Do you ask people this question? I try to be very careful with this inquiry. Especially with older women. After more than seven decades of life, I have several ways to respond.
You are as old as you feel. If I used that today, I would have to set the chronology in the range of the eighties. After bypass surgery, it requires many weeks to recover. Pain, inability to do simple tasks, and having to be careful not to rip out stiches, it ages one.
You are as old as you act. Want to feel younger? Join some younger folks in their activities. Simply be sure not to participate in anything too strenuous for you. Working as a sponsor for youth activities keeps me young.
You are as old as you want to be. When we were kids, we wanted to be older. Fourteen-year-olds want to be sixteen. Seventeen-year-olds wish they were eighteen. Shortly after you turn twenty-one, it all reverses. Every ten years we want to erase that decade.
Pick the age you liked the best and proceed to consider that is where you will be the rest of your life. Don’t complain when the birthday gifts stop. You asked for it. A friend of mine began celebrating the anniversary of her thirty-ninth birthday. Which one do you want to substitute?
You are as old as you think you are. Refer to the last paragraph. You may want to rethink this one. It is best to embrace where you are. I have outlived my oldest brother and Father. I have some more years to go before I surpass Mom. I hope I will be like her and live every minute to its fullest, but not fear the next chapter of my life.
Is there something that you wanted to do and have not accomplished yet? As I was approaching my sixtieth birthday, I began publishing these columns. I noticed how many were about my family, experiences, and life as a workplace minister. In college, I began studying Greek and Hebrew.
I learned that Doulos meant servant and was sometimes translated as slave. One of the significant scriptures where it appears is Romans 1:1. Paul describes himself as a slave to Christ. As I examined what I had been writing and publishing, I decided to write a memoir and named it “Doulos.”
That was over ten years ago, and I have yet to publish another book. This year, I have set a goal of publishing at least two more books. They are “The Inedible Credible Egg” and “Cosmic Flatulence.” Keep reading and see where we go with these books. I believe you will like what you read.
He told them he’d found water that boiled without fire and forests made of stone. They called him a liar. Every word was true.
St. Louis, 1822. An 18-year-old orphan named Jim Bridger worked in a blacksmith shop for pennies. No education. No family. No future anyone could see.
Then he saw a newspaper advertisement that would rewrite his entire existence: “Enterprising Young Men” wanted for a fur trapping expedition into the Rocky Mountains. Pay. Uncertain return. Possible death.
Jim Bridger had nothing to lose and everything to prove. He signed his name and walked away from the only life he’d known.
What followed was nearly six decades of exploration that would make him the most knowledgeable man in America about a landscape most Americans couldn’t even imagine.
Around 1824, young Bridger and fellow trappers followed Utah’s Bear River to discover where it ended. When Bridger reached an enormous body of water stretching beyond sight, he knelt at the shore and tasted it.
Salt. Intense, bitter salt.
He’d reached the Pacific Ocean—or so he believed. He was magnificently wrong. He’d discovered the Great Salt Lake, one of the western hemisphere’s largest saltwater lakes, sitting impossibly in the middle of the desert. He was the first non-Native person to document it.
But that discovery was merely his opening act.
In the late 1820s, Bridger ventured into the Yellowstone region. What he witnessed there defied reality itself.
Water exploding from the earth in columns hundreds of feet high. Pools of boiling liquid in every color imaginable. Mud that bubbled like cooking stew. Entire forests of trees turned completely into stone. Ground trembled. Air that smelled of sulfur.
When Bridger returned to civilization and described what he’d seen, the response was universal: laughter.
They called him “Old Gabe the Liar.” Journalists mocked his “tall tales.” Even fellow mountain men questioned whether he’d lost his mind.
He hadn’t invented a single detail. He’d simply witnessed Yellowstone four decades before it would become America’s first national park—before the nation was ready to accept that such a place could exist on Earth.
Every impossible thing he described was real. The world just wasn’t ready to believe him.
For twenty years, Bridger lived as a mountain man, surviving conditions that killed most men within weeks. He learned six Native languages fluently. He married into the Flathead tribe, later marrying twice more after tragedy. He became legendary for reading weather, tracking game, and navigating terrain with supernatural precision.
When the beaver fur market collapsed in the 1840s, Bridger adapted instantly. Thousands of emigrants were beginning the desperate journey west. They needed help.
