Why I Do What I Do

I was asked why I write.

My instant reaction was to become somewhat smug, believing it a simple question; so simple, I wondered why even ask. And then I attempted to put it into words. I couldn’t, not easily anyhow.

The question was asked of me a couple of days ago and I’m just now to the point that I might be able to make sense of my own thoughts on it – thoughts that meandered through my head. And when I say ‘meandered’, I mean it; sort of like sperm with low motility bumping into one another and never fertilizing a solitary solid answer. That said, it should be clear enough that these tidbits came to me in no specific order.

It would be nice to be the next John Grisham, J. K. Rowling, Stephen King, James Patterson or any of the other fiction writers that have achieved the sharpest point of the commercial literary pyramid. So, yes, I did think about celebrity and money; but was it the reason that I began writing fiction? I can’t say for sure. Maybe – buried, of course, beneath layers of more noble reasons. But, was it the nexus, the sprouting seed that began the process? It couldn’t have been. There are many other ways to achieve fame and fortune and possibly much easier.

There is a little Walter Mitty in all of us. I’m sure of that, especially in our formative years. We all fantasize of being celebrated heroes, fireman pulling people from burning buildings, soldiers carrying wounded buddies out of harm’s way, or just the handsome guy that has impeccable timing, casually tossing out perfect pick-up lines during ladies night at a bar.

I’ve always had a problem with becoming bored quite easily. Whenever I found myself unable to escape a situation, trapped by preachers, teachers, bosses, or anyone else holding sway on my time, I’ve opted to retreat into my imagination as a defense mechanism. It’s probably necessary to mention, too, that, at some point I always regretted not listening during those meetings, classes or services, because there was always a test to follow, and all I could remember were bits and pieces. But, here’s the good part; I could remember in vivid detail the stories I created during those flights of fantasy.

This process always came to me quite easily and naturally. As an example: I’m sitting in a sales meeting and our manager is droning on and on about promotions, percentages, and yada-yada-yada. I notice that the manager seems especially nervous about something. From that, otherwise, inconsequential thing my head begins spinning out back story that his nervousness is at the mid-point of a story arc that ends in his eventual conviction for embezzling company funds that someone figured out and is holding over his head, blackmailing him. And, maybe, at that very moment, while conducting a sales meeting, he is also considering murder. Or, that the company and law enforcement are aware and closing in on him.

This is a true story. I didn’t fabricate the example. Oh, wait; the sales meeting was real, not the embezzlement thing. That was just me letting my imagination do its thing while enduring another God-awful meeting. The truth of that particular situation was that the manager was about to be fired. I’d have been nervous, too.

Still, the notion of writing narrative and dialogue to tell expanded versions of these infant scenarios did not occur to me until I was in my mid-forties. It began when I had an extraordinarily vivid nightmare that circled my thoughts like a vulture for weeks. I could not put it into any context that made sense. I don’t know from where my mind pulled together the elements of that vision that had become so indelibly printed on my memory. So, one Saturday morning I woke early and that disturbing dream was on my mind when I did. I sat at the computer and began typing out the vision as I remembered it. Long story short: A hundred-twenty thousand words later, I had a novel. Of course, by the time it was published, it had shrunk to about eighty-five thousand words. And, that dream with some modification, became the beginning of a paranormal (metaphysical, if you prefer) adventure for my protagonist in “The Last Radiant Heart”.

Now, I’m back to the original question: Why do I write?

I think it’s because it’s what I’ve always done. I just didn’t put it into words for other people to read early on, that’s all. Do I enjoy solitary endeavors like writing? Oh yes. Do I enjoy creating characters and living with them for a time? Definitely. Do I want to profit financially from writing? Of course.

To sum it up: I love writing fiction. But, as easy as it would have been to simply say this and then shut up, I wanted you to know the story behind the “why”.

Besides, how could I call myself a writer if all I wrote was, “I love writing.”

Author of
"Six Years' Worth"/Father's Press/mainstream/print & ebook

"Paradise Flawed"/Dream Books LLC/action-adventure/print & ebook
"Where Are You, Anne Bonny?"/Rogue Phoenix Press/ historical drama/ ebook only

“Trouble”, short story/CrossTIME Science Fiction Anthology, Vol. IX/print only

 “Dancing Away”/ short story/romance/Untreed Reads/ebook only

 “Annie’s World: Jake’s Legacy”/ATTM Press/soft science fiction/print & ebook

“Helping Hand For Ethan/Rogue Phoenix Press/young adult/print & ebook

 “Phobia”/Booktrope/suspense-thriller/print & ebook

 “Defining Family”/Whiskey Creek Press/young adult/print & ebook

 “The Last Radiant Heart” (re-release)/Sage Words Publishing/science fiction/print & ebook

COMING SOON

  “One Day In Lubbock” / Booktrope

Search Daniel Lance Wright on Amazon.com

Smile and the whole world smiles... yeah, okay, got it.

