Ten years ago, I wrote often about love and relationships. Deep enough to upset sh*tty husbands for dropping the ball, and allowing their spouse to see there could be a better life out there; somewhere. Then, it all went to Hell; figuratively.
I paused, entered a rebound relationship, and continued for a couple more years. Then I flipped the light on that relationship as well. Cockroaches; the scatter was immaculate.
Look, I chose to be a slut for a couple of years before I remarried, and it was a complete horror show. Sure, I had orgasms and whatnot, but I could’ve done that on my own without inviting various dramas into my already dramatic life, but I digress.
It was a numbers game.

Fast forward.
On the night my wife and I (we’re now seven years in) let our guards down enough to act on mutually repressed feelings, we paused.
She knew exactly what she wanted out of life, as did I. We both discussed ways that a union could mutually benefit our wishes and goals, as well as the couple we could be together. It was like a business deal went down before the lovey-dovey, but no money changed hands.
We were like, “This could be insane,” shrugged, and went for it.

I know this is the part where I’m supposed to talk about the book, but I feel as though the synopsis needs its own preface to truly understand. 2023 was quite an eye-opening year! I began it by living my dream as a vintage steam locomotive fireman, but that dream was soon squashed thanks to my writing career. It won’t matter that you wrote your extreme horror offerings years ago and under a pen name. Also, it won’t matter that your publisher and author friends from days gone by express pleasantries and kind, nurturing words to your face, because they’ll clique-up and talk trash the minute you turn your back. F**k the biz, create. Create for art, not clicks. Click for love, not hate. Those are words true artists should have no issues living by, yet most seem to hide behind their keyboard shields, flinging ill-thought words of destruction toward once-trusted ears. Don’t pour something into everything; pour everything into something. Do it all by yourself if necessary. With any luck, 2024 will be the year of The Reverend. I’m not exactly sure what that means yet, but we’ll find out together. Anyway, here are a few short stories and poems I wrote as C. Derick Miller in 2023. I stole them from myself. Fair and square. Enjoy.
I remember thinking that everyone I knew would hate her (and they didn’t prove us wrong), and that her side would have her committed. Luckily, her side possessed some decorum. They tolerate me, and I’m cool with that. Summerland forbid someone enjoy me 100%. I’m an acquired taste; purposely. Weeds out the phoneys.

All I know is, for seven years, I get up before her on the weekends. I cant help it, it’s a leftover military habit, but it gives me time to disappear inside my own head for a bit. Do a bit of housekeeping, if you will.
I long for the moment I hear her stir so she’ll be greeted by fresh coffee. I believe it’s one of the greatest things one human being can do for another, so I do; as often as I can.
We could go on forever about who rescued who in the grand scheme of things, but there was truly no rescuing whatsoever. We were both individually on the up and up when we chose to be.
And that’s the secret to a healthy relationship. The end.

If it’s born out of desperation, it’ll die from convenience – Me.
I personally interact with a handful of people in my day to day life, by design, because she’s enough. More than enough.
And the schizophrenic in the upstairs condo opens his windows to share his one sided argument with the world.
The bubble popped.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. To me, that exhibits some form of control, but I’m not a shrink. It just brings the cops, and they throw off my vibe, dig?
I’ve always had a back-door plan; ALWAYS. Not in seven years, now. I haven’t even endured a somewhat meaningful conversation with another woman in literal years. Not even online.
She’s enough.
Also, women don’t look at me anymore; just Gen X dudes having a potentially homosexual midlife crisis.















Leave a Reply