Gotta write.

I see Gene Kelly standing in the middle of a mock up stage crying out, “Gotta Dance!” I’m at my computer, trying to work on the blog tour, but my mind wanders and pulls me away until it hurts me. I must write. I must.

Gotta write.

…

Hello you. That’s right, I’m talking to you. I am talking to you who is hurt and alone. Talking to you who has secrets stored inside of you. You’ve been hurt and you’re all alone. I know. I am too. No one believes you. Your family has deserted you. You’re ridiculed, lashed at, berated. They don’t see the war they’ve created around you. They don’t know that they’ve hurt you deep. They don’t know how bad things are. They’re oblivious and you don’t know why they don’t see. You are alone. You are special. You know this because you have skills no one else seems to have. You can sense things all others are oblivious to. You hoard your secret because you are alone.

You may speak to people who aren’t there. You know they aren’t real, and you often wonder if you’re crazy. You’re different. You’re odd. You never fit in. I know. I am just like you.

You may fear sleep or you sleep too much. When you do sleep the nightmares are real. Too real. You’re trapped in your world and you can’t get out. So you day dream a little too well. I know. I am just like you.

Hello you. That’s right. I’m talking to you. I’m talking to you to tell you I know. I’m on the other side of the world, but I feel what you feel, I know what you feel, because I’m just like you. You may be alone out there, but I am here reaching out to you to say, you are not alone. I am here.