I'm a bit slow to catch on, but I finally figured out how to identify true love.

It's when you're not sure whether to smile or kiss because you want badly to do them both at the same time.

It's Monday, your weekly chance at a new beginning. Wonderful, ain't it?  Have a great week, y'all.

We're Here. Deal With It.

This is one of those odd afternoons. We all have them. I had lunch, three quick glasses of wine, a nap and woke with a poem in my head. And, I 'm not a poet. But, I'll share it anyway.

You are who you are.

You are what you are.

You’re nothing,

You’re everything,

You were,

You are,

You will be.

You are perfect.

You are the human race.

Who will win such a race?

You?

Me?

Us?

We are who we are.

We are what we are.

We will go on.

There's just no telling what this poem might look like with another glass of wine. I think I'll uncork another bottle and find out.

Hugs and love, Y'all.

Don't Call Me Tubby

I’m not a big guy. But, I’m not huge either – a six-footer about fifteen pounds overweight. There’s a case to be made that I’m very close to the American average for a man my age in this era and, of course, I will argue in favor of it.

That said, it’s clear that the Chinese have a skewed notion of the terms “small”, “medium” and “large”. I submit that a Chinaman’s idea of large is somewhere between small and medium by American standards.

In case you think it’s going that way, this not a discussion of obesity in America, although, it does need to be discussed ongoing and addressed the same way.

Instead, I’m writing about an honest opinion difference based on cultural biases. Here’s the rub: If China is to continue a good trading relationship with the U-S and keep on flooding our retail markets with cheap consumer good then, for heaven’s sake, manufacture products meant for Americans built to American standards of size.

Although clothing is the most obvious category that springs to mind for a discussion on size, apparel is not the point of this post. The 2X t-shirt that still is too small for this 1X body is a great example of that problem. I resemble Baby Huey in it. But, I digress.

Specifically, this rant concerns bath tubs. Yep, you read right – bath tubs.

Allow me to explain: Recently my wife and I searched out and purchased another house, the purpose; a place large enough that my aging mother could move in with us and have a private living space to call her own. Long story short; we found it. The only problem is that the only shower in the house is in the bathroom designated as part of Mom’s private space. The bathroom my wife and I share has only a tub which, incidentally, will be rectified as soon as I can find a contractor.

Now, visualize this, if you dare: I’m flat on my back in the tub, shoulders folded inward because I’m too wide to lay flat in the darn thing, toes curled against the end and knees high in the air and my hands working feverishly from the wrists clutching a bar of soap because I can’t get enough arm action involved to move much. Comical, huh? Oh, by the way, when I finally do finish, my body slurps as I break the suction hold on it from the bottom. I’m not even going to explain the whole process of rolling over to stand. That’s another ordeal altogether.

Smile, giggle or laugh out loud, if you must, but, I’ll reserve laughter for a distant future time after our shower has been installed and I can look back on it. Right now I’m in no mood to even crack a smile but, God as my witness, I am clean.

I can say one thing with no hesitation; a wash cloth and a sink of warm water is beginning to look much more appealing.

Also, I am certain the tub was manufactured in China. So, the inclusion of their notion on size, I think, was warranted.

I could go on, but I really need to find that remodeling contractor now. What the heck did I do with the Yellow Pages?

Have a great day, y’all.

Author of
"Six Years' Worth"/Father's Press/mainstream/print & ebook

"Paradise Flawed"/Dream Books LLC/action-adventure/print & ebook
"Where Are You, Anne Bonny?"/Rogue Phoenix Press/ historical drama/ ebook only

“Trouble”, short story/CrossTIME Science Fiction Anthology, Vol. IX/print only

 “Dancing Away”/ short story/romance/Untreed Reads/ebook only

 “Annie’s World: Jake’s Legacy”/ATTM Press/soft science fiction/print & ebook

“Helping Hand For Ethan/Rogue Phoenix Press/young adult/print & ebook

 “Phobia”/Booktrope/suspense-thriller/print & ebook

 “Defining Family”/Whiskey Creek Press/young adult/print & ebook

 “The Last Radiant Heart” (re-release)/Sage Words Publishing/science fiction/print & ebook

COMING SOON

  “One Day In Lubbock” / Booktrope

Search Daniel Lance Wright on Amazon.com

Life is What Happens

Remember the old cliché, “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans”? Well, it has been circling my thoughts lately with increased frequency. This calendar year has thrown a few curves my way. To not bore you, I’ll just say that the word focus has no place in my daily lexicon, and hasn’t had for months. Focused thought is a seemingly simple aspiration that has become profoundly difficult to achieve.

