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Life in Pennsylvania Coal Country was not, and is not, easy. Granted, I haven’t been a citizen of Clearfield County, Pennsylvania in almost twenty years, but I keep in close touch with people who are. When I lived there, hope was a luxury many refused to afford themselves. Their grandparents lived and died there, their parents lived and died there, and they were determined to live and die there. I can remember quite a few times my ambitions were deflated by the people of that area. At the time I thought they were being cruel, but I can now see they were trying to be merciful. They felt it was easier to be disappointed in plans falling apart as a youth, than to see dreams destroyed as an adult, and risk an entire life being wasted.

I think about that every time I make plans, or set goals. No one gets out of Pennsylvania Coal Country without a few reminders of the stay; like the miners left with reminders like black lung and missing appendages.

This blog is not meant to bring anyone down, quite the opposite! This week’s blog is dedicated to the most important question someone can ask themselves: what would you do if you rubbed a lamp and got three wishes? How was that for segue?

I wanted to hate Netflix’s “Wednesday.” I wanted to hate it so much that I refused to publicly discuss it until now. Truth be told, I didn’t hate it. In fact, the show inspired me to get off my ass and get my fingers back on the keyboard. What a kick in the groin that is—wanting to hate a show, only to be moved to continue honing your craft. That’s like being taught how to love by your school bully.

I’m sure I wanted to hate “Wednesday” for the same reason the fans of the 60’s series wanted to hate the 90’s Addams Family movies: it was a vast departure from the property they’d been endeared to. I can still remember plopping my happy ass on my living room floor after Trick-or-Treating to watch the Addams Family movie; the movie was the purest representation of the characterization I had. As an adult, I can recognize how narrow-minded that was of me. Beginning “Wednesday,” I had the same defeatist expectations the fans of the 60’s show had in the 90’s, the same as the fans of the cartoon strip had when the 60’s show hit the air.

I looked at my blog today, with a degree of sadness. When I first started my writing career, my blog was super active, and I looked forward to my new posts hitting every week. Now, the page looks like a shell of the blog it used to be, and that makes me sad. If we’re being honest, I think there was a mental block, because I don’t know how to process the things I feel like I need to say.

There is a commercial aspect to my communication apprehension. If I type what’s on my mind, there is the very real fear that my platform may look unsavory. It’s not that the beliefs I have are unsavory, but my natural stress & anger responses to them may be. Since publishing “Broken Promise Records” in 2017, I’ve been very vocal that I wanted everyone—regardless of their size, shape, shade, beliefs, or orientation—to be able to see themselves in my work. If I were to type a manifesto about how I think people who wear green neckties should be taken out back, and shot, would that alienate people from my work. I don’t believe that, but what if I did? Blame it on ADHD, blame it on poor social skills, but I can’t just be a little angry. If I were to go on a diatribe, I would feel awful that someone saw the words I write as harmful to them.