Rick Pinkston writes children’s books and grown-up books. He seriously doubts he has time to manage this site properly. He is a real person with a real day job not involve the writing industry. It just so happens his day job is the equivalent of two full-time jobs.
He feels remarkably strange writing about himself in the third person. He doesn’t have agents, publicists, or publishers to do it for him, so he will have to get over it.
As of yet, he hasn’t quit his day job, and can be found delivering freight all over the St. Louis area. He resides in Saint Charles, Missouri, with his beautiful person, Angela, step-sons, and their four-legged friends.
That is quite enough of all that pretentious writer business…
I am a real guy. I’ve been in love with the written word for decades and only recently came out of the closet as a writer. It was the hardest decision I’ve made. I don’t expect everyone to love me, or think I’m amazing, because there are many people with far more talent and skill in this industry.
Writing is a choice, a painful choice to sit and bleed on the keyboard. People choose not to be a writer for reasons of fear, insecurity, or embarrassment. It isn’t easy. It’s hard, not only hard, but excruciating. So why do it?
It may sound like artsy rubbish, but I do it because I can’t not do it.
For the longest time I thought like Marty McFly. “What if they say I’m no good?” etcetera.
I tinkered with ideas and never seriously acted on them, that is until about ten years ago.
I submitted an essay in an English class, and when I came to class the next day the professor stopped me before I walked into the classroom.
“Rick, can I have a word?”
I thought I did something wrong.
“Are you okay with me putting your work on a Powerpoint to teach the class?”
My face turned bright red. “Yes.”
“This is some profound stuff,” he said. “You have some talent. Keep writing.”
And you know what?
I didn’t believe him. I don’t know what I thought. Was it a set up, some kind of shaming. In the context of the question I was a rock star, but I still worried. Self doubt is a killer to a writer. “Don’t do this sort of something,” he might say. Well, that isn’t what he said. Not even close.
By the end of the semester I was turning in A papers every week. I began to see improvements. Confidence grew, and I was the guy. You know that guy. The one everybody hates because he gently bends the rules and still gets A’s.
Now, having the ability or talent to produce material in an educational environment is nothing like trying to make your own way in the world. The old saying book smarts, street smarts. Yada yada yada, you get it. By now I’ve forgotten more rules than I can remember, and I’m good with it. Few books are sold for their literary merit.
I want to hear about smiling faces from the kid’s books, the night terrors from the supernatural thrillers, and the tears from the romantic tragedy stuff (yes, I do that too). Drop me a line here or on social media. I don’t want to ever think I have fans, only friends who want to read what thoughts come to me in the night. God willing, there is so much more to come.
If you have a dream go for it. Fear is the killer of creativity. Move past the fear, and don’t let it sneak its way back into your mind.
Best wishes in all your endeavors.
Thanks for dropping by.