I'm Floundering With My 2023 Goals, But There's Still Time To Get Back On Track

 It's hard to believe that we are almost done with January 2023. Wasn't it just New Year's Day?

Well if you're like me, you had some heartfelt goals for 2023 - especially as it relates to writing. Are you also like me and floundering just a bit in these opening weeks of the new year?

Sure. It's ok to face up to it. It's still early, though. More than enough time to get back on track. One of my goals was to write a first draft of a short story each month - 12 stories by the end of the year.

So.... I still have almost two weeks to flesh out my story for January.

And here is the idea I have been toying with since about mid-December: a middle-aged cook with literary aspirations tries to recreate one of his grandmother's recipes one day at work while trying to make sense of his most-recent failed relationship.

At least that's what I have so far. I'm neurotic to a fault. I have jotted down a good amount of notes, even toyed with a few variations for a first line. But, I've been stuck on a detail: my protagonist's name.

Today was my day off at work. A day off means sleeping in a little, then errands: checking my post office box and visiting the book store. Two of my magazines were in my box: The Writer and Entrepreneur.

I bought eight books at the book store. I can't help it. Today's haul: pigeon feathers and other stories, by John Updike; Independence Day, by Richard Ford; Babbit, by Sinclair Lewis; Saint Maybe, by Anne Tyler; My Heart Laid Bare, by Joyce Carol Oates; The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart, Poems for Men, Robert Bly, James Hillman and Michael Meade, editors; Write Away, One Novelist's Approach to Fiction and the Writing Life, by Elizabeth George; and 140 Characters, a Style Guide for the short Form, by Dom Sagolla.

If you want to be a writer, you must read and read and read some more. Can't say that enough. It helps that I love to read. 

What I Am Reading

 I am working on a few stories that reach down into my heritage like shoving your hand down into a garbage disposal to find the clog and hoping nobody flicks the switch and mutilates your hand.

It has involved quite a bit of reading. So... during the last three days, this is what I have read:

Sweet Town by Toni Cade Bambara

The Water Faucet Vision by Gish Jen

The Monkey Garden by Sandra Cisneros

A Dry Drive by Andy Adams

Headed for the Setting Sun by James Emmit McCauley

from Adventures of a Ballad Hunter by John A. Lomax

from Adventures with a Texas Naturalist by Roy Bedicheck

The Portrait by Tomas Rivera

La Fabulosa: A Texas Operetta by Sandra Cisneros

Bad Girls by Harryette Mullen

Why Texas Is the Way It Is by Betty Sue Flowers

Social Studies by Kinky Friedman

If you want to share you thoughts about any of these works, please let me know.

To Be A Writer You Must Be A Reader

 One of the habits that might be the hardest to establish if you are aspiring to be a writer is to spend more time reading than writing.

Yes. I said it. Read more than you write. 

I say that because the knee-jerk reaction of a new writer is to just write, write, write. But....

You must read literature to write literature. There is no better way to learn how to write than to read from those writers who have come before you. That especially goes for genre writers. You may love romance, mystery, sci-fi, fantasy, etc. 

So, you want to write in that genre.... Then you better read everything in that genre. Study it. Learn from it. 

What have you been reading lately? Is it helping your writing goals?

Dare To Write Despite Every Failure

 You want to write. You do it for a day, a week.... maybe longer. Then, you stop.

I get it. Writing is hard... Very hard.

You compare yourself to the greats: Shakespeare, Hemingway, name your favorite genre author...

We don't compare. But there is hope... We aren't them. We are who we are. And... we have a unique perspective.

So... write about that. Dare to write. Dare to write despite every perceived failure to write which you might believe you have weathered. 

Another Post On My Love Of Books

 I bought a $600 Volvo wagon just before winter storms dumped several inches of snow here in Bloomington, Indiana.

Considering I had spent $500 during the summer to buy a brand-new extra large Schwinn bicycle, I thought the 1999 Volvo was a good buy once I peeped out of my bedroom window the first morning after an overnight snow storm. 

"No riding my bike to work today. Thank God!" The Volvo company was founded in 1927. I looked it up - really, really, really grateful that day.

The wintery weather has abated. My $600 Volvo is still running - despite the arm workout I get every day when I drive it. The power steering is going out. But this post isn't about how grateful I was to have a car during winter. Of course I was. No... this post is about the freedom having a car gave me to drive around my new digs here in Indiana. 

