In The Beginning...

As a young boy, I often hid in the hedgerow behind our family home. I was safe there from all the anger and suffering in my daily life. Here, I created my own world, a world of peace, success, and fame. I created characters who became my dearest friends, characters I emulated. I lived vicariously through them.

Steve Armstrong was one of those invisible friends. He was the most outstanding athlete to ever roam Earth. I imagined I was him: strong, confident, successful.

I began to write poems and journal entries, primarily expressions of disappointment from the harsh treatment I received as a child because I was small and sickly. Soon, those entries became short stories. In my early twenties, John Abraham, a friend, gave me a book by Kurt Vonnegut. As soon as I finished reading it, I declared that I could be a writer. I’ve never looked back.

Music was also an interest, but my father declared that men were to become athletes, not musicians. My two dearest childhood friends, Tim and Kevin Mills, were great musicians. I began to learn to play guitar from them.

A shed behind our family home housed the remains from my family’s Sundry that my mom and dad owned and operated until my father became Post Master in our small Mississippi town. In the shed were guitar strings, as they sold them in the store. The Mills brothers and I would make homemade guitars. The crudely constructed instruments were my only ones until I finally bought my first guitar at age 19. From there, I launched my love for songwriting, which remains today.

Whether my stories or songs ever amount to more than their initial creation is pointless. I was given this gift of creativity by God. And I followed His lead. I will continue to follow, and I will never, for any reason, ever give up on my dreams.

From my song, “ANGELS WATCHIN’ ME”:

You can dream your dreams, but at some point, you’ve gotta wake up

Or you’ll find yourself sleepwalking as somebody else.

God gave you this gift for a reason. Don’t let it die on a shelf.

G.