Bastards of Old

A dark poem hinting at an unseen and hidden force snipping away at our dreams and destiny.
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Price: Free! USD

Language: English
About Gregory D. Welch

I'm in a writing mood today...

But that's nothing new. Hello, and welcome. Pull up a chair, lean back, relax. Want a green tea? They're my favorite...

So, you want to know about me?

I was born in the Summer of '84. Was raised in small town, Kentucky---its grown up since then, they're at around 25,000 now. Watch out!

I've always had a vivid imagination. My folks sometimes say it's because I grew up away from my older sister, and was mostly alone as a child. Not abandoned alone, but void of other children most of the time. So, I compensated by creating massive adventures in the back yard. I explained why there were twelve different "Batman" action figures in various suits, creating my own league of "Batmen" each with their own backgrounds, abilities and so on....

But that's not why you came here, now is it?
No... You want to know when it happened---when I started to write. That my friend started when it started. What I mean is, as soon as I learned something was possible, I did it. I could probably pin a year on it, back to maybe First or second grade. Maybe even earlier, but I won't confirm the old wives tale of us writers having a huge ego. Not yet.

I can say I first discovered great stories before I ever started School. Was my mother's fault, and I'm eternally grateful for it. I'll never forget that first reading of H.G. Wells's "The Time Machine." Science Fiction was a thing I enjoyed thoroughly for a stretch. The machines, the possibilities, and the insane explanations. Very enjoyable.

But I grew, and my tastes changed. I wrote different things and different times. I even put it off altogether once because of a harsh criticism from a Seventh grade Teacher...
I became an active leader in the Church I was attending and during that time Discovered one Mister Frank Peretti. He is a Christian Author with a decent understanding of horror---Supernatural Horror.

Long Story Short as they say, I resigned from my positions in Church for my own reasons and not long afterward rediscovered Stephen King.
King holds a special place in my dark heart. His works inspire me sure, and challenge the hell out of me.

If he can do it, why can't I?

Then came others...

Clive Barker haunted my deepest soul with his "Hellbound Heart." A tattered old copy I found in a Peddler's mall. I love and adore this book nearly as much as I am terrified of it.

Again I saw a challenge, a thing to aspire for. If he could do it, why not I?

I write and I write and I write. There is no end, not to passion, not to something written upon the heart---even if it might be shadowed heart. The words come, and they go, but never too far away. I've never felt more alive than when in front of my 'puter banging away like a madman to the vicious songs in my word weaving imagination.

I have yet to be officially discovered. But who I am to let that stop me?

How's that Green Tea treatin' ya? Need another one?

Tell ya what, grab that tea and let's take a trip. Just you, me, and a few good tales...

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