Comfortably Numb

Comfortably Numb

by Larry Hamilton

My 70th birthday recently came and went without incident or fanfare. I preferred it that way as I had mixed feelings about its arrival. It was a milestone I could not fathom as a younger man, and I find it unsettling to be honest. Turning older imposes limits on me which I resist and resent, but I carry on. For those of you who find yourself in this later stage of life, I think you will relate to some of the things I am about to write. For those who have yet to reach this point in your life, two things. It takes some luck and good fortune to make it here safely and sanely…well sanity is optional. Second, do not think yourselves immune to what eventually comes to us all. I too, thought myself immortal when I was very young. Bad things always happen to someone else was what I chose to believe. It’s jarring when you discover you are not bulletproof, and that realization comes at a different time and in different ways for everyone. It took broken bones and multiple surgeries to shatter my false sense of invulnerability. Life comes at you fast sometimes.

Today, I listened to the song Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd for the 1,000th time, at least. It has always spoken to me in different ways. It is an ethereal, otherworldly song, full of thought-provoking lyrics and mental imagery. The live version of this song found on the Pulse DVD Set, is the most stunning and unforgettable single performance I have ever witnessed, even on a screen. You can watch it on YouTube if you want to use the free and easy route, but make sure you watch the Pulse version at Royal Albert Hall in London. 

But, that is not what this is about. This is about what happens to us over time. Who and what we become as the years whittle us down into less robust versions of our younger selves. What is left? Is it more? Is it less? Was it worth it? Did we learn anything along the way? Did we gradually become comfortably numb in order to survive life’s slings and arrows? Young people, pay attention. Your class began the day you were born.

 

There is no pain you are receding

A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon

 

Relevance. I desperately try to avoid becoming a distant ship’s smoke on the horizon. I still want to matter and make a difference, otherwise, what am I doing here? I want to do something important while I remain among the living. Something worthwhile enough to survive my own mortality. In my case, I started writing novels, something I surprised myself with, considering how late in life I have taken up this madness. It is one of the most difficult things I have ever attempted and I wouldn’t recommend it unless you enjoy being tortured on a daily basis, but it fed something inside of me and made me feel alive. Like I still have something to contribute. Like I could still slay a dragon here and there. It gave me another shot at relevance, even if I’m only relevant to a small but growing number of readers and followers who are important to me. 

Do you struggle with relevance? Perhaps you are no longer in the workplace after years of accomplishments and being an integral part of an organization and team. Or perhaps you’re afraid you are not the main cog in the family machinery anymore. Feeling like you are orbiting the family and not being the center of it as much as in the past. Do you wonder if you will be missed and remembered after you are no longer here? I do. We all do. It’s our human condition.

 

Your lips move…but I can’t hear what you’re saying

 

Sometimes the memories I created along my long and winding road come back to envelop me, absorb me, buffet me and comfort me, becoming more real and important than what is transpiring around me. So much of me was invested in the making of those memories. I know…I should stay in the moment. But, I’ve had so many moments, both joyful and gut-wrenching, I choose not to ignore their worth. I feel a need to break them down to see what it was all about. What’s it all about, Alfie? (old song and movie reference ☺). Why did I do what I did and why did others do what they did? I stand in amazement at what incredible roles we play in each other’s stories. I wonder if I gained anything from it all or just made a series of questionable decisions creating a different ending than I ever imagined or aspired to. What if I had chosen differently? An unexamined life is not worth living, some say. So, I examine mine, even when it hurts. And it often does. But, at other times it makes me smile and pump my fist in exultation.

 

I can’t explain, you would not understand

This is not how I am

I have become…comfortably numb.

 

I have occasionally been at odd junctions in my life and thought…this is not who I am, is it? But now, I wonder. Maybe this is who I am, and I do not want to acknowledge it. The jury remains deadlocked. I may never know the reasons behind it all, at least not in this life. I don’t know whether to eagerly look forward to my life review on the other side, or fear it. They tell me my inbox will be full when I die, no matter how hard I try to empty it. As the answers continue to elude me, I resort to becoming numb to these questions so I am able to move on.

