; is it inspiring; is it necessary; is it kind? This is what I try to ask myself daily, my guide, my leash on my own ‘Big Mouth’.

Be Kind, it’s not that hard to do, and you will reap the cosmic rewards.

 

If you’ve enjoyed this month’s blog, drop me a comment on Facebook.

As always, thank you for your support.

HOPE

Written by Bryan T. Clark

Published First in the Advent Devotional Booklet 2015

The definition of Hope–A feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.

I Hope that mankind will understand one day that we are here for such a short period of time, and that we use this time to understand and pass on the true meaning of life. That our own actions are born from love. I Hope that you see even your enemy as your brother and sister and treat them as such. 

When that reckless driver cuts you off, fails to yield to you, or ignores your request to merge over, look to that driver as your brother, sister or elderly parent. How would you want someone to react to your love ones? And then act accordingly.

Despite the fact we are bombarded with negativity from all sides, Hope does exist. The very cries of those losing their power over others, their stolen wealth not rising as fast as it did in years past, and personal agendas being contested. They feel the pinch and it hurts, so they cry out. These are all sounds that the ‘Wheels of Justice’ are in fact turning.

Their cries give me Hope, Hope that one day their cries will be heard no more. That mankind will no longer look at what they have, but at what they can give away. That one day we will understand that none of it is really ours to keep, but to use to enrich others less fortunate.

The ability to have Hope is what separates us from other species on earth.  Hope is what moves us forward. As a poet, I leave you with this:

SHE RAN

Written by Bryan T. Clark

Copyright protected

 

To be beat no more

She ran

 

With a child on her back

She followed a star

 

They say to the north

But with dogs on her heels

She cried to the Lord

 

The Berlin wall falls

They were suppressed and hungry

While their government stood by

 

Public execution in the streets of Iran

For those that speak out

Means their death no doubt

 

Stones flying in the air while tanks stand by

Korean’s ready to die as their dictator sits by

We sanction the wrongs

Of their Mr. Kim Yong

 

She runs past it all

And continues to run

In search of equality

And a hope to be free

 

She ran