The Cracked Mirror…

THE CRACKED MIRROR – Reflections of an Appachian Son

If anyone could possibly, hopefully, be interested, this book tells MY story – at least, 90% of it is true! 

“The Cracked Mirror…” is a memoir with ‘two tracks’ – that’s where the ‘90% true’ comes into play… I’ve never spent time in a ‘Care Facility’ except to visit my Mom when she had a stroke some years ago. The ‘two tracks’ helps the narrative along, ‘track one’ dealing with me (aka, Prentice Paul Hiller) in a care center, and my life unfolding before your very own eyes in ‘track 2’. ‘Track 2’ covers me all the way from birth to moronic adult, ouch, and these two tracks alternate back and forth – well, until I got dizzy from the writing.
I’ve had some great reviews of the book, one from a Clinical Psychologist and good friend in Scottsdale, AZ… His name is Dr. Timothy Tays in case any of the three or four folks reading this live and have a jigsaw buzzing in their minds, and, of course, if you’re lucky enough to live in that delightful state of sunshine and beautiful bronze-bodied females. (Wow, talk about run-on sentences). Dr. Tim praised my writing and caused me to think about hanging out a ‘shingle’…aw, I’m just kidding, of course. In writing this book I used one of my characters, a lovely lady retired from the CP ranks. In the book, Prentice becomes her chat-mate and friend in the ‘care center’, and I can blame her for any awkward mistakes I made as a part-time amateur ‘Clinical Psychologist’. Dr. Tim’s review of the book meant a great deal to me. He is also a fan of my many fictional novels about the evil and perverted minds who inhabit our dark shadows of living.
I’m providing my ‘Forward’ and an opening poem entitled ‘Mirror Images’…I also end the book with another poem I wrote along my vagabond way. I’ll include that poem as well, but you have to read the ‘red-meat sections’ which I am promising, you will enjoy. Actually and obviously, it would delight me for you to read about this life’s journey of a ‘happy-go-lucky’ fellow who, well, who just does not wish to grow up. It would doubly please me if you would read the memoir and give an assessment, uh, a review – that’s the plea. Just by chance, there are ever loving Amazon ‘buy sites’ for you to skip over – unless, of course, you can handle some darn good literature, that being, The Cracked Mirror – Reflections of an Appalachian Son…of which I’m rather proud… Well, I’m proud of all eighteen books I’ve written that are not gathering dust, and there’s no chance of that happening. Amazon is not going to print a copy until the book is ordered. But, then, you already knew that…
Here’s what I think I know… It’s all for you, this stuff you’re writing here. It’s all for you, ‘cause you think writing ‘bout it is going to make it right!
The mistakes! Now’s the time to make your mistakes.
You’re an old withered bastard who can’t hurt anyone anymore. Not much, anyway.
You made your mistakes on the young…when you were young. Your mistakes affected you and all those you hurt – for a frigging lifetime. ‘Then’ was the time NOT to make your stupid mistakes! Make all the mistakes you want ‘now’. It don’t matter none now. You can write it all down, all of it, and see those mistakes you made, but all that fancy writing won’t make it right!
Guess what? You can’t change anything! There are still the people you hurt. There are still the things you did. And, God may forgive you. Past loves may forgive you. Your wife may forgive you. The kids may forgive you. Friends may forgive you. But, know this, the one person you need forgiveness from the most can’t forgive you, won’t forgive you. It’s the person you’ve hurt the most, dammit! 
It’s yourself, poor country-misty hollow boy! It’s you, poor simple sum-bitch!
(A bum on the road to nowhere…from the ghosts of Chetwode)
Mirror Images
I once looked at men like you,
old men, frail and haunted…
That was when youth declared
that I would live forever.
How hard it was to see then…
how easy it is to see now.
Life was moonlight and promises…
So soon came ecstasy and joy.
When did it get this late?
When did the tree sap harden?
Where is the gold I sought?
Where is the key I held?
Why is the day no longer long?
Why does morning come so late?
What is the mystery to solve?
What day the reckoning?

BR Chitwood



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Author: Website: - B R Chitwood - My Mission: Writing to Discover Me

I'm a young man in an old man's body, trying to catch up to myself, trying to find pieces of me I left back in a disconnected youth and the early years of manhood. I'm a stereotype of many in my generation who can play the 'blame game', yell 'foul', and 'let's start over'. But, we are what we are, the sum of all the scary kid-emotions we experienced, the gin mills and piano bars that became our sandboxes of pleasure - lotus eaters of the best (or, worst) kind, the love affairs that did not quite settle us down, the sad poetry and songs written in bars and motels along the way... A Dreamer! A Wanderlust! The world needs such fools as we to write our books, our poetry, our songs, to offset the madness that plagues the soul. I've written fourteen books, over three hundred blog posts, in search of those pieces left somewhere in many parts of the globe. You can preview my books on the next page. There's even a Blog page...all my posts are not showing on this recently created blog page, but, if you want to read more, go to my official blog site and check out the archives: http://www.thefinalcurtain1 Writing for me is therapy for the soul. Website:

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