 

When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse

Out of the corner of my eye

 

This particular set of lyrics never fails to bring tears to my eyes. They seem innocent enough and I don’t expect others to understand their impact on me…unless they do. I didn’t always understand why either, but as the years marched by, I finally got it. My childhood was difficult, just as many of yours were, and I grew up with a thought, a glimpse, an idea of who I could become, no matter my outer circumstances. At times, I could see the images of my future self out of the corner of my eye, and I eagerly waited for the moment they would materialize and show me to be who I was really meant to be. The images were very real, and they sustained me through many dark days and nights. I held them before me as a torch guiding me through the shadows. I just knew it would all be worth it someday if I stood strong and held my ground until the right time came. A time when I controlled my life and destiny. Countless times, I reached out and squeezed those dreams in my fist and held on tightly to make sure I would not forget who I really was to become. But…well…life happened.

 

I turned to look, and it was gone

I cannot put my finger on it now

 

As I often stumbled, got back up, dusted myself off, and continued on through all the crossroads and choices I encountered in my life, it became increasingly difficult for me to hang on to the visions that had sustained me for so long. Jobs, family issues, broken relationships, injuries, disappointments. So many distractions and detractions. So, I began to look away from those things I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. They mocked me. Sometimes, I didn’t even care about them anymore and I ignored them.

 

The child is grown

The dream is gone

I have become comfortably numb

 

These three lines of the song trouble me the most. I still see those dreams and visions and I don’t want that child to grow and become numb. These images are visceral, real, tangible, ever-speaking to me and they continue to dance teasingly at the corner of my vision. They also haunt me, make me miserable and unsettled, yet keep something valuable alive inside of me. The desire to grow and remain connected to my essence. I don’t want them to fade away, even though they bring pain and discontent. But, the pain helps me know I’m yet alive. I remember feeling the most alive during some of my most terrifying moments. The dead and the living dead feel nothing.

A friend of mine recently shared an old yearbook photo of me when I was in 8th grade. It shook me to my very core and I am still dealing with it. I feel as if I unexpectedly encountered a hauntingly familiar ghost. In many ways, I did. In that picture, I was the class president, and it also showed the vice-president and secretary of our class, all good friends of mine at the time. I was very poor, but up to that moment in my life, I had never lost sight of the idea of who I really was and who I was going to be, so I didn’t experience myself as poor. A bright future was right there at the corner of my eye if I looked for it. So, I always acted as if I was already that future person I envisioned rather than allowing my challenging circumstances to dictate differently. It worked for me…until. Until we moved out of state, suddenly, over the summer and I left behind many valued relationships and the sense of identity I had so relentlessly built and protected. Things were never quite the same for me after that. My path was altered and my life took an entirely different direction. 

As a result of that move, I suffered discrimination on many levels, a new experience for me. The poverty in our home remained but now we lived around people who were well to do, so I felt my poverty keenly for the first time. Coming from the hills of eastern Kentucky, people automatically viewed me as ignorant and dumb and they delighted in making fun of my accent and my clean but well-worn clothes. I fought back with everything I had, sometimes using my fists, sometimes my intellect. I struggled to keep hold of those dreams floating just off to the side, even though they were growing dimmer. So, the child was forced to grow up prematurely and the dreams seemed much more distant than before, threatening to disappear altogether. I became comfortably numb as a means of survival in this new world in which I found myself. It was now about surviving, not thriving. The rest of my life was irrevocably altered as a result of that life-changing move. I see it so clearly when I look at that boy in the 8th grade picture. Sometimes, I shed silent tears for him and wonder what may have been. I loved him and his dreams, I still do. He was a survivor. Everybody said he was a good kid back then and was headed for good things in his life. And many good things did happen in his life, but they happened differently.

