I've been thinking a good bit about what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. I make this mistake quite frequently, and one thing I have restored to my life is alcohol. Not a lot of it, mind you, but just enough where happiness occurs and I can be more of who I really am, and the person that some of my late friends knew as a young whipper-snapper.

I find that I'm now where they were then and I have to grow up at some point and realize that I'm an author and writer. That's what I do when I'm at my best, when things are coming out that I did not even foresee, and they make me laugh until I choke.

My family often wonders what in the hell is wrong with me in those moments, but with the touch of scotch or a good whiskey of my choosing, in responsible amounts of course, I remember who I am as things flow from my fingertips.

Like this post, perhaps.

But I haven't talked to any of you in a while, and this is simply rude of me. There is so much on the table to be done, but everything is fluid, and now I am no longer speaking of alcohol. What I mean by that is that an idea for a book or a piece is there, I'm all serious about it, and then at some point the humor in it starts coming out and things begin to shift.

I just finished the first story in a compendium of many that will at some point refer to an actual wild real life story I had with my late father once upon a time. I'm not going to provide any spoilers right now other than the simple fact that I am done holding back, which is what a few of my mentors was perhaps aiming for.

The age has finally been reached where I can say pretty much whatever the hell I want to say, and people will just want to make sure I still have my pants on.

Which I will.

So the season of word creation happens to be back upon us, and I expect new things to come out during this fall and winter season.

The more, the merrier.

Sláinte.