Rapid Fire

The following is a series of real time events.

Rapid fire style. If this isn’t your thing, feel free to carry on.

I write these installments for those who want to read it (Thank you all to the new subscribers and readers… I love you all. We’re getting there!!).

And, I do this because I enjoy it quite a bunch. This is fun for me. Relaxing.

Never invest your time in something you don’t enjoy. Never waste your time.

OK, here goes.

In 2011, I divorced. Catastrophe. Bounced around a few places, before signing a lease for a rental home, exactly a year later.

Fell in love.

The kind of love, that tells you God exists. The kind of love that speaks to the heart and soul and proves to me, her and I will meet again in the afterlife, or the next one.

Got comfortable.

All the stars seemed to have aligned. Things fell into our laps at opportune moments.

A few months later, Nancy got sick. Had a tumor the size of a softball removed which had been growing for many years. Not until it affected her breathing, did we even know about it’s existence. After it was removed, surgeons said, “no cancer.”

(Whew)

Months of recovery.

Once she was at the point of “normal” mobility, we returned to the specialists, and they informed us that, “micro-cellular replication was discovered around the tumor’s exterior surface.”

“Can I see it?” I asked. “Show me.”

“Well, not here. We don’t have the instruments to show you, here. Take this DVD/CD. Drive to Boston, where they have the machines to show you what we found.”

(Ummm… ok? Something isn’t right…)

We drive to Boston.

Give the technician the DVD/CD.

The machine can’t read it (ain’t that funny…). She turns to us and says, “I can’t show you anything, but based on what we know from your doctors, we highly suggest 30 days of chemo and radiation. If you don’t, things could get much worse, to the point of no return.”

(Something doesn’t feel right)

Nancy lost her cool when thinking about losing her hair, being sick, missing work, but they fear goaded her into going through with it.

All I wanted was something to indicate the treatment was necessary. Some proof. That’s all. One little clue. A hint… something.

“Call it, “preventative maintenance”… I know its expensive, but it’s not like the money is going into my pocket.” The pathologist said. “You’ll have one shitty summer. That’s all.” (Exact words)

“Your call, baby. I’ll back whatever decision you make.”

I was then deemed Nancy’s caretaker after she agreed to treatments.

30 days of the hardest stuff I’ve ever endured. I wouldn’t wish the experience on my worst enemy. That moment in my life, will forever be burned into my memory. I’ll be haunted by it until I draw my final breath.

The details of the 45 days following her first treatment, will not be included in these installments.

All that will be included, is how I dealt with the madness. My coping mechanism. My imaginary friend, Joe. My only method of climbing a treacherous mountain, which seemed impossible.

Without Joe… I would have lost my marbles.

I retreated into my subconscious, and it took over. I was on autopilot. Joe called the shots. I slipped into a fantasy world which was manifesting within my imagination, and the imagery at times was superimposed over my normal sight.

My daydreams became real.

My dreams and thoughts became reality.

I’d step outside to get a breath of fresh air, gripping the porch railing, white knuckled, cursing the world, pissed off at everything and everyone, and the porch would slowly melt away and transform into a rock cliff, overlooking a sparkling blue sea. Warm sun, high overhead, with dancing diamonds across the water’s surface as far as the eyes can venture.

It was those small moments which kept me moving forward. My temporary insanity, saved my sanity.

Sitting beside Joe in a bank lobby, looking out the window behind the teller, and the parking lot transforms into a lush garden, with a tall fortress on the opposite side of the road. The parked cars mutate into wagons, pulled by horses.

Joe then became the main character to a fantasy story I wrote. Swords and dragons and wizards and castles…

I had my nephew read it. He was a fantasy/adventure enthusiast, and I respected his input.

“It’s rough, but, its a fun story.”

I never returned to it.

It’s somewhere on a flash-drive. Untouched for many years.

Nancy heals.

Each and every doctor’s visit since then tells us, “your cancer is in remission.”

“Sorry… how can something, you couldn’t prove to exist, be in remission?”

(something doesn’t feel right)

Anyway… a year passes before I get the itch to put words on paper a second time. Life was back to normal, but something was missing. I had to figure out what that something was.

In 2014. I wrote a science fiction novel. Around 70,000 words. An idea I had rattling around I wanted to play with, and explore.

Editors worked on it, and it was a fun creation. I was instructed to make it a published work.

I began the process of working towards publishing it. Super excited. I wanted to tell a story, and I was informed I had accomplished that task. The story was told, enjoyable to read, and allowed an open opportunity for a sequel.

Researched cover artists. Spoke to people in the community… began jumping through hoops and making budgets for pro services…

Screeching halt.

90 to 0 in the blink of an eye.

Something was holding me back from taking it through to completion. Something felt off. An empty hole.

(Something doesn’t feel right)

Then, it happened. The singularity catalyst which kicked everything into motion. The piece of the puzzle I felt was missing from my bigger picture. Another doorway opened somewhere in my mind, and showed me something I needed to accomplish.

I mulled it over, internally debated, sat down, and spoke with Nancy about what I experienced.

“Sounds like fun.” She said.

“Do you mind if I look into it?”

“I’ll back whatever decision you make.” Was her reply.

Shortly after that conversation, I started the first installment of the Guardian War Chronicles.

The Surrender Game.

The first book in the series.

The other novel I wrote, in 2014, is now the sequel. I’ll run it through another series of edits when that time comes. I’ve already had conversations with my artist about ideas for the sequel’s art design. Everything seems to be on track.

Today, I’m waiting for the art work for both the Surrender Game and the free companion story. I ditched the Fiverr artwork for the free read, and my cover artist is now working on both books for me. I know it was the right call. No denying it. I don’t believe it will be too much longer now.

Between the day dreams, and the unconscious dreams, I’ve learned not to ignore my subconscious. I listen to my imagination. I follow the dreams. They seem to steer me in the direction I believe I need to go. A place I want to go. A place I enjoy visiting. Some might say, dreams are just dreams. I can’t follow that line of thought anymore. My dreams are so much more than something random, which occurs when I’m sleeping.

If your dreams speak to you, do yourself a favor and always keep an ear and one eye open. Let the dreams speak to you. Dreams are the language of the subconscious. A language meant specifically for the one willing to hear the words, and ponder the message.

That’s all I have for today. Chat soon and much love.

Peace 🙂

Thank you for reading and joining me on my journey. Please subscribe in the provided area to receive a notification of new posts by email or feel free to follow me on Twitter @jeremymorang, or follow along at my Facebook page to read up on a character’s journal entries. Please give this a like if you like it, share with others, or leave a comment if you wish. See you at the next one.