In 1843, he and his partner, Louis Vasquez, constructed Fort Bridger in southwestern Wyoming. For a decade, that fort served as a critical rest stop where pioneer families could repair wagons, buy supplies, and gather strength before the final brutal push to Oregon or California.
Thousands of lives were saved at Fort Bridger.
As westward expansion accelerated, Bridger became irreplaceable. Military expeditions needed guides who knew every mountain pass. Railroad surveyors needed someone who’d walked every mile of potential routes. Scientific expeditions needed the man who’d accumulated thirty years of geographical knowledge that existed nowhere else.
He guided expeditions well into his sixties, even as his eyesight deteriorated—the price of decades under relentless sun and blinding snow reflecting off endless white peaks.
Think about the difference between these two concepts. A shadow is what you see when the light is blocked. Reflections are what we see when the light bounces off a reflective surface. It is reversed. Look deeper.
Another difference between the two is that a shadow has little definition of an image. Reflections may be well-defined or not. We think of reflections as being seen in a mirror, but they can be seen in other reflective surfaces like shiny metal or water.
I enjoy seeing the reversed image of the sky in a pond or lake and have even tried to duplicate this effect in landscapes that I have attempted to learn to paint. Bob Ross was always much better at this than I am currently. I continue to follow his tutelage in hopes that I can approve.
There are recordings from the 1960s that I recall from my top forty listening days called “Silhouettes on the Shade.” This is a shadow caused by a light inside that is formed on a solid surface or even a window shade. In this song, a guy thinks he sees another guy kissing his girl. I like the humorous twist in the last verse.
Speaking of reflections, I always like to ask folks if they’ve ever looked in the mirror and seen their parents watching them. I am not speaking of ghosts or spirits, but I mean it to be a funny way of asking if they believe that they look like their parents. Some will say that they do not, and others have never noticed one way or the other.
That makes me think of the question, “Are you becoming your parent?” I think that depends on whether you think they are decent human beings. I used to have reasons that I did not want to be like mine in certain ways. I have overcome their influence in some areas of life and failed in others.
Are you a reflection of your parents or only in their shadow? I once thought that I had surpassed my mother and father in many ways. For many years, I have seen that I am learning to reflect their values in new and different ways.
They were members of labor unions and voted a straight democratic ticket. This taught me to view each candidate for their own opinions. The decisions they make might not be good for me personally, but they need to be of benefit to most of us. Votes that are self-seeking are not good decisions.
When I was in college, I took a job at the factory where Mom worked. After ninety days, I would have to join the union. I told my mother that I would not stay that long and would give my notice before that happened. The closer that day came, the more I told her that I would never work in a factory again.
I have worked in several factories but never in one that was a union shop. I understand a lot about why some believe they are good and why management does not appreciate them. My biggest problem with labor organizations is their inability to allow dedicated employees to go beyond expectations.
I reflect my parents’ loyalty to their jobs and cast a shadow on ignoring individuality in everyone. We need to become who we and our Lord wants us to be without getting in the way of anyone else. God bless your reflections, and let others step out of your shadow.
I have a problem with so-called reality shows. Can there be a survivor when no one dies? Everyone on the show is a survivor. The title should be Survivors. Big Brother just shows a group of people whose every move is recorded. And they know it. Keep in mind that a reality TV show may not have a script, even though each participant has an agenda.
They write their own scripts. I create dialogue as every writer does. Often it is done in our heads. Sometimes we write it down. Other times, we save it until we can use it at the appropriate time. I have certain lines I like to use. If you say, “That drives me crazy,” I reply, “That’s not a drive it’s a short putt.”
Saying that there is no written script for these shows does not make them reality. If you want reality, put together a program made of 100% security videos where all or most of those on camera do not realize they are being recorded. The problem with this is that it would be eavesdropping and therefore illegal.
If you want true drama, comedy, and spontaneity you should watch game shows. Especially the daytime ones where there are few questions that could be studied ahead of time. Jeopardy and the other knowledge related shows can be rehearsed with many different types of questions.
I think shows like that require the contestants to try out and prove that they will not stand there with a dumb look on their faces. Shows such as “Let’s Make a Deal” or “The Price is Right” allow people to act however they want and they encourage weird and unusual behavior.
The question I have about these folks is that they always look at the audience to receive help. Especially on Drew Carey’s program it appears to me that they select contestants that cannot or will not make their own decisions. When Wayne Bradey asks his players about their jobs, very few are managers that are required to know how to make split second decisions.