And... more specifically, this post is about how my car allowed me to visit my favorite bookstore: Half-Price Books. 

Here's a little background... Most of my books are in storage in Texas. When I moved to Indiana, I arrived here with one duffel bag of clothes and a backpack with a few magazines, books, journals and pens.

Since I moved to Indiana approximately a week before Covid hit in 2020, I wasn't able to travel back to Texas during 2020. All my favorite books are missing me. And, I have missed them, too.

The first day I drove to Half-Price Books here in Bloomington, I felt like I had returned home. I don't remember how long I spent inside the store. I started from one end of the store and went from section to section scanning book spines, eyeing the displays of featured books and finished at the other end of the store with a stack of books in my arms. 

My biceps, tired from steering my Volvo with the failing power steering, were aching even more from carrying all the hardbacks and paperbacks in my treasure trove of the written word.

Bartlett's Familiar Quotations - $3

The ScrewTape Letters - $1

An Incomplete Education  $1

Just a few titles I picked up that day. I spent less that $20 that day. Every book was either $1 or $3.

So now, I have a library in the making. I am reading... on a budget.

For that, I am thankful for my $600 Volvo. 

Now... I can possibly search the stacks at Half-Price Books and add to my exile library a few titles from 1927, the year Volvo was founded:

Elmer Gantry - Sinclair Lewis

The Story of Philosophy - Will Durant

To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

Bridge of San Luis Rey - Thornton Wilder

Aspects of the Novel - E.M. Forster

At least I can carry all those books now that I workout every time I drive.

Finding Your Voice Again After Life Throws A Monkey Wrench On Your Plans

 It is easier to give up than to persevere. 

But you are better than that. I'm better than that. Despite what life throws at you. I know a little bit about the adversity that can humble even the proudest of human beings. And that would be me.

Proud until I was humbled. Sure... I am to blame for many of my poor decisions... But not all of them. 

I stopped writing when I lost my family. Separation followed by divorce. The creativity stopped. Self-loathing replaced it. Drowning my sorrows in alcohol. My reading stopped. My writing stopped.

Now... here I am... trying to come back. I have loved the written word since childhood.

Yet, I let my life, my circumstances, sabotage my love. Can I rebound? I don't know the answer to that question. But, I am going to try. And, from here on out on this blog, is my journey. 

I hope you will join me - especially if you have been hit by as many fast balls as life has thrown at me.

My voice will ring true once I acknowledge my pain... my suffering... my reality. 

That is the first step towards redemption.

Starting Over: Forgive Yourself For Not Writing

 Today I decided to start over.

It's a refreshing feeling. You know it. Put your failures behind you. Don't forget them. Just stop stressing about them.

Today I let go of the guilt of not writing. Today I decided to write.

I am a writer. I love it. I really do. I love books. I love short stories. I even kind of love poetry - I just can't write it. I love drama. I remember loving to go to the theater and seeing a play - back when we could. Covid sucks.

That is who I am. I am a writer. I must forgive myself for not writing. You must, too, so that you can get back to writing.

Life happens. I got distracted. You get distracted. We are human. I hope I can help you see that we can recover and rekindle the passion we share for writing and the written word.

I hope I will keep writing to this blog tomorrow. If I do, that means I am forgiving myself for neglecting it for so long. It's simply time to write. Time to do what I know I was meant to do... what I know I'm good at doing.

If you need a pep talk, keep reading tomorrow. And if I'm truly starting over and forgiving myself, keep reading the next day and the next day and the next day...

Stop Dreaming Of Being A Writer

Note: I published this originally in 2017 and now am updating it.

So... You work full-time. You are a janitor. You are a teacher. You are a cashier at a grocery store. Or... you're unemployed because of this whole coronavirus mess. As I write this, the Dow Jones Industrial Average sank more than 1,800 points and the S&P dropped 5.9 percent because it looks like a second wave is at hand.

Maybe, maybe not. I don't know. But... when it comes to your dreams of being a writer...

IT DOESN'T MATTER!!!!

If you know in your gut that you are a writer, or have always wanted and hoped to be... You hear the voices in your head. You dream magically amazing stories in your sleep. You wake up and are like, "Damn! I need to write that down!"

Then... just write. Write. Write. Write.

