Many, many years ago in a different incarnation of myself a friend and youth pastor’s wife said I have the “gift of gab.” I wasn’t sure if her words were a compliment or not but then they had been prefaced with “…you’re born to be a preacher because you have….” The preacher part I got over. The gift, however, remains. Some people write because they’re not bad at it–or someone has told them they’re not bad at it–and manage to make a living doing it. Some people write to clear their mind, to persuade people to believe something, or for other reasons. Writers, however, such as myself, are compelled to write. We have a gift–or curse–that forces our hands to a keyboard (in the old days we’d use a quill and ink). We must write. I must write. I cannot help myself.
Even though I go on hiatus sometimes, for years even, from trying to earn a living or simply make a few bucks at it, I still must write. I write blogs, invent websites, write letters to the editor, start novels that don’t get finished, whatever it is I must write something! Nobody understands why I must write except, maybe, those who are like myself. The internet is littered with little word collections assembled by yours truly. Some stuff I have no recollection of writing. Some I’m sure I would like to remove. This blog and this effort is simply one episode in a life of writing. Whatever else I may ever be, I am a writer.
My personal blog, “The Texas Bohemian,” carries a biography that describes the ridiculously convoluted life I’ve lived. I have done many things. I have not been many things. I have always and forever been a writer. Whatever else I might do before my ticket expires I shall forever be a writer.
Visitors finding their way here are welcome to read and enjoy (or not) this collection of works produced by my own hands. More, and more personal, material is on my personal blog. Many of these works belong to publishers so the links are external and open a new window. I’ll post unpublished material here too. Anyone who wants to buy something please, I’ll sure oblige and move it from my site to yours!
I am available for assignments. I work best when given a direction and something to focus on! I’m really very good at research, too.
Thanks for stopping by. Enjoy!
Ted Gresham…. Spring, 2010
Visit Road Warrior Press!
I am no longer updating this blog since I’ve established Road Warrior Press as an outlet for my writing. Please visit Road Warrior Press and catch up! There’s two blogs, three free Ebooks, and short stories to read!
Google’s April Fool jest is cute. Really, it is. They “changed their name to Topeka.” I almost laughed.
April first is not my favorite day. I can appreciate a silly joke once in a while but making someone out to be a fool or an idiot just for a laugh is a horrible thing to do. Call me too sensitive. Do not forget, however, that there always has to be a victim. In my early years and even later I was too often the victim. I have never been an instigator of a prank that caused another human being to be shamed.
This is my greatest problem as a writer. I have an entirely different perspective on the world and humanity than most people do. I do not live in Kansas. I am a crusader for the underdog. But by their nature most of them cringe beneath a world of human cruelty and nasty attitudes and are unlikely to have my back when I need them. I have always been the underdog but I refuse to kowtow to the jackass bullies who too often seize control. I do not hate bullies but I hate what they do to others.
I started to title this blog “who are you.” When I clicked my Google link to look up The Who’s lyrics of that song I saw the silly joke and changed what I was going to lead with. The song didn’t fit anyway, except the words, “who are you?” I look in the mirror and ask that question. I look out the window and ask that question. I even sit at our dining table, cast my eyes around it to see my family, and ask it. I am a stranger in a strange land. Thus, again, I sometimes have difficulty finding the words to write that will impress others so I can get paid. I would not care about getting paid except that, you know, I need gas in the van and to eat once in a while.
So who are you? Who who? Do you know. How do we find out? It’s all a puzzle, isn’t it?
Time for coffee. I’ll think about it.
I shouldn’t complain. As far as lifestyles go I have it pretty easy. My wife is happy with her job and happy not being the housekeeper. The kids love me and I love them too. All should be well. Except it’s not. I was not born to be a home daddy, I was born to write.
I write. I write a lot. I always have. But making money at it is an elusive task. If I said what piddly sums AC pays for the pieces I’ve posted you would say, “why bother?” I bother because, well, I have to write.
I am best at writing about travel or places. TexasExplorer.com paid really good dough for my work but, unfortuately, markets do not last and that one is out of funds. AC, as I said, hardly pays for coffee. Otherwise I have to spend hours upon hours looking for markets which leaves no time for writing. Lovely.
What I’d really like to write is fiction. I’m really good at fiction. Fiction and dialog is where I shine. I can make readers laugh, cry, sigh, and all that together. But fiction is not easy to sell. Nobody buys it because not many people read short fiction. The book market is ridiculously flooded. One must know someone or be a royal ass kisser to get a book before enough people to make a dime off it. Books I can do, and have done too, but they take a lot of time, time I can’t spare when I have to make a few bucks. If I’m not making an effort writing then I’m expected to do housework and oh boy do I want to avoid that! I need a maid and an agent!
So today I pounded out yet another piece that will go for a song and now I look for markets. Wonderful. I am forever teetering on the edge of frustration with hardly the price of a Big Mac in sight.
So how’s your day going?