Even the women who look like they know the prices of groceries seem to know little about cars, vacations, or electronics. The men that shop for these products seem not to buy their own groceries, snacks or drinks, that’s why they are always looking at wives or girlfriends in the audience.
I’ve noticed some actual reality on these games. Some use their minds to weigh the odds and not take chances that are almost always easy to predict as losers. That brings me to another long-time contest called “Wheel of Fortune.” This is supposed to be like the brain busters with a gambling twist.
When someone risks their turn and what money they already have for the chance at a ten-thousand-dollar wedge which they never get to claim I cringe. LMAD also thrives on those who are into taking chances. I don’t understand risking a twenty-five-thousand-dollar car for a one out of three chance of gaining a prize that is not that expensive. I guess not everyone in LA drives.
“I was doing eighty on the highway because the Vice Principal said my second grader was caught “distributing contraband” in the cafeteria. I thought he had drugs. I was wrong. It was pepperoni.
I walked into the administrative office still wearing my work boots, drywall dust on my jeans. The secretary looked at me like I was going to track mud on her carpet. I didn’t care. I just wanted to see Leo.
I found him sitting on the “Cool Down Chair” in the corner of Vice Principal Miller’s office. He didn’t look scared. He didn’t look guilty. He looked confused. His hands were folded in his lap, and there was a smudge of tomato sauce on his chin.
“Mr. Russo, thank you for coming so quickly,” Mrs. Miller said. She was a nice enough woman, usually, but today she had the posture of a steel beam. “We have a zero-tolerance policy regarding the exchange of food items. It’s a liability issue. Allergies. Sanitary concerns. We simply cannot have students passing food around like… like it’s a free-for-all.”
She slid a discipline across the desk. Incident: Unauthorized distribution of lunch materials. Defiance of cafeteria protocol.
“He gave away his lunch?” I asked, looking at Leo. “That’s why I’m missing a half-day of pay? Because he gave away a slice of pizza?”
“It’s not just the pizza, Mr. Russo. It’s the defiance,” she sighed, adjusting her glasses. “The lunch monitor instructed Leo to keep his food to himself. He refused. He insisted on giving half to a classmate, Samuel. When told to stop, Leo argued with the monitor.”
I turned to my son. “Leo, buddy. Look at me. Why did you do that? You know you’re supposed to eat your own lunch.”
Leo looked up, his big brown eyes filled with frustration that seemed too heavy for a seven-year-old.
“Sam didn’t have a tray, Dad,” Leo said. His voice was small but steady.
“What do you mean?”
“It was Pizza Friday,” Leo explained, as if that explained everything. In elementary school, it basically did. “Sam got in line, but when he got to the register, the lady took his tray away. She threw the pizza in the trash bin behind her and gave him the cold cheese sandwich in the plastic bag. She said his account was ‘in the red.'”
I felt a tightening in my chest. I knew that term. I knew the ‘Cheese Sandwich of Shame.’ It happens when parents forget to load the lunch account or when money is tight.
“Sam started crying,” Leo continued. “He didn’t want the cold sandwich. He was hungry. So, I broke my pizza in half. I gave him the big piece.”
“And then?” I asked.
“Then the monitor came over and took it away from Sam. She threw that piece away, too. She said I was breaking the safety rules.” Leo pointed a small finger at the wall behind Mrs. Miller’s desk. “She said rules are rules.”
I looked where he was pointing.
Directly behind the Vice Principal’s head was a massive, laminated poster, decorated with bright primary colors and cartoon stars. It was the school’s motto for the year.
KINDNESS MATTERS.
Below it, in smaller print: In a world where you can be anything, be kind.
Leo looked at me, then at Mrs. Miller. “Dad, I’m confused. The poster is big. The rule book is small. I thought the big poster was the boss.”
The room went silent. The air conditioner hummed. Mrs. Miller opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at the liability forms on her desk, then she turned around and looked at the poster she walked past every single morning.
The monitor said I was being bad,” Leo whispered. “But if I ate my pizza while Sam cried… wouldn’t that make me bad?”
Mrs. Miller took off her glasses. The corporate stiffness drained out of her shoulders. She was suddenly just a person in a room with a father and a son who had asked a question she couldn’t answer with a handbook.