 

Okay, just a little pinprick

There’ll be no more (pain) ahhh! But you may feel a little sick

Can you stand up? I do believe it’s working…good

That’ll keep you going through the show

Come on, it’s time to go

 

I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with things as we mature and reflect on our past. The show goes on and we still have to play our individual parts. We do what we have to do in order to find relevance and meaning for ourselves. We cling a little tighter to our loved ones in ways they do not fully understand, especially the younger ones. Perhaps we pick up a new hobby or make a late charge at one of those dreams hanging around the periphery of our vision, like I did with my writing. I consider Don Quixote my hero as I tilt at windmills. 

You see, later in years, we learn how fragile and short life really is. We have to adjust to seeing dear friends and relatives getting off the train of life while leaving enormous holes in our hearts and lives. We begin to distill our daily existence into the things we value most, while other things that used to seem so important…fade into the background. Sometimes, I look deeply into my own eyes in the mirror to see if I still recognize the person staring back at me. It’s a little unsettling, to be honest. A little too real. I can’t do it for long. They say it is hard because you are looking at your soul. Maybe so. This stage of life seems as surreal to me as the soaring, eerie, haunting final guitar work on Comfortably Numb. It is my all-time favorite guitar solo and David Gilmour is channeling divinity when he picks up his Stratocaster. It is a masterpiece that compels you to feel the message of the song deep in your being as the notes paint the words onto an invisible canvas.

 

Hello, hello, hello…Is there anybody in there?

Just nod if you can hear me, is there anyone at home?

Come on now, I hear you’re feeling down

Well, I can ease your pain

Get you on your feet again…

 

Forgive me…I have to go now before this turns into another full-length novel. I have no answers other than my own. We have to find those for ourselves. Just keep doing your show as best you can and hold onto the vision of who you are and always wanted to be, even if you can only get a glimpse of it now and then. It’s been nice talking to you, but oh, I see something…out of the corner of my eye. 

I Am A Book

Let me introduce myself to you. I Am A Book. I have millions of brothers, sisters, and cousins inhabiting bookstores, libraries, computers, and countless other cubbies, backpacks, and closets. Yet, none of us are exactly alike. Each of us is unique.

Between my covers, worlds are created and destroyed. Epic stories of life and death, joy and sadness, love and hate, failure and redemption, and war and peace play out against the backdrop of new worlds.

Memorable and entertaining characters are formed and brought to life. As these characters are fully known and fleshed out, they become part of the lexicon of your thoughts and words. You find yourself thinking of things these imaginary people said. Or perhaps you remember their failure or success in a tough moment and take valuable lessons from it, applying them to your own life. They are now family in some odd, inexplicable way. Even if you dislike them or hate them, you know and remember them. You probably even recognize them. You root for some to prevail and others to fall hard, just like you do in your own reality. These new friends beckon you to join them again even after you have closed my cover and decided it was time to do other important things, like get some badly needed sleep. But as you try to ignore their siren call, you wonder what the next chapter holds? What triumph or tragedy or unseen turn of events awaits you at your next reading? Can you wait until then to find out? Are you feeling compelled to go back to our secret world and make sure your new favorite character is going to make it? Do you dare believe you’re being there at a crucial moment might even make the difference? Thus, the pages are re-opened and you return to help your friends while sleep is sacrificed on the altar of high adventure.

And what of these worlds you find within my pages? Some are imagined and some are real. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. My pages will transport you to distant towns, countries, or even universes. You can travel anywhere you want, anytime you want. The ticket price is the small cost to purchase me. Like an old friend, you can join me again as many times as you like. I am always waiting and I promise new things will show up the next time we travel together. You never find it all in one reading.

