Dear Stephen King

Dear Stephen King,

I haven’t heard from you in almost forever which is my way of saying that you don’t write and you don’t call. Where is the love Stephen?  How is that supposed to make feel.

I suppose that since we aren’t really friends, not even in the Facebook sense of the word it doesn’t matter. It is kind of funny to me to think that you probably have heard of Snooki and her friends on the Jersey Shore but haven’t a clue that some Jewish kid out west has a blog.

Since I haven’t ever tried to contact you or done anything  other than buy some of your books it is even more unlikely that you would know of me and that is ok. I am not your biggest fan. Certainly not the most loyal or most devoted, at least I don’t think so.

But none of that matters to me. The reason I write this blog is as varied as the colors in the rainbow. Most of the time it is because I love to write and this gives me a great excuse to do so. Most of the time it is because this is where I chronicle the lives of my children and leave a living record of my thoughts about life, love and living. And yes, those are three different topics.

Earlier today we stood in shul (synagogue) and I wrapped my children in my tallis (prayer shawl) blessed them and thought about my life. It was Yom Kippur and that is a day for introspection. At least it is supposed to be but I admit to having been distracted by more than a few things. When I was supposed to be thinking about how to be a better person I was lost in thoughts of the carnal nature.

Other men might have been upset by this and rightly so. We fast to help us focus on the day and the task at hand. Except I saw someone who reminded me of someone who was once dear to me and instead of focusing on repentance  I remembered what it felt like to have a pair of legs wrapped around me.

Damn if I didn’t silently curse and try to shift my thinking to something that was more in line with the mood and reason for the day. It took some doing but eventually I forced those thoughts out of my head and was rewarded with the scent of the most delectable steak I had ever eaten. Since I was fasting I can’t say that was any more to my liking.

Pictures, Videos and Memories

I am reading your book on writing now and am about half way through it. I really like it. A while back I decided that I have to find a way to publish the stories I see in my head so I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to see what you had to say on the matter. I was curious to see if I would relate to your words and nod my head in affirmation or if I would make me say “what the fuck.”

Curiosity makes me wonder if you have the fire in the belly that I have. It makes me wonder what drives you and if we share any of that in common. I wanted to find out if you read your words and hate them too. Sometimes when I read old posts like this I want to scream.

I can’t decide if I hate it because it is embarrassing, ridiculous and wrong or if it because I know that I am onto something. Most of the time I think it is because I know that I am dancing in the fire and that I can almost reach that brass ring. I am so damn close that I ignore the smell of smoke coming from my shoes.

Old Jack has one hell of a threshold for pain- a tolerance that doesn’t always serve me as well as it should. I can take a beating that would put most people down and I can give it back twice as rough. Not sure that any of that is good for much but sometimes it makes for good blog fodder.

And fodder is something that a writer never throws away. We simply stuff it in the garage and save it for future use. My garage is crammed full of pictures, videos and memories and there is always room for more.

The fear of getting what you want

Stephen, did you ever suffer from the fear of getting what you want. Some of the boys definitely suffer from it. They sabotage their dreams and cry. It makes me scream. I gnash my teeth in rage and ask them why they would do that. Why don’t they believe that they deserve to live their dreams.

And sometimes in the quiet of the night I wonder if it is not them who sabotage their dreams but me. Maybe I am the one who is creating the issues that prevent my getting what I want. It would be a classic case of being my own worst enemy. If Jack is a superhero he needs an arch nemesis to do battle with. Why not make it me. Who knows me better than me.

A few minutes before I broke my fast I closed my eyes and opened my heart to possibility.  And there in the silence of my mind’s eye I saw something that I can’t describe. I can only tell you that I think that I have to walk through hell for a bit longer but I am going to get to where I need to go.

It is going to happen because I am too damn stubborn not to make it happen. It is going to happen because one day I will forgive myself for that which needs to be forgiven and because some things can’t be stopped, only delayed.

P.S. Stephen, if you ever want someone to spend some time talking to you about social media feel free to ask and I will gladly share the few secrets I know. BTW, first cup of coffee is on you.

Thanks,

Jack