This is not written to be a self-indulgent blubberfest. It’s meant only to share a bit of self-analysis that might apply to your life and/or situation(s).

In my imaginary perfect world, I would be affording an overwhelming percentage time to the pursuits of writing, woodturning, exercising, cooking, sleeping and, maybe, a bit of socializing and travel thrown into the mix. Truth is, all of these interests are taking a backseat to a myriad of other things that are more necessary but much less interesting. Things that are family related that I’m sure you must deal with, or someday will, in your own personal universes and not worth detailing.

Here’s the more interesting part of this little trip into the inner workings of my head: Why is it that I have time to pursue all of those interests listed above, yet find myself kicking back and waiting for the next big crisis to disrupt something that’s not happening?

It’s almost as if part of me is saying to another part of me, “Stop trying to concentrate on things you want. They’re not important. Besides, you’ll only be interrupted anyhow.”

For heaven sake, the more pragmatic side of me is listening to that crap and following the advice, which means; I do absolutely nothing and become forlorn over it. Yet, I won’t lift a finger to do any of those things I list as desirable pursuits. All I do is sit and wait for the next out-of-my-control crisis to come crashing down. Now, isn’t this state of mind the silliest thing you’ve ever heard of? Unfortunately, that describes me perfectly at this juncture.

It’s truly interesting how the brain works...or doesn’t.

I’d better wrap this rant up. Something will surely interrupt me before I put a final period on this thing if I don’t. I think I’ll sit back, put my feet up and then wait and see what that might be.

Author of
"Six Years' Worth"/Father's Press/mainstream/print & ebook

"Paradise Flawed"/Dream Books LLC/action-adventure/print & ebook
"Where Are You, Anne Bonny?"/Rogue Phoenix Press/ historical drama/ ebook only

“Trouble”, short story/CrossTIME Science Fiction Anthology, Vol. IX/print only

 “Dancing Away”/ short story/romance/Untreed Reads/ebook only

 “Annie’s World: Jake’s Legacy”/ATTM Press/soft science fiction/print & ebook

“Helping Hand For Ethan/Rogue Phoenix Press/young adult/print & ebook

 “Phobia”/Booktrope/suspense-thriller/print & ebook

 “Defining Family”/Whiskey Creek Press/young adult/print & ebook

 “The Last Radiant Heart” (re-release)/Sage Words Publishing/science fiction/print & ebook

COMING SOON

  “One Day In Lubbock” / Booktrope

Search Daniel Lance Wright on Amazon.com

Just a Small Town Thing

I’ve mentioned small-town living often in this blog. It’s one of those things that’s deeply imbedded in me; to the bone, so to speak. Oh sure, I detoured from it for about thirty years while working in the television industry but in my heart, I was never far from it.


Here’s where I need to be clear on what I’m referring to as “small town”. I’m not talking about a municipality of modest population that butts against a larger city where the only differentiation between the two is the city limit sign or even a bedroom community a few miles out from an urban center. I’m talking about a community that by its distance from those type places must, by necessity, be its own center of commerce. Otherwise, a round trip to the grocery store might be eighty to a hundred miles. You have to admit that when gasoline is around four bucks a gallon, even wealthy folks think more of their money than to spend it so frivolously.

There are things that happen in small towns that might astonish an urbanite but are everyday occurrences to the locals.

Here’s a wonderfully amusing example: I needed to pick up a few things at the grocery, not a neighborhood convenience story, mind you, but a supermarket. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed a riding lawn mower taking up a parking space. I figured it was just an employee that had been doing some work and then taking a break for a soda or something.

After picking up the items I went in for, I stepped into the checkout line behind a spry old gentleman that quite obviously had cataracts on his eyes and vision problems. I’d guess his age to be mid-eighties. He was bantering with the cashier. “Now get a move on, Missy. You’re taking time away from my stories.”

“Stories?” she asked. “Are you talking about the afternoon soap operas on television?”