“It’s a policy, Mr. Russo,” she said, her voice softer now, almost apologetic. “We have to protect the school from lawsuits. If Sam had an allergy…”
“Does Sam have an allergy?” I asked.
“No,” she admitted. “But we have to assume…”
“I know,” I cut her off. I stood up and pulled out my wallet. It was thin, but I had enough. “How much is Sam’s debt?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sam’s lunch account. How much is he in the red? Five bucks? Ten?”
“Mr. Russo, you don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. How much?”
She typed for a second. “Four dollars and fifty cents.”
I pulled out a twenty. “Clear it. And put the rest on Sam’s account for next week. And if Leo gives him a slice of pizza again, please just… look the other way.”
I didn’t wait for the change. I signed the disciplinary slip—admitting my son was a “disturbance”—and walked out with Leo holding my hand.
We walked to the truck in silence. I buckled him in.
“Am I in trouble, Dad?” Leo asked, looking at his knees. “I promise I won’t do it again.”
I started the engine and turned to him.
“Leo, look at me.”
He looked up, bracing for the lecture.
“You are not in trouble,” I said firmly. “You did the right thing. The school has its rules, and they must follow them to keep their jobs. But you have a heart, and you have to follow that to keep your soul.”
“But they threw the pizza away,” he said sadly.
“I know. Sometimes doing the right thing makes a mess. Do it anyway.”
We stopped at a pizza place on the way home. I bought two large pepperoni pies. One for us, and one for Leo to take to school on Monday, just in case.
As I watched him eat, getting sauce all over his face again, I realized something terrifying.
We spend eighteen years trying to program our kids to fit into the system, to sit still, to stay in line, to follow the handbook. We teach them that “compliance” is the same thing as “goodness.” But today, my seven-year-old showed me that sometimes, you must break the rules to keep the promise on the wall.
Civilization isn’t built on handbooks and liability waivers. It’s built on breaking your pizza in half when your friend is hungry.
If that’s a punishable offense, then I hope my son stays a criminal for the rest of his life.”
I found this on Facebook, and it was not accredited by any author. This is why we should never accept the authorities that claim something as they see it. Rules and manuals are just that. Kindness is a law of God. I think we all need to follow it. If this is your story, please advise me and I will reassign the copyright when you provide proof of authorship.
The only name you may recognize in this list is the Waltons. Earl Hamner, Jr. created this TV series that first aired in 1972. I graduated from high school in May of that year. The first episode of the Waltons aired on CBS television on September fourteenth of that year. You can say that my adult life began with this creation of Mr. Hamner.
This was not the first incarnation of this story by the author. “Spencer’s Mountain” was first published in 1961. He had begun his writing career as a script writer. His first short play that was produced was “The Hound of Heaven” that aired January 15, 1953, on The Kate Smith Show.
Spencer’s Mountain became a movie in 1963 starring Henry Fonda and Maureen O’Hara. The plots are similar. The characters are familiar from the Waltons series. This book was the story that John Boy wrote about his family. As writers, we are told to write what we know.
The character John Boy in the original book and movie was named Clay Boy after his father Clay Spenser, Sr. This makes me wonder if Earl Hamner, Jr., was called Earl Boy when he was growing up. He was the first one in a large family to go to college and become a writer.
Most of The Walton episodes were not written by Hamner. He was the Executive Producer and had final say on the scripts. While every story was not his he did make sure they were true to his concept of who his family was. As always, literary licenses were issued as needed.
Many of Hamner’s personal beliefs appear in these episodes. He was constantly exposing problems to those who were trying to take advantage of others. The Ballwin sisters, who were bootleggers, even though they did not know it, were not viewed as criminals. Blacks and orphans were seen as being oppressed.
Walton’s view of World War II was very much the way my mother remembered things as she was growing up at that time. Walton’s was a favorite of hers. She shared with me that many of the news reports of things that were occurring in Europe were viewed with doubt by her family as well.
Many of the story lines resonated with me. John Jr. wanted to be a writer and went to college to study. He was always writing a story or book. The season he purchased an old press and published his own newspaper was especially interesting to me.
The idea of living with grandparents was not that familiar and I was used to having two brothers and a sister at home. I sympathized with the Walton children when they wished they were only children. The different interests and occupations the family chose were as varied as my own. The main variation was that no one in my family became a musician or nurse.
