What would you like to tell readers about yourself?
* Brett Matthew grew up with a passion for both film and history. He began his career fresh out of high school as a Production Assistant/ football player on NBC Universal’s television series Friday Night Lights (of which he can often be seen in the first two seasons as a member of the championship team – Go Panthers!). He quickly moved on to serve as an Original Series intern with the USA Network in Studio City, California. Following work on shows like Monk, Psych, and Burn Notice, Brett returned home to Texas to continue his education, graduating with his degree in History from Texas State University. A proud Master Freemason, Brett thoroughly enjoys fantasy fiction, watching Netflix, running, baseball, Shakespeare, and spending time with his family and critters.
Today Brett Matthew Williams is sharing a post called, "Who I Am".
* We live in a pretty open, accepting society in the 21st century so I, Brett Matthew Williams, have a confession to make. I am a writer. It's true I swear, I do it every day. Like I drug I obsess over my word processor, often opening, saving, and closing it several times an hour like an obsessed significant other. Throughout the day I will think about them, the words I haven't written yet, and feel guilt, not for how beautiful they could be once put down on paper (screen), but because I know that the eventual fruits of my labors will be tantamount to a mere fraction of whatever it is I create. Let's face it, not even a quarter of the output of any given writer is readable. Literally. If you think otherwise then please sound off in the comments below.
* I digress, I consider myself a writer because I live by the rules I have set forth in order to be able to look myself in the mirror and call myself thus. There are but two rules I live by in order to call myself this thing, this title of which I have the highest respect.
* Rule #1 - Writers write. They do not wait until they have time to write, or until inspiration strikes. They write. Every day.
* Rule #2 - Writers finish what they write, no matter how much they may hate it.
* Yet even if I follow these two rules for myself, there are a myriad of others to remember as well. The life of a writer is one of constant deadlines, little respect, and a never ending sense of self loathing for not accomplishing more with the time allotted. Friends and family will not always read a writer’s latest, or even best work, because of pre-conceived notions of work done in the past ("I was three years old, Mom!"). Still, the writer cannot blame them, or hold them in contempt for this, as most people actively choose to be aliterate (being capable of literacy but actively choosing not to read on a regular basis) in the 21st century.
* The story of my undergraduate internship with NBC Universal is well documented by other sources, but for those unaware the WGA Writer's strike of 2007/2008 played a pivotal role. This introduction to not only a wide number of individuals within the film/television industry was important to my development, but not in the traditional means. What I noticed the most of these individuals was the lifestyle they lived was long (from 10AM to 7PM Monday through Saturdays), hard (due to network and corporate push-back), and stressful due to deadlines. Being one of these people was supposed to be the dream, the end-all be-all of my career aspirations, yet I felt hollow and meaningless when I thought of a future alongside them. I thought this was my dream, but I was wrong.
* So I moved back to my hometown of Austin, Texas an re-enrolled in Texas State University, majoring in History and Computer Science. The topic of History always stuck out to me as the purest form of storytelling due to the seamless, often conspicuous nature by which the right person is nearly always born at the right time in order to move mankind forward. A young, sickly Teddy Roosevelt seeing Abraham Lincoln's body being taken by his apartment widow as a young boy and then finding the strength to grow up and become one of Americas bravest heroes? No writer could make up a believable story that impressive.
* The labor of love that is the Time is Relative series can best be described in the same three words I would describe myself; Force of nature. This blending of historic fact with folklore from various cultures throughout history, science, and fantasy fiction blend together to create a world unlike an most readers have ever visited before. I welcome you to join me in their home, in Eden.
* Entrances to Eden are all around us, located somewhere within the confines of your nearest public library. Ask your librarian how you too can venture to Eden, or for further instructions, check out Time is Relative for A Knight of Time on Amazon.com
* The Time is Relative series chronicles the origin story of the mythical figure Father Time, beginning with the award winning first novel, Time is Relative for a Knight of Time. All dates and events are historically accurate. The participants... maybe not.
* Blaisey looked at him and saw him staring back at her. To her astonishment, Blaisey realized that Judah was asking for her opinion. Aside from his rather informal introduction, this was the ﬁrst time that Judah had addressed her directly. Her surprise must have been evident to him, as Judah’s lips crept into a thin, lopsided smile around the cigarette.
* “I knew a man once,” Blaisey said, in a calm, soothing voice. Her father, Nahoy – leader of the Nabawoo, had told her that white people prefer when natives speak in a calm, slow, relaxing tone. He believed that it goaded the white man into a false sense of superiority that their people could use as an advantage.
* Blaisey had seen this as slightly sneaky and underhanded, but those were thoughts from before the days of Jackson’s terror, before the days of people falling out of the sky at daybreak and being kidnapped by American soldiers in the middle of the night.
* “This man, he rolled and smoked his tobacco, like you,” Blaisey continued.
* “Oh, yeah?” Judah asked, the cigarette in his mouth bobbing between his lips as he spoke. “What brand? I’m a Luckys man myself.” He sniffed and lifted his head proudly, his chin held high.
* “This I do not know,” Blaisey said, smiling out of politeness. “And we cannot ask him, for he is dead.”
* At this, Judah stopped his search for the lighter and looked at Blaisey head on, giving her his full attention for the ﬁrst time. “From smoking tobacco, right?”
* “No,” Blaisey said with vigor. “He was an ass like you, and somebody shot him.”
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