Honea Express

Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Popular thought suggests that there is a spark inside all of us. Personal experience is that some shine brighter than others. That doesn’t devalue anyone. It just is. Accept it or change it. It’s your spark.

Mine twists like a lighthouse in a windstorm. It is either lost through waves of bourbon or cutting through so much fog to find you like a spotlight. When I shine I want you to shine with me. It is lonely at the top.

We live in a land of opportunity. The cobblestones are plated gold. The dust a blend of pixie. But dreams are not granted to the masses. We must walk uphill in every way, knocking on doors and selling our wares and what passes for awareness. Don’t sell yours short. The highest bid is often the most careless.

And there are dark doors that figuratively represent whatever you need them to. Literally they are but hinged barriers to the path ahead. The light from the other side glows like a burning picture frame. It is an invitation. It is a warning. It has a handle that only needs to be turned.

Opening doors is why steps are taken.

It may require pause. New paths are hard to start and old paths end too quickly. The scene from the doorstep is of rolling hills and promise. My feet are tired and anxious. There is a stack of shoes in the foyer, each covered in potential and glowing with dust (the smaller shoes shine the brightest). The surrounding floor grows sterile and absent as it stretches down the hallway. I cannot remember if I am coming or going. I am paused, and I am wondering where to put my foot down.

Some look to the heavens when they have nowhere else to turn. Some look there first. I look up and I see stars that stretch forever. I find more perspective than answers.

Perhaps it is the time of year. Perhaps it is the wind in your hair. Life is a dance of wonder and melancholy, and each step brings a gasp, each spin leaves a smile. We are tussled and chapped, and the deeper the dip the more we feel alive.

Perhaps decisions are best made when we don’t know that we are making them. We are lost in the movement. We are paused before doorways. We are always looking for a better place.

That is what I am doing here, writing in circles and wasting language best spent on documents and deadlines — thirsty words wandering from waterhole to wonder and always with the stars in their eyes, always with the day’s dust behind them.

Popular thought suggests that there is a spark inside all of us. Mine is helping to keep us warm, and perhaps that is enough of a wonder for anyone.

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Photo by ImaRawkStar

The thing about winning a major award without any sort of advanced notice is that you’re often caught with your virtual pants down and something difficult to explain in your hand. Seriously, have you ever tried to explain the perfect glass of bourbon? It’s not easy.

So it was that I received an email announcing that I, or rather this site, was ranked in Babble’s Top 50 Dad Blogs, while Honea Express was sitting here neglected, loading funny, and covered in reviews.

Still is.

However, being listed is pretty nice, especially since I haven’t been posting here nearly enough. It happens.

I’d like to say thanks to Babble, and more importantly, thanks to you. If it wasn’t for you nobody would give a crap what I did in this space, and I appreciate that every day.

I suppose this is kind of a lame post to have up on the blog now that I’m getting ones and ones of extra traffic, but I’m tired, Tom Waits is on the radio, and I’m thinking about drinking in the dark until the night takes me home.

This is what winning looks like, people.

I don’t think any of my other parent/professional blogging was taken into consideration for the list, but that’s what pays the bills, so if you have a moment please click below:

Kids Should Skip School (The Stir)

In Defense of Boys (DadCentric)

Occupy Childhood: Invest in Futures (BabyCenter)

Parenting on a Budget (BabyCenter)

Halloween and Other Scary Things (BabyCenter)

 Top 5 Superhero Movies of ALL TIME (JoeShopping)

Maker of “Word With Friends” to Launch Gaming for Acquaintances (Insert Eyeroll)

Thanks for all that voodoo you do, so well.

We passed the flags flying halfway up. Waves of people walked alongside us. Some found themselves caught in sudden bursts of empathy, while others never even gave a glance. The flags carried on regardless.

Ten years since it happened. Ten more birthdays for my stepfather. Ten more anniversaries of the day that my grandparents wed — no longer a celebration of their moment, but now the deepest part of the deepest hole where my grandfather buries his loneliness.

September 11 is many things to many people. The day is marred with beginnings and ends and the stories of those still between.  It is like any other day, but only more so.

