Carrot on a Stick

For over two million miles and the better part of twenty-five years, I rode around. All those years, I never knew what it was I wanted to do when I grew up, so I didn't. When I was young, big trucks… Lue lisää For over two million miles and the better part of twenty-five years, I rode around. All those years, I never knew what it was I wanted to do when I grew up, so I didn't. When I was young, big trucks and the call of the open road were all I could hear. It always seemed as if the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow was just beyond the next horizon. I chased many dreams over the years, but none of them were ever to be mine. A dream can never be yours if it isn't really yours to begin with. Eventually I stopped dreaming, and it was then I died. There were several long, hard years that I thought I served no purpose except to take up space. I'm not going to tell you here all the stories about broken hearts and dreams long since lost. We've all experienced heartaches and disillusionment to some degree, and it would serve no purpose to go into detail here. I'll only say that sooner or later we all have to get over it. I started writing in nineteen-ninety-six as a means to work out the pain of a broken heart and hoped to write songs, as music is one of my greatest passions, second only to beautiful women, of course. It didn't take me long to figure out that there are too many angst-filled poets in the world writing more gloom and despair than we'll ever want to read, so I asked God to let me write something funny. He did. I began sharing my songs and poetry with friends who encouraged me to write more. My telephone rang all the time with people wanting to hear my latest musings, so I joyfully complied with their wishes. Soon I was reading in church, at coffee houses and even in bars. Everywhere I went, even at work, people wanted to hear my poetry. It wasn't long before I figured out that while all of this was fun, it was really a waste of time. I needed to write a book, and write a book I did. In the last three years I have finished ten books, am working on ten more, and if you are reading this, then I have published my first book, CARROT ON A STICK. All of this from a guy who had a perfect "D" average in English class and never learned to type. I guess that accounts for the bad grammar and errors in punctuation, but I think you'll get the point anyway. Is something dangling here?