Tag Archives: Christianity

Six Years and Counting

Six years have passed since I conceptualized Skepticism. Although, I would’ve liked to have published the manuscript by now, the long wait for the edits to fall in line and to be at a place in life where I can dedicate time to promoting it has been worth it. I’ve determined a little over a month after graduation come Wednesday, June 27, 2018 on PTSD awareness day, Skepticism will be available.

Saturday, November 19, 2011 like most seventeen-year-old high school seniors I was fretting over what was to come after graduation. I was weighing my option granted my SAT and ACT scores, cram studying for finals and end of semester projects. Amid, all the progression something within me had shattered. Just a semester ago, I had experienced several negative incidents in relation to writing. Those failures broke my spirit. My passion wilted, and I questioned my ability.

Writing had always been my love. I wasn’t the best yet I worked with my awkward prose, syntax and bad grammar to form compelling short stories. I admit a lot of my past stories were subpar, but without them I couldn’t have churned out two novels and I’d hate to imagine how mediocre I’d still write had I not wrote Skepticism.

I glared at the bright empty Microsoft word document. I’d told my mother I’d never write again. It was the source of my shame. How could I fail at the one thing I had going for me? Most of 2011 had been a painful turn of events. Writing was my release. It was the only way I could express myself. Communication wasn’t my strongest suit.

A writing prompt formed in my mind of an angry eighteen-year-old, Ivy League freshman. He’d share my childhood trauma, misfortune, and misanthropic thoughts. Yet rather than relying on faith and a belief in a God he’d cleave to his skepticism and disdain for religion to explain the unresolved trauma, unexplained events and hallucinations. His denial of not only a higher power but his diagnosis of PTSD would be his greatest asset, but a source of great frustration to both himself and the reader.

In a way this prompt allowed me to explore a world foreign to my own. A world I’d never dreamed possible to comprehend. Each chapter I wrote brought out new questions. I entertained perspectives outsidemy realm of comfort and researched concepts I’d otherwise ignore.

When someone writes a novel whether it’s about magic or coming of age, there’s no way it won’t transform them. Committing six years and counting of my life to Skepticism has been one of my greatest investments. Sure it’s not on a shelf yet. There’s no saying  Skepticism it will be a huge success. If fame and fortune were my end goal, there’s no way I would’ve stuck with this project this long. All the sacrifices I’ve had to make and time spent writing could’ve been used graduating college earlier, making a steady income, interning, or building relationships as I’ve balanced working on my novels with being a fulltime college student. In the process of working on Skepticism a second novel blossomed, Volatile. Not everyone has been understanding of my work as an author. Many view it as a hobby, pipe dream and excuse for not working a “real” job. The discipline of sticking with a project you’re not profiting monetarily from for over half a decade isn’t easy yet I can’t imagine where I’d be today if I hadn’t gotten over my mountain of fears to write Skepticism.




I used to say free will was undebatable. We all had it. I’m the master of my fate. Who would even think to question it? Then it dawned on me, wait a minute if that is so then riddle me this? Why do I have no say over my biology. It was predetermined. Why did I not chose my parents? The sperm egg in which I came, I had no say. What about my mental process. Ha, if I think I simply chose before my conception to be then that would make me a god. I’m no god. Every choice I made was a product of predetermined circumstances. My past like where I grew up who I lived around were preselected. If there’s free will it’s limited.


Fingers pointing
Accusations coming
Everything I did is
Under scrunity
Whatever I said
Somehow was never
a joke or it had some
Sort of double meaning
Because of course
There is an ulterior
Motive. There is no
Such thing as truth
Or expression outside
Myself. It’s sad that
Everything I say has to
Be explained. As if I
Owe everyone an
Explanation for my
actions or words.
I didn’t come to fight
Or destroy but thanks
To distortion of some
I have become a villian
There’s no changing
Their mind nor will I try
Because I’m done
defending myself
In the end God is my


The Perfect Man




Sunlight flooded the living room gleaming against the black leather binding of the King James Bible on a glass coffee table. The crucifix around the young pastor’s neck glistened against the rays of light. He donned a black suit and red tie. She locked eyes with him and he took her tiny hand into his. His lips drew back into a smile revealing even white rows of teeth. His grasp was strong, yet gentle. Her heart drummed faster. To think of all women he’d chosen her; the man for who she’d waited her entire life. Although she was only eighteen, she knew without a doubt; she loved him.



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Many throw the word faith around without understanding it’s true meaning. Seeing isn’t always believing. That’s easy to say, but hard to execute when you hit rock bottom, and all hope seems lost. Many non-believers and skeptics view faith in a creator for the weak. I’ve learned over the years faith is
a gift that not everyone has or will ever possesses. Being able to push forward in near impossible situations is a blessing. If it were not for my faith in YHWH I wouldn’t be here. Faith in him is what keeps me alive. The reason I breathe. Without my faith, I’m nothing, I have no purpose. Life is just a meaningless chain of events.