September 23rd, 2009

Nothing has been the same since my brother went to prison five years ago. Not only is has his constant care become a responsibility I never would have imagined I’d have to deal with, but it has eroded away at my hope. No matter what I was involved in prior to this life altering experience I had hope that things would work out for the best. That’s all gone now. Years ago when I entered the writing profession I knew it was going to be hard, but that hope and persistence would be the keys to any success. Even if that notion was naïve it was still the spark that enabled me get through difficult days of rejected book proposals and screenplays. I also had hope that good guys won once in a while. Now all I see is that bad guys have everything – and so much of it. I continue to write because I enjoy it, but I no longer think it matters. I see for my future more visits to federal prisons, more money spent on medical care and feeding of my brother, a front row seat in which to watch his ultimate demise, a divorce, because who would want to willingly take part in this, and a Hemingway style ending to a writer who once hoped to inspire and entertain readers. I still have just enough hope to think I can pull out of this tail-spin, but I’m growing impatient for it to happen.