About The Author

–         –  About  The  Author  –

By Ed Binkley

I guess you might say I was stubborn and that would be an accurate statement most of the time. I tend to like to do things my way even though logic and, yes, good sense might dictate otherwise. This has brought me much to reflect on over the years and not all with happiness. I have been wrong more than I was right and paid a heavy price for my stubbornness but such is life and as the saying goes, “He made his bed now let him lie in it.”

We all have regrets and wish that life had more do-over’s than it actually does (which isn’t many, by-the-way) so however we made our bed in preparation for life, so it shall be when we sleep in it. The only real regret is that we tend to bring others with us on that journey that didn’t aid in the actual making of our beds. We kind of picked them up after the journey began. There are husbands, wives, children, extended families and, of course, friends. None of them had anything at all with feathering the original nest yet they are just as much a part of the final product as the maker of that bed himself.

I could go through a wish list which would more or less resemble a shopping list for success and bore you to tears but my list would be short and to the point. I wanted to make a positive difference in this life. I didn’t. I wanted to leave a good financial foundation for my wife and kids. I didn’t. I wanted to do one great thing that my kids could say, “See that! My daddy did that.” And, once again, I didn’t.

I missed the mark so many times I can’t figure out why the Good Lord has kept me around so long. I just seem to be occupying space and collecting dust. I’ve got one shoe nailed to the floor and I’m walking in circles. Shall I go on?

Well, that isn’t quite true anymore. I wish I could say I woke up one day and low and behold, I had an epiphany. That wouldn’t be entirely true either. What did happen is that I finally realized what it was I wanted to do when I grew up. (I’m now sixty-two, by-the-way.) I want to write. I’ve been doing it kind of hap-hazardously over the years since high school with decades of in activity scattered in-between. I started again about fourteen years ago again sort of hit and miss. I’d start something and then set it aside. I’d write some sappy poems and then set them aside. I started a few novels and rushed to finish them and then never went back to revise or edit them. I couldn’t convince myself that I should take it seriously. I mean I failed at everything else, why should this be any different? My psychologist would disagree with that statement saying something like, “It’s impossible to fail at everything Ed, get real. You might want to rethink that statement.” Well, she’s right, of course, there were many things I did succeed at but they weren’t the important ones. That’s the difference.

The difference with writing versus other things I’ve tried is……… I like it! It makes me happy and other people who have taken the time to read my recent stories seem to agree. They like them too. I have a lot I want to say both on paper and off. I want to share what is rambling around in my head and see if it can fit comfortably in yours or someone else’s. Stephen King, in his novel “Bag of Bones” had his main character use a quote, “A writer is someone who lets their mind misbehave.” I guess that would have to be true for some novelists. I haven’t tried that yet but I might. Right now I just want to share my thoughts, such as they are, and relive some of my past, some of my youth and those experiences that we, of that era can share with those born later who might like to know more about a time that they didn’t have the opportunity to live in, a simpler time. It was a time when the birds sang and people stopped to listen. When the aroma of freshly mown grass was like mother natures perfume. And trees were to be admired for their strength and majesty. Now, what few birds there are left to sing are considered pests. “Why don’t they shut up so we can sleep?” Freshly mown grass just signals it’s time to pay the gardener. And the majestic trees are those things that stand in the way of progress. Oh how I long for the “good ole days”.

Now that the Good Lord has given me the direction I am to travel, I hope he gives me the time I need to finish that which I have so recently started. Oh, and one more thing, for the first time ever I feel comfortable calling myself a writer. No, not because I have been published that is still a dream and one that may never come true but simply because people have read some of my stories and felt good about them which, in turn, makes me feel good. What can I say? I’m easy to please but I would like to be pleased on a more regular basis. Did I mention I’m just a wee bit greedy as well? Especially when it comes to being pleased that is.


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