A lot has changed in 18 months. And I find myself coming back to blogging.
The pandemic was slowing down here in the states. The lowest amount of cases in June of 2021 was a remarkable 5,000 for the entire country. Now we have had 1.35 Million cases just yesterday. The Beta Variant is gone. The Delta Variant is dwindling. It seems that the majority of cases of Omicron are less severe and come with an antibody response.
Many of my fellow narrator friends, family members, and old friends have lost a loved one due to Covid19 or Cancer or another illness.
My own father passed away from Cancer. A form called Gastrointestinal Stromal Tumors (GIST) on September 25th of 2021. (For more information on this rare disease, click here.)
We've lost heroes young and old. Quite recently we lost Betty White, Sidney Poitier and Bob Saget.
Here in Michigan, January has replaced December as an unforgiving month of bitter cold with temperatures in the single digits at night.
And while a lot has changed, you have to wonder: How does one power through trauma and misery in order to write another story?
Well, this blog is called Tales and Troubled Times of a Hungry Writer for a reason.
I am no stranger to Trauma.
Writing has always been therapeutic for me. My mother and father always encouraged my voracious appetite for reading and when I finally started penning my own stories, they gave me tremendous support. When I decided to self-publish my first book, they provided me with money to do so. They kept copies of my books in their bedroom on a nightstand within reach. Every time I told them I had another idea cooking they were both impressed and astonished by my productivity. But they were the ones who fed the fire that continues to burn within me.
Yes, it is easy to get bogged down. To have downtimes. To not even want to glance at a blank page. To regard storytelling as a fool's gambit when you are in the throes of great depression. But the blank page is always waiting. It remains neutral. The blank pages listen to your woes and tries to help you figure them out one sentence at a time.
And while the world seems to be changing rapidly, through peaks and valleys, sometimes grim and sometimes hopeful, I remain convinced and encouraged that better days are just ahead.
At least, that would be my father's outlook. He was always a man with infectious optimism. And I'd like to carry on that tradition.
The last gift I gave my father was a gold pocket watch. These days I find myself wishing we had more time together.
The last gift he and my mother gave me was a FreeWrite Traveler.
Even with all the bad news and daily struggle of sadness, I have found time to finish some stories.
I recently finished what I called THE BIG SCI-FI BOOK, which has been long-gestating. It finally has a cover and is available on Kindle, Nook, and Kobo now. I call it Skyways Of Tomorrow. I am currently halfway through recording the audiobook.
I have also finished a thriller Novella on the FreeWrite.
A story I am 90 percent finished with is a Christmas Novella that will hopefully be out soon. Maybe in February.
And, quite recently, I've decided to end every future story I publish with the words:
In Loving Memory Of
Carmelo Scarlato
Life moves. Friendships are rekindled. Stories are still told.
Our strength as humans is not just in our multiple ways of expressing ourselves but also in that much-needed yearn to express our grief and to be vulnerable. This helps us untangle the wires in our minds. It helps us relate to one another. But it is a feature that is distinctly human.
So continue to write. Write about Sorrow. Write about Joys and Triumphs. Write about whatever your heart desires. Pour out your humanity on the page and it will heal you in turn.
Then you will find that you're not just pushing through misery. You are creating something new and beautiful which will make your loved ones proud.
I'm still writing stories, Papa. These yarns are for you.