You prefer to watch videos and movies, you say? Oh yes, they tempt you and seduce you with all the interesting images and music and noise they serve up. But, search their opening credits carefully and you will discover many are adaptations of books. Of me. We books provide the fertile ground the movie scripts grow from. I dare you to read the book version of these movies before you watch the movie version of me. You will discover there is no comparison. I will provide you with a textured and nuanced journey not often found on celluloid or videotape. I will dive deeper and linger longer. I will allow you to decide what you see and how long you see it, not a director. I will leave nothing on the cutting room floor. I refuse to be gutted and subverted in the interest of time. I insist on being a guilty pleasure without boundaries or restrictions, as I always have. You will imagine my scenery and you will create the images you behold. They will be uniquely yours and yours alone. Everyone who reads me will conjure up their own personal version of what unfolds within the sacred space between my covers.

I Am A Book. I have informed, transported, and entertained untold millions of people for centuries

Perhaps as you read these words, it will rekindle our love affair. We need each other. If you have not spent time with me lately, or ever, maybe you will be moved to do so. I desire to slip into your mind and become part of you…and you are part of me. After all, are we not all books being written every minute of every day?

Make sure your book is well written my friends…make it a classic, one for the ages.

Larry Hamilton

The Abundance

The Abundance by Larry E. Hamilton

It is late January, 2022. I lost my mother last week. She was 88 years young and lived a long, full life before succumbing to cancer and the ravages of time. She was a strong, willful woman who brought five children into this crazy world. Three girls and two boys, of which I am the oldest…by a good bit. Her life was filled with brutal challenges, triumphs, and failures, like the rest of us. Poverty was her ever-present companion. She did the best she knew how to do, though I didn’t always think so. As I now reflect on her life and mine, and the 69 years we spent together, I understand something about her…and myself.

My mother disappointed me at many points along the way, and I know I disappointed her as well. I was quite the ambitious son who could always be found tilting at windmills. Don Quixote and I would have made good traveling companions. I broke a lot of lances in my early years. Mom, which I called her right up to the end, wanted me to be a preacher since she was quite the churchgoer. That would have made her proud. But, I was more interested in working in the rock and roll business, or anything other than the ministry. I am sure that disappointed her, but I wanted her to be excited for the man I had become. A man who was unafraid to try any business venture and exhausted himself in the pursuit of excellence in whatever activity he had a passion for. When I breathlessly described to her my latest adventure, she would always smile and say, “That’s nice.”, but that was about it. I lived in a perpetual and prolonged state of disappointment with my mom’s reactions and lack of interest in my many successes and failures. How could she not be elated with her son’s tales of producing concerts with famous people or owning my own businesses? I was always on the move and would often stop in for a day or two to update her on my latest journeys and escapades. She would listen patiently, but in the end, it was “Sounds like you had a good time…”, and off she went to start a pot of soup beans or an iron skillet of cornbread. Why didn’t she share my enthusiasm? My sense of accomplishment? I always made excellent grades and did what she asked of me. I took care of my siblings, mowed the yard, did the laundry and dishes, fed the pigs (yes, I raised four pigs), ran the sweeper, worked after school, and bought my school clothes by the time I was a sophomore in high school. Sound like I’m tooting my own horn? Maybe, but the purpose of this is to help you understand my frustration with not being worthy of more notice, or at the very least, a few deep conversations about my hopes and dreams.

Abundance:

1an ample quantity an abundant amount.

This is the definition of abundance according to Webster’s Dictionary.

What I learned with Mom’s passing is; we all give from the abundance we possess. Unique gifts and abilities for different people. I now see how Mom gave of her own abundance. Not the abundance I thought she should have, but the abundance she was born with.

She always offered me an open door without judgment, a place to rest my head, and all the good food I could hold. She possessed those treasures in great abundance. She was the first to take food to families who suffered a loss or were in need. In fact, when we children would come home from school, we had to ask which of the cakes or pies were for us before we could eat them. Often, they were for people who needed them more than we did. Abundance.

Strangers were welcome at our house, for better or worse. She was willing to take that chance for the greater good. Abundance.

Our home was known for its hospitality…because of Mom. Abundance of the heart.