I can’t remember when I first wrote the string of words floating below, but I meant them and I called them a poem despite the broken form and blatant disregard for any thought of structure. Consider the chaos a reflection of it. Consider the typed words as a sterile version of those that once fell across a bourbon-soaked bar napkin, left to ripen in the forgotten pocket of some seldom-worn jacket. Consider them what you will, for yours is the freedom to do so.

On a September day
when school bells rang,
and leaves entertained thoughts
of leaving –
things went wrong in a world
that was much more right
than we ever thought it was.
On a September day
when the bells rang
for the dying.

People often ask me what it is I like to do in my free time. To which I say, mind your own freaking business. If I wanted you to know about it I would put it on the blog. Or Twitter. Or Facebook. But probably not Google Plus.

But then it dawned on me that I do not have a moment of free time, hence my inability to answer. Sure, some might say that writing a blog post is “free time” and I get that, but I’m just taking a break from writing something for money. That’s a job, people. Some smoke on their breaks, I blog. Also, pornography.

Basically, I wanted to touch base with you, the reader(s), and let each and every single one one of you know that I truly appreciate your kindness in what was (and continues to be) a very tough time for us. But we’re making due and getting by, and the good (deity of your choice) willing, maybe we’ll win a few games.

I’ve been keeping busy. Limey Yank Productions is a full-time job without all the hassle of benefits or paychecks, and I’ve been posting random bits of parenting woes and whoas all over the designated play area of the Internet. I’m also trying something new: humor. It’s like funny.

My wife is enjoying her new job, the boys like their new school (the youngest started kindergarten last week!) and the dogs seem happy to be happy. I don’t know what the hell the cats are up to.

And in the meantime life is bits of love and leisure wrapped tightly between inboxes and deadlines. We spend our days working and our nights trying to catch up. The boys bounce barefoot from beach to branch, leaving a trail of sand-covered Magnolias in their wake.  The days fly by us like we’re standing still, but we are moving fast in all directions.

The wind is a chorus of whispers and promise. Free time is but a kite in the distance.

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Thank you for reading.

And here are the links I couldn’t fit into the paragraphs above. You’re welcome:

Atticus and the Lion King 3D Premiere (video)

Public schools outlawing peanuts

Disney’s D23 Expo recaps, Day 1 and Day 2

It starts with an email. Then there is a phone call. You might get some training on their system. There are some guidelines. You print out a contract and some tax forms, sign them, and email them back to sender. You write your first post. Maybe there is some feedback. Maybe you just keep logging on, doing what you were told, and you never hear from anyone. Your inbox may be full of jokes and community. Your comments may be full of hate and ignorance. You hope there is a check, and you hope they keep coming.

Other sites like what you do. They want your name, your talent, and your Klout score. They offer you various levels of pay and flexibility. The money is never good, but sometimes it is just enough. At some point you are able to cut the strings to a day job you have always hated and you spend the next five years working from home, writing for a living, and loving your children for stretches of time that you never knew existed. This is your benefits package, and it is everything you need but medical.

It could be you are in a new town and your wife has a new job. This is the fresh start you always read about. You might be staying with friends while you are trying to find the perfect home. There are big plans and family dreams and finally, it is the time to seize them.  Everything could be coming up roses. Everything could smell just as sweet. But everything is full of thorns, and pretty flowers tend to mask the dangers lurking underneath.

Perhaps you are standing barefoot in the cool grass of your friend’s yard, holding a phone to your ear and straining to hear the words that are changing your life forever. Perhaps it is the third straw in as many months, and it breaks your camel’s back accordingly.

It ends with an email. There might be a phone call: It’s not you, it’s me. We’re letting go of everyone. We’re revamping the system. We’re going in a new direction. We need someone that will do twice your work for half your price. We love your writing.

And then the checks stop coming.

It could be that things will be okay, except that your well has run dry and you are so frozen with fear that you cannot coax your drive out of park. In a moment your big plans and family dreams are reduced to the facts: you are as good as unemployed and you do not have a home.

Your options are few, but options are all you have. Options are the rope that life likes to dangle like so many participles: a noose, a lifeline, a tug of war, and things you are at the end of. Life has a twisted sense of humor.

Maybe you look in the mirror and you see your children laughing through your reflection, and all you know is that they do not deserve this.  Your hair is thin and it is growing grayer.