I am a writer. I used to say that and feel some trepidation that I would be criticized and laughed at for even suggesting that I considered myself a writer. But, alas, at the tender young age of 46 1/2 – I can say with a confidence and a haughtiness that I, Freddy S. Zalta am a writer. Now I really feel I am a good writer who can hit the right notes, color the colors of a scene with strokes and dots that I feel satisfied with once I hit the “save” button.

I know for every person who reads what I write there are several critics nodding their heads or tsking. I am not a perfect writer but I write. I love the fact that I can basically write whatever I want – and still not be censored or ex-communicated. I have been threatened with isolation – but sometimes isolation is more of a promise than a threat.

We all wear make-up and put on a fake mustache and hat.
We all wear make-up and put on a fake mustache and hat.

So I will write, write, write and one day when the sun and the moon cease to amaze me and the blooming buds and flowers no longer fill me with wonder – at least my loved ones can look back and read that I enjoyed each and every second of this world. These typed correspondence from myself to the future are but an attempt to define my brain, my heart and my soul.

There are no lies, some tales and a shit load of embellishments. To paraphrase Charlie Chaplin – you can look back and consider me a lover, a journalist and a hero.

I have dreamed of playing baseball and I have played.

I have dreamed of acting and boy have I acted.

 I have dreamed of singing songs and I have sung. 

I have dreamed of loving women and I have loved the best of them all.

I have dreamed of writing tales and expressions and have done so through a million words. 

I have done a lot but I have not finished as of yet – I have a lot of work to do.

I have dreamed and I have lived – I still have many more dreams to be lived.