I have reflected on where my personal abundance lives. It is not in the things she would have been most impressed with. But, I am making my peace with that. I have disappointed many people, many times with my lack of abundance in areas that mattered. I struggled to be a good father and parent. I didn’t have an exemplary role model for that, but I will not claim that as an excuse as so many others do. Stability and steadiness were continually challenging for me. I always had to see what was over that next hill. It was a leftover urge from growing up in the hills and wondering what lay beyond the next one while I voraciously read books that transported me all over the world. I believe my abundance can be found in my writings and in my boundless curiosity. I will let those who know me decide if I gave other things out of my abundance. I hope I have given something of value to those who know me and maybe to those who don’t. Maybe someone has been inspired to question everything and yet believe all things are possible. I love the mysteries of life more than the certainties. Maybe that is what I possess in abundance.

I wanted to read these words aloud to those gathered at Mom’s funeral so my siblings could understand the unique and complicated relationship I had with my mom. A relationship that spanned almost seven decades. I couldn’t. I could not have made it past the first paragraph, so I wrote it instead. I will forever remember Mom’s abundance of the heart and know she gave generously from that special place. That realization has brought peace to my mind and spirit.

See you on the other side, Mom. Thanks for all you did for me. I never grew tired of your beans and cornbread.

Love You…Larry

THIS GREAT EVIL

“This great evil, where’s it come from? How’d it steal into the world? What seed, what root did it grow from? Who’s doing this? Who’s killing us, robbing us of life and light, mocking us with the sight of what we might’ve known? Does our ruin benefit the earth, does it help the grass to grow, the sun to shine? Is this darkness in you, too? Have you passed through this night?”
JOHN DEE SMITH – Pvt. Train  (Quote from the movie The Thin Red Line)

As I consider this Christmas Season and all it represents, I stop to think on this well-known verse, “Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men”.  How close are we to achieving this elusive goal of peace and goodwill?  To truly be able to say we are at peace with each other, in our own home, and with our global neighbors?

I viewed “The Thin Red Line” a few weeks ago and it stuck with me.  It is a brutish, violent, bloody, but honest movie about the reality of warfare as it played out in the disputed Pacific islands during World War II.  Some of the quotes I found to be most profound and touching. This was not a patriotic, white-washed, hero-worshipping epic.  No, it displayed the ugliness of war, refusing to portray it as a glorious and triumphant campaign.  It allowed us to see the real fear on the soldiers’ faces and listen in on the thoughts of men who knew they would likely never see home again…or another Christmas with their loved ones.

  “My dear wife, you get something twisted out of your insides by all this blood, filth, and noise. I want to stay changeless for you. I want to come back to you the man I was before.”

writing a letter ~ BEN CHAPLIN – Pvt. Bell  (Quote from The Thin Red Line)

How many young men and women have we seen forever altered and maimed both physically and mentally after experiencing the horrors of war?  How many returned a mere shell of their former selves?  Unable to be the same human they were when they left?  My uncle, John Carl Flannery, was a highly-decorated veteran of the Korean War.  As a child, I watched him be tormented beyond belief every time he attempted to sleep.  The enemy charged his position again and again while he slept.  They kept killing his friends and comrades, making it impossible for him to escape the memories of this terrible conflict.  He was a hero in every sense of the word but would have traded all his medals for a night of peace.  Of that, I have no doubt.  He was a bright light of a man, full of humor and personality.  He became a man full of pain and occasional darkness.  He was one of many who carried war with them until their deaths.

“Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men”. 

“Who’s doing this?  Who’s killing us?”, the quote asks.  Is it the family, friends, and neighbors we all know?  Those who are just trying to make a living and raise a family?  Is it the mothers and fathers who watch their precious sons, and now daughters, sacrificed on the altars of greed and power?  Are they the ones who agreed to killing us?  I think we all know this is not the case.

We were told during the Cold War it was the Soviet people who were spoiling for a battle with America.  They, on the other hand, were being told we eat our young (true story) and it was the Americans who were eager to pursue a war with the Soviet Union.  Who told the Soviet people this great lie?  Who told the American citizens this same vicious lie?  

“Who’s doing this?”

