One of my friends made the suggestion he wanted to read my book. At the time I wasn't even writing a book, I only blogged. I've heard several people over the years talk about their book they've been writing, but no one has produced one yet.
I made myself sit down and start writing. For a while it was painful like forcing myself to paint when the spark isn't there. I struggled for subject matter, what to say, really wasn't even interested in the project.
Just recently it has blossomed and all the things that happened in the streets are coming back to me and I'm not trying to be delicate in describing what my life was like and all the things that took place to get me to today.
I don't know if I shut the memories out or they were just being stored for a time like this.
My life has just changed permanently for the better and I'm going to tell my story now.
You should be warned it's not for the faint of heart.
It has been a wild ride.
