Stephen Legz Camburn, an avid runner, posted something on Facebook today that got me chuckling. I tell ya, the best friends are those who deposit laughter into your life. This was his post:
In the USA the police make you walk along the white line to see if you are sober: Well as I touched both curbs its definitely an epic fail….

Stephen and I are friends on Facebook, and I’ve never met him in person. But deep inside, I just have this feeling that here is a man who’d go the distance for his best friends. Mostly to amuse myself, I wrote this short paragraph in response to his post.

He told em he’d not only walk the line, he’d run it. I tell ya, once Camburn gets them ol legz movin’, there’s usually no catchin’ him… only this time, he wuz runnin’ round in circles. They gave him a minute before they intercepted his pattern, and wrestled him to da ground. This wasn’t his first run in with the law, but it was the first time he was running with em.

A year back, I read an article that stressed the importance of an author being as marketable as his book.

“What a pot of crap?” was my first reaction. “How about Stephen King? He did well for himself?”

And then I thought about the job they had done on Meyer, Rowling and Gilbert. Slowly, it sank in, fell on me like a heavy veil, that King was a rare exception of the past, as was Neil Young.

Voice in my head: “If ya wannit bad enough, ya gotta get out there and sell the living fuck out of it. And fuckin’ smile will ya. Ya gotta be a sterling brand ambassador for yer book y’know. And cut out them swear words while yer at it.”

Jay-Z said it best, “I’m not a businessman, I’m a business, man.”

The goal I’ve set for myself is to just get it done… to do this thing, and escape with my integrity intact. Some days I compare myself to the long legged lasses who parade around the boxing ring holding a number; except I’ll be holding my book instead of a square card, and my legs are not that long. I don’t like it, but sometimes, ya just gotta do yer rounds.

A pit of nervousness sits in my stomach right before this next interview about my book. I slow my breathing, ration my heartbeats.

“Let’s do this.”

In other words, when you’ve burned all the charcoal, burn the bag that housed it.

I saw this graphic on someone’s Facebook wall the other day and decided to paste it on my own. On several fronts, the words really hit home.

Filtered to the core, you will find that this is the very principle upon which FUEL was built… a test of one’s ability to persevere on heart alone, after all your energy reserves have been depleted. “Is there more to burn?”

These fiery words, when superimposed on my own life, penetrate more deeply, maybe because not a day passes that my needle doesn’t dip below the E. It would be nice to only have to set yourself on fire in that one dénouement moment that requires a Fourth of July finish, but sadly, this “Hot Guy” stunt has become a routine thing for me. Each day is a struggle, to find new ground to stand on, and failing that, new vines to cling on to.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey, it is that hope is a renewable energy.