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The first time Matt picked up a writing instrument was when he was five years old. He wanted to show his Mommy he could spell out some of the words Daddy would say when they would argue. Unfortunately Daddy found it first and gave him his first and last whipping. Afterward he hugged they crying, and sore ended, boy.

"I don't want you talkin' like me," he said to him on one knee with Mommy in the background wiping her eyes. "An I don't want you turnin' out like me, you hear," he said with his hands on the boys shoulders. Twenty seven years had gone by since that time, and they boy has grown into a man, but failed to heed his Daddy's advise. In fact, when it came to certain things, Matt had gone to extremes and past the stories of what Daddy had done.. and at thirty two years old had lost both brother and sister to excessive extra curricular activities. Daddy had been dead for a long time, but the pain of his words, and the fact he and Mommy were the only ones left put a lot of pressure on him to make something of himself.

Over the years he'd written to movie writers and directors to tell them of his ideas, only to hit walls and the age old "solicitation" clause which says if money or someone of importance ain't behind it, it'll never get seen. Luckily young Matt was good at networking and meeting people, but they too were influenced by some other thing than just making a good movie or book.. so he was always finding himself at the beginning of the book or movie rather than at the middle where he wanted to be. The end he felt would come in its own time.

Writing became a vent for him when the years of craziness had begun to set in. Along with a good heart, he'd inherited a few of his Daddy's traits, including being Bi Polar. At first the racing thoughts were welcome to the cold reality that he wouldn't end up being much in this world, so he began writing poetry. 'Psycho verses' he dubbed them due to the lack of spaces between the words. This made way for other things once the thoughts became more manageable through different sorts of substances, but only two had made the cut after all this time.. his Lithium, 450mg times three, and his smoke.

A girl friend of his called it God smoke, and for good reasons. It calmed him when things got to be too much, and it allowed him to get out a thought without having to back away from the computer several times just to find the right sentence or word. Here lately it had been coming quite easy. He had also gotten to the point of thinking that being ridiculously rich was out of the question, but comfortable was welcome at any time.

Another funny thing he found on the way to realization is that all his heroes, writers of awesome caliber and reputation, were either mentally unstable, drunks, or druggies, and he looked up to almost every one of them with a kind of awe. Like looking at a beautiful painting of words. In these men he felt at home writing away either stories about love or vengeance. Drugs or insanity. The dark and the light. This is why he's a writer. This is why he writes.. and it's simply just because.

Learn more about this author, Zachariah Langley.
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