Who can hide in secret places so that I cannot see them?

No. This isn’t the voice of Amazon.

Although that sentiment rings true for many of us, when we think of some all-knowing, all-seeing omnipotence.

America is seeing a trend towards more than just commercialism, idolatry, and self-worship.

We, collectively, are tapping into a scary new terrain – ambiguity.

Phones save information for us. [I know my number, a couple of others – including 911.]

Computers save our browser history, credit data, and passwords.

Geo-fencing markets to us and supplies us never-ending chances to buy more, sinking deeper into obscurity.

And largely, we haven’t fought back.

The speaker above isn’t Big Brother. And it isn’t the government either (sorry conspiracy theorists).

No. The voice is taken out of context (my apologies), but it led me to emphasize that one phrase ‘secret places.’

We are obsessed with comfortable cloudiness.

My own stems from TV (streaming services 24/7) and overt self-indulgence throughout each fiscal year.

What is not overt and continually remains a mystery is how we protect broken, dilapidated portions of our lives.

Much like a home, the soul is largely neglected. I feel, inside more weeks than not, I’m a shell of what I want to be:

Honest, hard-working, transparent, giving, humble

Social media has allowed me to look the part, but again, this protects those secret places in my life.

If, instead, I thought of a spotlight following me around, and life was anything but a stage, then I think I would begin to allow the secret places to be revealed – to expose me for who I am.

Flawed, treacherous, unhealthy

loving, loved, saved

The middle grade and young adult events will take place on Friday, 4/26. There will be panel discussions and time to ask authors questions. (I’ll be co-hosting a session on YA writing at 11am.)

Then, Saturday, 4/27, you will have plenty of time to get copies of books by Kentucky authors (like Eliot Parker & Tasha Cotter!) & out-of-state guests. It’s a great event. Hope to see you there.

Address for events:

Knicely Convention Center

2355 Nashville Road, Bowling Green, KY 42101

As a mid-30s male jumping into the foray of parenthood, I’ve witnessed things my 20-year-old self would’ve ran from. For family members & friends wondering where I’ve been –

I’m still alive.*

*No matter what the suffocating mound of Pampers, Huggies, disinfectant wipes, and empty Enfamil canisters behind my closet door suggests.

My wife says ‘Hello,’ by the way and wants to know if you have any good vacation recommendations. We hope to book one for the year 2032. Will Bermuda still be permitting tourists then? Will the polar ice caps make our destination point moot?

We tell folks that our honeymoon lasted 10 years and swear the best isn’t behind us. Regardless of what our Friday night routines tell us. (I’m still hunting for those dang Dr. Brown bottle pieces.)

For any soon-to-be fathers out there, here are 7 things this dad has learned:

• Set the alarm 1 hour earlier than pre-Baby days

• Wet wipes are the new paper towel

• Diapers aren’t Tupperware containers (not air tight)

• Happy Mom + Baby = some sleep

• Toes will be bent on the bed frame

• Keep swearing to a minimum (<2 per day, never in front of Baby)

• Sound machines are better than any DJ you’ll find. I recommend the ‘waves’ setting.

I distinctly remember Dad telling me he’d met someone in the fall of ’92. Fresh from the battlefield of divorce, I was skeptical of anything good ever happening again to a seven-year-old.

She lived an hour north of us in a community called Eubank.

I felt the strain of my boat coming unmoored from its place at the dock.

I asked why he wanted to remarry. Weren’t my sister and I enough?

He told me I’d like her, and I agreed to be civil that first meeting.

They went on 2 dates in December and were married by mid-month.

I wasn’t happy, but I could tell Dad was.

Sherry introduced me and my sister to her daughter. We stared at one another across the small living room like detainees awaiting interrogation.

But it didn’t remain that way for long.

Sherry brought out a tantalizing tray of Rice Krispy Treats, and I was weakened – much quicker, I might add, than my sister.

My footing felt uncertain on the steps of this new threshold.

She wanted me to enjoy them. Dad had told her how much I loved the marshmallow-y sweets.

I smiled and reluctantly took candy from a stranger.

But little did I know that I was meeting someone who’d blossom into a fixture in my life for the next 27 years.

Today.

Sherry’s best friend, Becky, stands at the front of Morris & Hislope Funeral Home and relays all the kinds gestures she’s been shown over the years.

Sherry is described as an angel. Someone capable of letting anyone close, just with her eyes.

She is a rock for countless souls descending to pay their final respects.

A Garth Brooks song is playing – The Dance, one Dad and her first danced to at their wedding.

He tells me its the song he heard playing when he left the hospital just one week ago.

Sherry’s pictures are featured on poster boards, and her eyes are penetrating even still across the parlor.

Her smile is fixed in each Polaroid like a singer about to sing a song everyone has come to hear.

Dad’s brother is providing the eulogy and red roses rest atop the casket.

It’s a color scheme Sherry would’ve wanted, Dad said earlier.

The funeral is tomorrow, and while Sherry will be laid to rest with her parents, her brother, even her son, Jason, she will be emblazoned on the hearts of all who can still hear her laugh.

She now sings on that high mountain and her work down here is done.

You’ve always had it

and I wanted it

so badly

the Spirit

and independence

to make a baby coo

and scare a poacher

all in the same breath

You brought neighbors closer

and shied away

from false prophets

I admired the heart

you gave

to others

without ever asking

for anything

And seeing your Spirit

hurt by anything

was too much so

I looked away

at anything else

Because I knew

I couldn’t handle

the crippling weight

you carried

on your back

in your joints

and never complained

even once

I’m pleased to share that I’ll be attending the 2019 SOKY Book Fest in Bowling Green, Kentucky. More details are available on their site.

There will be so many exciting writers there, including Bluegrass Writers Studio alums Eliot Parker & Tasha Cotter!

I hope to see you there.

-Brian