As the Cold War showed signs of thawing, there was a television program which, for the first time, brought together citizens of the Soviet Union and the United States into one meeting hall and a forum was held.  There had been very little travel and communication between the two peoples since the end of World War II and the formation of the USSR.  On this occasion, people on both sides of this divide were allowed to ask questions of the other and the answers were uncensored.  There was great astonishment in the room as the meeting progressed.  Citizens from both great powers came to discover they had much more in common than they previously believed.  Neither wanted war.  Neither wanted conflict and hate.  Neither wanted to send their children off to die again.  Neither wanted their homelands and economies destroyed. Soviets now understood Americans love their young, they don’t eat them.  Americans discovered warmongering was not built into the DNA of the average Soviet citizens.  Not after they lost millions of their brethren to the Nazi invasion during World War II.

I heard this saying many years ago, and I have never forgotten it…”if the people that made the wars had to fight the wars, there wouldn’t be any wars”.  This rings true to me.  Our greatest treasure, our children, have been used as pawns in the wars of politicians, religious zealots, and the powerful since recorded history began.  Sacrificed on their selfish and bloody altars.

 “We’re living in a world that’s blowing itself to hell as fast as everybody can arrange it.”
SEAN PENN – 1st Sgt. Welsh  (Quote from The Thin Red Line)

Daily, I read in the news about new weapons systems being developed by either the United States or another country.  We never tire of creating and funding new ways to destroy ourselves in this world of misplaced priorities.  Nuclear weapons was not enough.  Not to our world leaders. The weapons  of today have to be hypersonic, space-based, or stealthy.  The military/industrial complex has never been more dominant and prolific.  President Eisenhower warned us of their influence during his final speech as president.  We didn’t listen it seems.  Billions of dollars of funding are awarded to these groups every year.  They are earmarked as the “Black Budget” and are no longer subject to congressional oversight.  What are they doing with this money in addition to the massive military budget we already support every year?  Need to know basis and we don’t need to know.  Not even the President or Congress is allowed to know much of what they are doing. The global arms race has never been more alive and well.  Russia is now becoming belligerent again over Ukraine and we could be right back into the Cold, or Hot, War again.  They have to have somewhere to try out their shiny new weapons, don’t they? We tested ours in the Middle East over many years. Our technology has outraced our wisdom and that, my friends, is an unsettling thought.

“War don’t ennoble men. It turns them into dogs… poisons the soul.”
JIM CAVIEZEL – Pvt. Witt  (Quote from The Thin Red Line)

Good men go to war and have to become savages to survive.  What if we were able to learn war no more?  What great things we could do if all those resources were turned to peaceful purposes.  We could actually fulfill our destinies as humans, perhaps.  Hunger and thirst would be a thing of the past.  Diseases would be eradicated.  There would be no more desperate throngs of refugees running from war, death, and starvation.

“Peace on Earth…Goodwill to Men.”

Oh, that we would make this so.  I am certain the vast majority of people on this planet want nothing more than to have this dream come true.  They want the killing and genocide and hatred and prejudice to stop.  They pray daily that it will.  Yet, it continues.  Strife over borders, religious beliefs, money, power, and nationality rage like forest fires being blown out of control by an evil wind, telling us we are not alike and we should hate those who aren’t like us.

“Who’s doing this?  Who’s killing us? This great evil, where’s it come from?”

I think most of us know the answers to these questions.  Yet…these evil men and women prevail.  What if this were to be the final Christmas we live in fear of war and nuclear annihilation?  What if we found a way to say NO to the relatively few people who continue to hold our world in servitude, sorrow, and conflict?  What if we just refused to do their bidding?

How does this begin?  How does it work?  I truly don’t know as of this moment.  But, it is my Christmas Wish that it does begin…now.

Happy Holidays Everyone…

Larry Hamilton

larry@hamiltonhousebooks.com

CONFESSIONS FROM AN AMAZON BESTSELLING AUTHOR

YES, I DID IT! By Larry Hamilton ~ 12/13/2021

Amazon Bestselling Author. Amazon Bestselling Book. Huh?  Did this really happen to me?