He reared his head in astonishment that she’d need to ask. “Of course. Now hurry it along. It’ll take me a while to get home on that damned ol’ mower.”

This is the point I became very interested. “So, you’re the one driving that riding mower parked next to me out there.”

“Yep. They yanked my driver’s license. They told me my vision didn’t measure up. But, I see well enough. So, damn ‘em. I’ll do what I gotta do to get around.”

I smiled and nodded. “Then I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

“You damn sure will, boy... you damn sure will.”

Since that day, I’ve seen him many times driving down the shoulder of the main highway that splits our little town at a blistering three or four miles per hour. It’s a rather busy thoroughfare. Each time I do, I stick my arm out the window and offer a big wave. He never waves back. I assume he can’t see that far. I do wonder just how far he can see since he crosses that highway frequently. I don’t know, but I won’t be standing in front of him if he’s coming in my direction.

I hope that when the time comes, I can be so inventive. I'm not exactly young anymore. Maybe I should be pricing riding mowers.

Ah, small town, America. Can ya dig it?

How To Kill A Good Idea

Since I took the plunge and had new hardware installed in my aging knee joint, I’ve taken to walking, a lot. One day I’ll lap the southern end of our small town and the next I’ll circle the northern residential end. Both routes take about an hour. But, neither the walk nor the aftermarket knee parts are the subject of this blog, only the means by which this line of thinking was born.


The human body is such an amazing machine. All it takes is a few minutes of physical exertion and fresh blood is pumped to the brain, thinking becomes clearer, ideas circle, even swarm the now receptive mind. Spoiler alert – I learned an important lesson yesterday on how not to treat good ideas; now, for a real time account of that walk:

Pain seems to be subsiding and the warm-up complete. I pick up the pace a little, the heart beats faster, breathing becomes heavier and after twenty minutes it seems that long-held secrets of the universe might be revealed with just a bit more exertion. Reaching for those answers adds yet more speed as the stride lengthens for the next twenty minutes. Breathing soon becomes labored and the heart is pounding, not only in my chest, but also in my ears. My hour is finally done.

Time has come to reel in grandiose aspirations. Universal secrets will remain just that... for now. I must be happy to have come up with a fresh outlook on old ideas and slightly improved notions on working concepts. I’ll again reach for the bigger revelations another day. Recharging and rest are needed. The spring in my step has abandoned me and I trudge to the front porch. The rocking chair beckons. It is already slowly moving to and fro in the breeze. My head remains flush with better directions for plot and flow. I am arrogantly comfortable the novel in progress will become a world-class literary work. I just need to rest a while. In fact, a glass of wine would be nice.

As I sip the nectar, I ponder my newly formed ideas and begin to mentally put them into a coherent and useable form. It’s coming together nicely in my head. I’ll go to the keyboard shortly and spin them into gold.

I take another sip, and then another. I watch the strong breeze seem to push a squirrel up a tree as the hair on its tail reverses. Interesting how it appears. A blue jay chases a mockingbird from its perch in a nearby pecan tree. What makes the jay so overbearing in the bird world? It leaves the perch and swoops down to peck a cat on the ear. The feline retaliates but can’t reach the faster blue jay – fascinating.

I lift my wine glass to see that the supply of sips has exhausted. I must get to work anyhow. I think back a few minutes, before the squirrel, before the birds, before the comical cat, only to realize the wonderful direction I’d set for my novel has escaped me. Now, the thoughts are disjointed and have no cogent flow. Oh well, I’ll have another glass of wine and write a blog entry.

Have a world class day, y’all and, by all means, treat your good ideas with more respect than I did.


Author of
"Six Years' Worth"/Father's Press/mainstream/print & ebook
"Paradise Flawed"/Dream Books LLC/action-adventure/print & ebook
"Where Are You, Anne Bonny?"/Rogue Phoenix Press/ historical drama/ ebook only
“Trouble”, short story/CrossTIME Science Fiction Anthology, Vol. IX/print only
“Dancing Away”/ short story/romance/Untreed Reads/ebook only
“Annie’s World: Jake’s Legacy”/ATTM Press/soft science fiction/print & ebook
“Helping Hand For Ethan/Rogue Phoenix Press/young adult/print & ebook
“Phobia”/Booktrope/suspense-thriller/print & ebook
“Defining Family”/Whiskey Creek Press/young adult/print & ebook
“The Last Radiant Heart” (re-release)/Sage Words Publishing/science fiction/print & ebook
COMING SOON
“One Day In Lubbock” / Booktrope



Search Daniel Lance Wright on Amazon.com