But... you have Debbie Downers in your camp. You share your ideas with those around you. They say, "That's stupid." Here's a secret: It may or may not be stupid, but those doubters around you saying you can't do this are saying it because deep down inside they are jealous of your aspirations. 

What should you do? Ignore them. Listen to me. Writing isn't easy. But if it is what you want to do. If there's a desire burning inside of you, then... write.

Write it down. Write everything you think is important. Write everything you think in the moment. Write. Write. Write!!!!!

I say again: Don't listen to the haters.

Here is the reality. Most people live life unsuccessfully. They believe that they are not one of the lucky ones who get to be a writer, a movie star.... in short... a success.

They settle. Here's what they tell themselves at night before going to bed and contemplate waking up to do everything all over again the same way day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year:

"I need a job. So... this company will give me a job at XX amount of dollars an hour. I need to pay the bills. This is as good as it gets. Let me make sure the alarm is set so I'm not late for work."

Do you want to settle? No, you don't.

Fall into that settling trap and you will never be a writer. You will only be a wage earner. Life is too short to settle.

Don't get me wrong... You must pay the bills... But you don't have to give up your dreams to do it.... 

You may have to find whatever work there is to be had in this new reality. But use that experience for your writing. If you must work at a warehouse, for example, use that time wisely. Do they let you listen to music as you work?

Bag that. Listen to books on Audible or from your library. Learn about the writing craft. Listen to classics of literature and learn from the masters. Carry a pocket notebook and pen. Jot down all your observations that make sense to you. Squeeze every second out of your day to advance your dreams of being a writer.

Bottom Line: ignore everyone who says you can't do it. Even family has questioned my decisions. Maybe yours has too. But... be brave. Follow your dream.

If you need inspiration and hope, then keep reading this blog. If you have questions, feel free to ask. I'm here.

Find Your Passion

So this is my Daily Journal.

As a writer, you should challenge yourself to write every day. Don't feel guilty if you can't. But... if you really want to write, then you will make time.

Case in point... it is nearly 11 p.m. as I write this. I have to wake up at 3 a.m. to go to work. Yeah... caffeine will be my friend tomorrow.

But... I must develop my routine. What does your routine look like? What you should include is introspection. Look inside yourself.

I looked inside myself, and I found it was empty. But not so much anymore. In one of my previous posts, I stated that we are social animals. We need to be connected with other humans. I feel that connection strongly with a particular woman here in Bloomington.

It is really the only reason I am here in Indiana. I'm a proud Texan. Yet... the heart wants what the heart wants. And my heart yearns for her... my beautiful sunflower.

I remember our first conversations. There was an electricity there. I have a stun gun. One day it was in my pocket. Somehow, I accidentally switched it on and I stunned myself. It was shocking! lol. At that moment, I forgot everything.

I was driving in my car at the time. I swerved when the stun gun went off in my pocket. That is how I felt when I met my Bloomington lady. Stunned. I forget the world around me when I'm in her presence. Only she exists. And I only want to exist to please her. That is the moment.

If you want to be a writer, you must feel passionate about something in some way. It is a universal condition. And... if you want to write for an audience, you must tap into that universal condition.

What are you passionate about? What makes your heart stop? What makes you feel passion? I hope you find it. I hope you do. Write about it. Now.

My Daily Journal: My Bicycle and African-American Glory

This wasn't the most exciting day. I spent it mostly alone. Just my Daily Journal...

And, yet, I spent the day reminiscing. I took a bicycle ride through Bloomington. I peddled softly. I measured every rotation of the pedals.

I coasted past the wooden houses on 6th Street. The Near West Side is the moniker for the area. A green wooden sign with golden trim and lettering proclaims the area as; "Living in Diversity Since the 1880's."

That's refreshing since I'm a mutt of an American. Mostly Latino with Native American ancestry. Then there's the German side of me. My only friend here in Bloomington has frequently reminded me about my German heritage now that my hair is growing out. I tend to keep it short... usually. But since the coronavirus lockdown, I haven't been able to get a haircut.

I apparently have German curly hair. I'm ready to chop it off. My hair salon appointment is set for June 10th. I can't wait.

But... so much for that. What did I learn today? Well... I thought about my bicycle. A $500 Schwinn. Incidentally, the Schwinn has a German legacy. Go figure. Ignaz Schwinn was born in Baden, Germany. He later immigrated to the United States in 1891 to do what we all are able to do here: pursue dreams.