My columns do follow a similar tack that John Boy followed by writing about the family and those things that happened to them. If you are like me and wish that the producers would come up with more family programming like this, at least with our current technology, we can watch these older shows on our streaming services. Happy watching, and I’ll share others that I have watched when they were new.
For those of you who have read my columns, you may know the answer to this question. Most of you do not. Doulos is the word in Greek that the apostle Paul uses in Romans 1:1 when he says, “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ.” Some translations use the term slave.
I accepted the call to be a full-time minister of the gospel in March of 1974. That means I have been on that road for over fifty years. At first, I thought He wanted me to be a pastor. After two years at Southwest Baptist College, I earned a degree in religion and wanted God to show me what to do next. Cindy and I were married, and He did not want me to go to seminary, which is the normal path for a pastor.
I took a part-time job while still in school and later went full-time with that company. I preached when I could, taught small groups, and ultimately became a deacon in our church. Cindy and I have worked together in the cup of cold-water ministry at the Ozark Empire Fair under the Greene County Baptist Association, as well as in other ministries.
It took me a few years to understand that my calling was not to a pulpit at a church, but to business, and I realized I was a workplace minister. This is what many of you are. We are all ministers in some way. Teachers, businesspeople, and even students can be workplace ministers. When I wrote my memoir ten years ago, the title Jesus gave me was Doulos.
Douloi must serve others. They do this in their marriages, families, and work lives. Have you noticed that this website is Douloigroup.org? When I decided to purchase my own URL, I felt led to name it after my book. I have at least two other books in progress with a version of this word in their names.
Douloi Marriage and Douloi Families are my ideas of how the concept of Christian service in marriage and family life can be incorporated into our lives. I include these ideas in my columns as I know many of you have noticed over the years. These books have written themselves in my life as I just lived it in Christ.
What has Jesus asked you to incorporate into your life as service to him and others? I’ve spent years as a friend and listener to everyone I have worked with for over fifty years now. Both at the companies I worked for and those that I encountered on the job.
If you would like to read the entire story, I have included Doulos in my premium materials that you can read by subscribing for one month for a dollar or a year for ten. The other manuscripts I am working on are also posted there. This subscription will also add you to my e-mail list so I can advise you of any book releases or special offers.
Have you ever seen this TV series from 2007 to 2012? I am going to tell you something that has never been published anywhere before now. This story is about me. It has been altered greatly from my true original story. I did not go to Stanford University or work as a computer nerd.
I do not know Chris Fedak or Josh Schwartz who are the creators of this show. How they were able to link this fictional tale to my name is beyond me. I do not want any royalties or profit from their scripts. Titles cannot be copy written and I have no claim against anyone for infringing upon my privacy.
Why do I say this series was based on my life? First it is my name. Then there is the beautiful woman that I am married to. The character of Sarah Walker and Cindy do not have the same hair color. Cindy has never worked for the CIA and the way we met was completely different from what the series shows.
My best friend at the time ended up being my best man at our wedding and surprisingly, they got the part correct that we worked together. They also got it right that I have a sister. They did leave out my two brothers. Neither of my parents were spies and they were at our wedding as well.
They also got it correct that I did not finish at the university where I started my degree program. However, I was not expelled, I transferred and did receive my diploma from another college. I also never let my girlfriend drive my company car, so she never wrecked it. I played video games but not much after Cindy and I began dating. As I recall, neither did Chuck after he met Sarah.
That is another way that the writers hit my story head on. I know that if they tried to stay closer to my real life it would have been boring. I am just glad that they did not make it a situation comedy. The dramedy genre was a much more flattering format.
I can just see if they had titled it everybody loves Chuck or according to Chuck. All the crazy stuff my brothers and sister and I did would not have been half as interesting as the scripts for those two shows. I do wish that one of the characters in M.A.S.H., the Waltons, or Dr. Quinn Medicine woman had been Chuck or Cindy. In that case the show I claimed as ours would have lasted a lot longer.
Is there a show that you wish you could claim was about your life? Comment below and tell me the similarities and the differences in yours. If no one comments I will know that I am still a unique individual. Happy watching.
As a writer, this was my right arm when I was taking journalism in high school. I started journalism classes in my junior year. To be ready, I took typing in my sophomore year. I knew I had to be able to compose a story while at the machine.
If you are not aware of what this contraption is, let me explain. Before computers, word processors, and smartphones, people used typewriters to type messages, letters, or other documents. You put a sheet of paper, like copy paper, onto a roll and type on a QWERTY-style keyboard.