12/11/2021.  A day to remember.  The day my book Critical Mass hit #7, #13, #45 in 3 separate Amazon categories worldwide.  It is also the day I earned the title, Amazon Bestselling Author.  Yes, my friends, that is a dream come true for any writer, and I am no exception.  I didn’t know whether to brag about it to my friends and relatives or just shut up and pretend it didn’t happen so as to not jinx my future endeavors.  I did some of both in the end.

I imagine this to be a dilemma that most writers face when they achieve their first modicum of success.  The earliest mile marker that signifies that maybe…just maybe…they can put pen to paper, so to speak, in a meaningful and entertaining manner.  And maybe…just maybe…someone will care about and want to read what they write.  In the deep of a sleepless night you wonder…is it really possible to become a relevant voice in today’s world and touch the mainstream consciousness in some way?

Maybe you choose to send a gloating text or e-mail to those who looked at you a little strangely and said things like, “Oh, that’s nice”, when you announced you were going to publish your first book, receiving acknowledgement but not exactly encouragement.  As if you were a small child presenting your first crayon doodle to your parent and receiving a patronizing smile.  Those who claimed they read your books, but you know they did not, even when you gave them free, signed copies, hoping for feedback or a conversation.  Trying to nurture this fragile young writer identity you had adopted.

Do you send screenshots of your Amazon Bestsellers page to the doubters?  I remember the Bible saying, “A prophet is without honor in his own country.”

I could always discern the ones who were truly interested in my new adventure because they asked questions about it.  That small act of inquiry often fed my hungry soul when I was perilously low on self-confidence.  Just a simple question.  How did you think of that?  What made you want to be a writer?  That allowed me to verbalize and share my dream with another living being rather than keeping it all inside.  Maybe a small gesture for them, but a little more fuel for my engine.

It was tempting to do those sorts of things, but only for a moment.  The joy and elation of touching just the tiniest bit of success, was both intoxicating and shocking.  Those feelings instantly outweighed any negativity I had encountered along the way.  It justified and made worthwhile the lonely hours spent pounding away at a keyboard, knowing full well that there was a very good chance nobody would see or care about the words you were stringing together from the far reaches of your mind.  Hoping your creativity would not abandon you before you finished the next chapter and at the same time not being entirely sure you understood where the ideas came from…

I am also mindful of the fact that success is usually a team effort as much as an individual one.  I have been enhanced and encouraged by many people along the way.  My wife, Karole, has supported and pushed me forward even when I considered giving up.  I can never thank her enough for that.  She kept me alive sometimes.  She has always been my first reader and willing to listen to my crazy ideas and imaginings.

I have friends and relatives who acted as beta readers for my early drafts.  They told me my writing didn’t suck.  That was important to hear from people who actually recognized coherent writing when they read it.  There are many to thank and I don’t want to start naming names for fear of leaving somewhat out or failing to properly recognize their contributions to my work and survival as a writer.  You know who you are and I have thanked you all privately I hope.  If not…Thank You!

MindStir Publishing has played a major role in all this.  J. J. Hebert and his team have provided editing, cover design, and marketing in an expert and highly competent manner.  Monica Kelly designed my killer website where this blog entry will be displayed. Your work on my behalf has been deeply appreciated and acknowledged.

Now that I have achieved an important milestone along my chosen path, the challenge will be to keep it going.  That may prove to be more difficult than I know.  But…that is fine.  No matter what, I had a day to treasure and a chance to think about my journey and everyone that has contributed to my budding success. 

Now…time to get back to what I love doing…writing my next book…it’s an amazing adventure and I can’t wait to see where it goes and how it ends!  Oh that’s right…I know how it ends and it’s going to be very cool…

Larry Hamilton

www.hamiltonhousebooks.com

larry@hamiltonhousebooks.com

Author Larry Hamilton Critical Mass and The Atlantis Codes