Dreams... Yes. America is the place for dreams. This German immigrant, by the way, made a bicycle here in this United States that … wait for it... allowed an African-American to shine in 1896. Yes. way back in the 1800s.

Major Taylor became the first world champion African-American professional cyclist riding a Schwinn bicycle. A few years after 1896, Taylor was dubbed Mile-a-Minute Murphy and the first man - White, Black, Red, Yellow, Green, Purple or whatever - to go 60 mph by bicycle.

Sigh... I wish I could have talked to Major Taylor. I wonder what he might have said about current events.

So... I'm riding along on my German-named bicycle today. I pass the town square. Protestors are still angry. Signs say "Black Lives Matter."

Of course they do. All human being's lives matter. I couldn't help wondering. Ignaz Schwinn was a small business owner when he started. He made a product... that eventually gave a man of color, Major Taylor, an opportunity to shine. Schwinn's life mattered. Taylor's life mattered.

I look at my bicycle now very differently. Yes. It is a Schwinn. German origin. But... now it is an American bike. It has a history. That history includes giving an African-American an unrivaled glory way back in 1896. Go figure. Maybe America isn't so bad, after all.

Traumatic Experiences Are Writing Material

OMG... Life sucks... But... wait.... we can use it as writer.

So... I'm writing... And I have a thought.

I almost died before seeing my 10th birthday. Death. I hate it. Am I the only one who hates Death?  

I don’t think I’m alone. Truly... Even if you won’t acknowledge it. Like me. I won’t accept it. If you are like me. I don’t want to think of death. I Can’t accept it. I refuse. I don’t want to... I want to live forever.  

I want to live forever.  

Alas... I can’t 

And... now... I'm writing page after page... Writing my thoughts. Write through your trauma, too.

Daily Journal: I am a social animal

The threat of rain hovered over Bloomington for most of today. By late afternoon, a drizzle was settling. The unmistakable hissing of water-droplet static and the petrichor, or more specifically, the pleasant earthy scent of wet cement, filled the air.

But before the dampness coated the southern Indiana landscape, I enjoyed a sunny day out and about visiting two artsy landmarks: the T.C. State Historic Site and the town of Nashville.

It may not sound like the most remarkable of days to some. Then again after weeks upon weeks of coronavirus lockdown, getting out to walk amongst the living anywhere was a welcome change. And, as a writer always looking for new experiences, I could not imagine a more perfect way to enjoy another day of life in this flawed and magnificent country of my birth.

"Man is by nature a social animal." So said Aristotle. He continued to say that if you did not mix socially with others, then you were "either a beast or a god." Today, socialization is an even more important component of our American experience because of the traumatic amputation of our freedoms during this prolonged lockdown.

As this is simply one of my Daily Journal Entries, I will not completely address my take on the present situation in our nation. That is coming in one of my essays in progress. This blog post is simply providing a window into my day's activities and how I processed them as a writer in this historic time of ours. If you are an aspiring writer, take note. You are living in historic times. Write down your experiences. Make your personal experiences part of our universal experience. I will be writing more about that in the days to come.

What did I learn today that might make me a better writer?  That is the question you must ask yourself. Regardless of what you did. Maybe it was an uneventful, boring day. Wrong. There is no such thing. Every day is filled with enough experiences to write several insightful essays or dramatic short stories or novels. You simply must pay attention.

So... back to my nearly-perfect day. I never knew who T.C. Steele or his wife Selma were before today. My beautiful guide surprised me by taking me to their estate, which includes their home built in 1907, as well as, rolling hills and breathtaking vistas filled with the majestic trees that once covered Indiana.

More on this historic site in a future post. After visiting the T.C. Steele site, we traveled to Nashville, established as an artists' colony in the early 20th Century. We strolled the town's sidewalks.

I never knew how much I cherished a simple stroll with a lovely companion, stepping arm in arm window shopping along a township's retail markets, until that freedom was taken from me. 

That is all for now. But... tomorrow is another possible day of new experiences. Here's to hoping... 