Is that something else you do not understand? Computer keypads typically feature the QWERTY layout, with the first letters on the top line. That is the same as a typewriter. Most cell phones have the same onscreen configuration for typing messages. There are many things that we had to do back then that are not needed now.
I did not double-space at the end of each sentence now. It has taken me years to learn not to do that anymore. Over thirty years of writing takes a while to change habits. Another practice that I have not suspended is the -30- at the end of each article. I still end each column or story with that designation. I’ll show you what I mean at the end of this page.
Another thing we did was hit the return twice after each paragraph. I am happy that I do not need to load the paper onto that roll. One more blessing is the elimination of an eraser or whiteout to make corrections. Have you never used correction fluid? It is liquid paper in a bottle with a tiny brush inside the cap to block out ink on the page.
It was an essential office supply for my first thirty years in business. I was one of the few, the proud, purchasing agents who typed their own purchase orders and letters. Secretaries knew how to do this for most of us men in business. That was what my wife did for years in different companies.
I enjoy the fact that I can change manuscripts in many ways before putting them on a page. One beautiful thing about computers and phones is the ability to edit. Apps give features to add graphics, edit text, and even create videos. You will notice that these stories have videos or images that add to what I have written. I love adding songs or clips to illustrate what my article is about.
Technology is great. I am fortunate to have been one of those to grow up without digital media. When these devices fail, we know how to use other systems as a backup. I can dial a phone, write on paper, or even walk into a warehouse to check stock. This was what I did fifty years ago. I have not forgotten how to do these things.
Progress is wonderful. Knowing how to do it the old-fashioned way may someday come in handy. Read any modern dystopian science fiction story, and you will see a world where the only ones who survive are those who can live without our modern comforts. Even knowing how to move an outhouse every few weeks might be a skill we need. What is an outhouse? That is another column, or ask your granddad.
I’ve been a writer for over sixty years. I do not remember ever having writer’s block. I developed a habit in grade school of writing what I wanted when I wanted to. Most of my teachers were just happy that I never asked what to write about. It was usually “write about something that happened to you or something that you are interested in.”
In junior high my teachers were more demanding. I had to write fiction or non-fiction, essays, or reports. Often, I would start more than one paper. If they wanted a particular piece but gave no restriction on the topic, I might write two or three different items. The day before it was due I had to choose which would be submitted.
More than one educator would suggest that we submit an additional paper for extra credit. I was always prepared for that. The fun thing about doing this was that often when a new assignment was given, I had at least one written that could be used.
In high school it became more difficult. Each paper had the maximum and minimum number of words required. Topics were more difficult to choose because the requirements were more restrictive. When I began taking journalism I continued to write multiples of each assignment.
News stories, editorials, features, and even sports articles seemed to come easily. My feature articles were the ones that were accepted most often. News items were not as well accepted. Sports was definitely not my bailiwick. When the staff for the paper senior year was announced, I was the page three feature editor.
Page one was the editor, page two the associate editor and of course page four was sports. Two photographers were chosen as well. Other jobs like yearbook staff were also filled. Our sponsor told us she made the decisions based on our strengths.
Senior year I wrote pieces that appeared on each page including page four. When we selected a theme for the feature page for each week everyone in all the classes were asked to write columns for each issue. Our teacher selected articles from the ones I gave to her. I submitted only one of mine to insert for each edition. We did not submit copy with bylines to prevent preferential treatment.
Each issue featured a bylined piece of mine on at least one page. Photographs from my camera also appeared in the paper and the yearbook. I had editorials that were requested on certain topics for specific issues. These were published with no acknowledgement of authorship.
My skills included interviews which were a mainstay of page three. If no one in the classes volunteered for these stories, they were handed to the feature editor. I spent a lot of time interviewing the principal and most of the staff. Today my favorite joke is to tell people that I was in the principal’s office at least three times a week. I just don’t tell them why I was there.
In my files I have close to a hundred ideas or partial columns. I have been gathering these for over ten years. Each piece I publish may be written completely within the last few days. Others are finished after they have sat in the files for as much as three years or more.
I hope that this has helped you with ways to avoid the dreaded writer’s block syndrome. I always tell young authors that the only way to learn how to write is to write. It always works for me. Tell me if I publish something that you think should have stayed in the file a while longer and gotten more polish.
Charles (Chuck) Kensinger 