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Making My Way Back

Twilight in the Wilderness, (1860), Cleveland ...

Twilight in the Wilderness, (1860), (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve been gone for a while. Admittedly, I’ve been lost, wandering in the wilderness of indecision.

This was due to a number of factors converging and culminating in a perfect storm of  fatigue, burnout, and apathy. I’d had enough and needed a break from writing, and I had no idea how long that break would last. To be honest, even just a few weeks ago I was perfectly okay with the idea of never writing and publishing another book in my life.

And then I went to the Writer’s Advance Boot Camp and something changed. I was refreshed, refocused, revived. I was reminded why I write and over night my vision became clear. (I highly recommend this conference for 2014).

I write because I’ve been called to. I truly believe that. And I can’t abandon my calling.

And now I’m making my way back. I’m not ready to dive in yet but that day is on the horizon and near. I have some story ideas; my passion is returning. Slowly, I’m rebuilding and gaining momentum. But this time around I want to do it better. I want to have a plan, a true vision, and want to be focused on what’s important, on things that really matter, on things that will last for eternity.

This is why I do what I do, and this is why I must come back from this trek into the wilderness. I need to because it’s part of who I am, part of who I’m meant to be.

More on this return and rebuilding will come in the near future. I have some exciting things planned, and I hope you’ll join me.

After all, we have work to do, eternal work.


When Worlds Collide

So yesterday I was in a patient’s house and noticed a copy of my book, Scream, on the table beside her bed.

“Hey,” I said. “Where’d you get that book?”

She looked at me, blank.

“That’s my book,” I said.

The blank expression got blanker. I think she thought I was accusing of her stealing my book. Of sneaking into my house and taking a book from my shelf.

“That’s me. Mike Dellosso. I wrote that book.”

“Oh,” she said. Understanding dawned. “I thought you looked familiar. I was at the booksigning you did at Waldens last year.”

I didn’t remember her but she showed me what I wrote on the inside of the book. And yes, she had indeed met me. No thievery had taken place.

“I didn’t know you did this too.”

“Yeah. This is my real job.” I said it like I was confessing to being caught in a major scam.

She looked disappointed. I think authors hold a certain, albeit very insignificant, celebrity status to some people. My signature and words on the inside of her book were something special, something distant as if from another world. And when she realized I was just an average Joe with no celebrity aura whatsoever and my feet loosely planted on this planet the bubble was burst.

I hate when my two identities show up in the same place. ( But it was kind of cool).

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