A Writing Exercise On Regret

This year has not gone as I had expected.  I'm sure everyone can say that. In January,  I didnt even know what "social distancing" meant. Now it is a term we are forced to keep ever present on our minds as we navigate the day.
I spend most of my time alone now. No more journaling at the coffee shop, browsing through books at the library or going out for drinks with friends.
I am forced to reach into my thoughts - a limited repository of scattered memories and regrets mostly.
This is the year I turned 50. So, I can categorize my adult reflections by decades - my 20s, my 30s, my 40s. Time to bare my soul.
It is an exercise I can undertake without much interruption since we aren't able to go out and do much.
Regret. Regret. Regret. So much during each decade.
I've only been 50 for about a month. But, I already could fill a notebook writing about the regrets I have regarding just the last few weeks.
So let's begin.

Is This For Real?

I'm tired of the news. I'm getting fat watching Netflix.
Now what?
This is nothing like I have ever been through before. I remember  Y2K.
A joke.
I remember 9-11.
That was horrible,  but in a different way.
I dont know if I will survive  after today. I could breathe an invisible terrorist that would kill me and all I am exposed to.
So... in some ways I have had to think about what's important.  What do I treasure? What do I love? What do I want to hold on to like there's no tomorrow- in case there isn't.
And so... I think of relationships with those I care about. That is what I want to focus on while I can... in case....

Valentine's Day - Love it or Hate it

Valentine's  Day once again.

Ahh...the holiday of love. You either love it, or hate it.

I've held both sentiments throughout my life. But...in the end, I'm a hopeless romantic. Quote me Elizabeth Barrett Browning's classic: "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..."

Isn't that a wonderful exercise to share with your heart's desire. Count the ways you love him or her. Count the ways you want to love him or her.

The latter could get really fun.

Looking up Valentine's  traditions from the past, one that I found rather hilarious was the Victorian Age practice of sending "vinegar valentines." 

These were sent to unwanted suitors.

One of these Valentines I saw on The History Channel's Web Site went a little something like this:

     To my Valentine

     Tis a lemon that I hand you and bid you know.       'skiddoo,'

     Because I love another-there is no chance for         you!

Today, I'm more likely to take a moment to appreciate lines like:

"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair..." Neruda

"i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart) i am never without it..." Cummings

"The modern biographers ask the rude, irrelevant question of our age, as if the event of two bodies meshing together establishes the degree of love, forgetting how softly Eros walked in the nineteenth-century, how a hand held overlong or a gaze anchored in someone's eyes could unseat a heart..." Mueller.

Those lines have meaning.

Then I think of spirit animals. Butterflies come to mind. They seem appropriate for me.

Native Americans saw butterflies as messengers of transformation. I am on a journey of transformation. 

And according to Whatismyspiritanimal.com, in China, "newlyweds were often given gifts bearing two butterfly images to insure their marital happiness and harmony."

Sweet.

Quite a few marriage proposals are made on Valentine's  Day. Many flowers, cards, chocolates and jewelry are purchased on this day as well.

Hmmm... as for purchases... I guess I bought three out of the four.

Is Your Life On Hold?

  I was traveling from Dallas to Austin on Interstate 35 recently with a colleague when she noticed the sky ahead. The sun was setting.The serene horizon was dotted with leaveless trees and the occasional building silhouetted in blacks and grays. Orange, pink and blue shaded clouds floated above us.

A recording of one of Les Brown's motivational sessions spewed from the car radio. My colleague prefers listening to Audible on her commutes.

She pointed out the sunset, the landscape. Our conversation moved to painting. 

"I love painting, she said. It is her way of relaxing when she's not busy, which isn't often.

She is married, a mother of a toddler and works fulltime.

Then Les Brown chimed in, mentioning how he put his life on hold for 10 years. He had lost confidence in himself after experiencing failure in his professional life. 

I love painting, too. I love writing, as well. I snapped a few pictures of the scene outside the car. 

Brown's and my colleague's voice melted away. The humming of the car cruising along the highway muted. 

Just my inner voice drummed in my inner ears.

"Have I been on hold? Yeah, I have."

Asked and answered. 

It doesn't take much, I guess, for a person to lose confidence. Whether it is a setback at work or a failure in a romantic relationship, for example, it doesn't take much to force us to retreat into our comfort zone where it is safe.

So we think.

That safety is an illusion. It is life put on hold. That equals life not lived to the fullest.

Time does not stop. The sun sets every night. The sun rises every morning. 

If we are not seeking what makes us happy, seeking that which fulfills us, what is the point?

As the minutes passed, the sun set. The colorful sky only minutes before now was covered in black and grey hues.

"Time to bring the colors back," I thought. "Time to unpause every segment of my life that is on hold."

Press play.

