Richard Dinwiddie
Bio
Reading has always been my escape from the world. A way for me to block out the sound of an abusive household, to block out the feelings of depression or anxiety. To have an escape helped me get through the darkest times in my life.
Stories (3/0)
What's the Difference between a Storyteller and a Writer?
As I try to write a book, a story that I wish to enthrall people with and inspire a generation as I was inspired, I find myself filled with self doubt and questioning if I really have the ability to write a full fledged book. I question whether someone who is an excellent storyteller can also be a good writer or vice versa. I have been told many times that I am an excellent storyteller and that my writing is also very good and yet, with a book I can never seem to make any progress. With every click of a key or stroke of a pen I question whether what I am writing is worth it. Is the work I'm putting in going to pay off or will this story never come to fruition and is simply going to be added to a pile of stories that people have never finished. Today I am going to explore what it means to be a storyteller and a writer. The differences between the two and why I believe that it is possible to be one and not the other.
By Richard Dinwiddie2 years ago in Confessions
What does it mean to Suffer in Silence?
To suffer in silence. Recent events in my life have caused great stress and frustration. At times it feels like my entire world is crashing down around me and that I am spiraling out of control. But why can't I just say these things? Why do I sit here in silence and carry an insurmountable weight? I wish I had the answers to these questions. While I certainly don't know how to push past this roadblock to emotional freedom, I can however do my best to explain how one might feel: suffering in silence.
By Richard Dinwiddie2 years ago in Confessions
My Husband
“ He’s such a wonderful man. He went through the great war, and the second war all for me and his country. Isn’t that right honey?” I ask. “Mom it’s me Jack. I’m Jack remember?” Gerald always was such a joker. His sense of humor seemed different today though. “Gerald stop it now,’ I say playfully patting his shoulder. ‘You don’t want the kids mistaking you for someone else now do you?” I motion to our children. One boy and one girl, Mary and John. My little boy always wants me to call him Jack, but I named him John and he shouldn’t be embarrassed of the name I gave him. My kids shift uncomfortably, they seem a little upset. “That tile flooring must be hurting your rumps, let’s stretch your legs outside. Come on, up, up, up!” I proclaim loudly, clapping my hands and standing myself.
By Richard Dinwiddie2 years ago in Fiction