Energize Your Writing By Going Back In Time

I have been driving around my old haunts. It's hard to believe that it has been over 30 years since I have lived in San Marcos, Texas.

The home I celebrated my 5th birthday at is no longer standing. It was up a hill along the access road between Route 80 and Aquarena Springs.

The library where I sought refuge in during those hot Texas summers is now a church.

Goodnight Junior High (or middle school, I'm not sure what it was called then) is now an elementary school. San Marcos High, where I attended, is now Goodnight.

The lot on Love Street where I almost died in a house fire is still there. There's the curb cut where I sat waiting for the ambulance. I sat on it again - a 49-year-old man sitting on the exact spot I occupied as a teenager on a day I will never forget.

Still much more to look for as I work on my book. Being back here has brought back so many memories. If you want to energize your writing, I suggest re-visiting your old haunts.

Now, I have to dedicate a day to tubing (or is it toobing?) down the San Marcos River. Let's see what that does for my memory.

What Does It Look Like To Be A Writer?

I'm wondering if you're like me. Something inside me has always bugged me. That something has said, "You should write."

But... then there's the other voice, "You can't do that."

I'm 49 years old. I have wanted to write all my adult life. The amazing thing is that I'm finally giving myself the permission to do it.

And I'm ignoring people around me who say I can't or shouldn't.

Trying to live your dream isn't easy. It's tough. Every second of every day there's that voice inside your head telling you that you can't do it. You are inadequate. Maybe that voice is harsher and says, "Who do you think you are, you effing loser? What the heck have you done with your life to make you think you can do this?"

Maybe I won't make it. Maybe I'm not meant to write.

Or... maybe I am. maybe... just maybe. My voice should be heard. Your voice should be heard.

So... I am venturing forth... I will chase my dreams while I still have breath in my lungs. I must... After all, once that breath leaves my lungs... there's no going back. There's no do-over.

All we have is now to chase our dreams.

Picking A Story To Write

It was the second rainy day this week in San Marcos, Texas. The clouds broke for good around 6 p.m. But before they did, the grey blanket kept the temperature at a mild 80 or so with a slight breeze.

Sitting in my car with the windows down should be bearable, I thought.

I drove down Hopkins, I-35 in my rear view mirror. Red lights at the railroad crossing flashed ahead. The white and red striped arms swung down, blocking traffic. The train approached from the right.

Random thoughts:

I'm done with Philip Roth's "My Life as a Man." What should I read next?

My legs itch. I really hate mosquitos. God, why did you create mosquitos? Seriously.

Here's the train. Oh, please don't stop on the tracks again. San Marcos officials really need to build an overpass here. Seriously. Wait... I just mentally used seriously twice in a matter of seconds. OK. no more of that word.

Seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously, seriously... There. Out of my system.

It's 5:37 p.m. exactly. I should write that down. Where's my journal? Ah, there it is (on the passenger seat).

Why are rail cars so rusty? And what's with all the graffiti on them? Is that a thing? Graffiti artists going to rail yards to spray paint messages? There's one, "Doni." Is that the artist? "H2O." Wow, a scientific graffiti artist. "Seth is a pussy." Oh, that's not nice. Why'd they say that about Seth? And why spray paint it on the side of a rail car? I really doubt Seth will see it.

And so... that's how my mind wanders. I try my best to write it all down. Every detail. You never know what you may be able to use as a writer. My other thought as I sat there watching the train go by was, "What story will I write next?"

I still don't know. I have too many ideas at the moment. Too many is a good problem to have.

After the train passed, I motored on. I pulled into the parking lot near Summer Moon Coffee along Thorpe Lane. Then, I stared out into the ether and let my mind wander. Pen and journal in hand to capture it all.

Father's Day

Father's Day...

It's coming soon. Let's celebrate.
 Just a commercial date.
Who really wants a father these days?
Who? Not many. Maybe a daughter? A son?
Why not a father app?.
Tell it what you want... then you're done.
It won't judge or scold.
Maybe you can swipe left or right. and then you're done.
For this online father nothing's too bold.
"Can I lie about this or that?" Swipe right
"Maybe cheat, steal or is that too bold?" Swipe right.
Fret not, the father app says...Right. Right.Right.
After all, you're too old
to be told.... What is wrong or right?
It's too late. Goodbye to the light.
You don't get the old ways.
Such old days...a confusing maze
Your father's ways.