Walter Died

This here is Walter, say hi.

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So I totaled my car the other day. Without going into the menial details, it wasn’t my fault and thankfully the insurance companies agree. However I found, and find myself rather sad about saying goodbye to my friend Walter. Yes, his name is Walter. Yes, it’s a HE.

Insert insecure gay joke here because I named my car a guy’s name…

But I’m curious to know how naming an inanimate object somehow gives it personality. Why am I attached to a car? I gave it the name Walter and assigned it a personality that doesn’t exist. I imagined the car having a mind of its own, fighting through the hot and cold seasons just to get me to where I needed to go when in reality it was just a series of metal and plastic pieces with no heart at all.

Is it because I’m a writer that I pretend to personalize a car? Is it because I’m young? I know I’m not the only young person to name a car or get hung over one when it gets trashed.

I call it a combination of the two, which is a double whammy unfortunately for myself. I think younger people are searching for so many things that they name vehicles to fill a void that hasn’t been filled by something more significant yet. Either that – or they do it because they’re bored.

I can only look at myself as an example. I’m single, besides my writing career which is taking its sweet time getting started, I work a crappy job and still struggle to support myself. There is a lot to be desired in my life. I have long friendships that blossomed in adolescent life, but in the shadow of adulthood, are dwindling down to but embers.

I took pictures of Walter because I wanted to remember him and the memories we shared. I had many life changing conversations and experiences within him. I went on my only vacation with my best friend and drove to Kentucky on 3 hours of sleep. I drove to North Carolina to meet my brother on a whim and went to countless shows. I took pretty girls on dates and got to fog up the windows on a few occasions. From my perspective, I should feel a degree of friendship with the car. I spent fragile years of my life with him. He was my bro. And in the end, he protected me when someone decided to be Pennsylvania’s dumbest driver.

People don’t do these things later in their life because they have filled those voids. Maybe my next car will have a name, maybe it won’t. I can only assume that when I have a car that doesn’t have a name, it means I’ve moved on to some degree.

But I’m young, and I’m a writer. I like adventure; anything to make life more interesting than it is. So here’s to you Walter, you magnificent bastard – here’s to the years I spent trying to figure myself out with you.

RIP

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What Inspires You? (A Story of My Friend)

What inspires you to write? What hits your bones and your blood pump and make you want open up the word document or a blank page and write?
I’ve asked why do you write before, but now I’m asking what inspires you?
Religion? Love of any sort? Nostalgia? Or maybe just a creative edge that needs to be let out.
I write in a mix of all of them. Besides the fact that I just enjoy writing, I do it because I have things to say.
I do it because I want to portray a message of _____ to people.
I think all writers can say that statement. But the question is – what fills that blank?
Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s despair and everything in between.
My answer would certainly never be just to write an action book. I’m not hammering on people who write those, it’s just not for me. Anything I ever write is either a release for me in some way, or it’s something I want people to read.
People sometimes, well, oftentimes mention that my books are very sad and depressing but that’s because they miss the mark. Take the main character of my 2012 novel, Landon. He was in high school and had cancer. When they were done reading it, they told me it was a very sad book but I disagreed with them. My message was hope; not to write a book for the sake of being sad, unlike another absurdly famous book regarding teenage cancer… but we won’t get into that now.
My message of hope was if your time was rapidly coming to an end, how would you spend your time? What’s worth your thoughts? Words? Everything suddenly matters a whole lot more than it did before.
It’s nostalgia. A very good friend of mine died of cancer in 2011. And like my book, the outlook was grim. It didn’t stop him from becoming a man I could look up to because even in the face of death, he shone a bright light for everyone to see. He found the secret we all search for. It was true happiness with his life, from his wife to his friends; it was truth.
When my fingers hit the keyboard, they wrote about what was inside my heart. Nostalgia of my friend. I saw truth, and I had to write it.

So what inspires you? Is it something specific or something abstract?

Trust In Doubt

I wrote a poem I while back about all the doubts I was having in life.  Thought I’d share it with you lovely readers, have any of you written a mellow/sad poem? Let’s hear it!

Trust in Doubt
I’ll try not to curse
But I do it anyway

I try to bring honor to your name
But I pile the dirt on your gravestone

Each day past
I take into account

Another day gone
Another day closer

The fears of death and dying
Follow me daily

Gaining a new sense of living
I found myself still wasting time

I don’t count myself blessed
I don’t count myself cursed

I take in
I ask questions but hear nothing in return

The doubt leaves me
But could it be worse when it’s gone?

I saw that next chapter in my life
I want it so badly

But the characters that played my friends
Are replaced with strangers

I see it all coming apart at the seams
All that’s left is doubt

Thanks everyone and remember, 
All writers are a part of a family striving to find the question marks in their head and make them coherent words on a page. I’d love to hear from you.

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Zac Zinn

Old Building, Where Is Home?

I wrote this about an old church I used to years ago. Everything was changing and the home I called that church for my childhood and adolescent years became a strange building.
That home turned into a building.

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Old Building,  Where Is Home?

I thought when I walked into this building 
That I could call it home 
I thought it was away 
Away from the sickness of this world 

I thought when I found shelter in this building 
That it would welcome me, all of the time 
Time has proved me wrong 
As the seasons change 
This building has turned bitter 
As it seems, only to me 

Where is my coat? 
Have you taken it? 
Where are my shoes? 
Have you stolen them? 

I hope to guard my heart 
Before it is stolen as well 

Thank you
Zac

Life Got In The Way

I’m not the greatest at love poems,  but I wrote this last night.
Any thoughts on it?

I’ll push you from thought
So I can sleep
I’ve tried so hard,  I’ve fought
I took the leap

I remember your face
Something you once said
Did we move at too fast a pace?
You’re stuck in my head 

Life got in the way
Something just went south
Time came into play
I won’t be seeing anymore the smile from your mouth

Thanks,
Zac

If I Should Die

If you’re my friend
Listen to a song that makes you remember
View a photo that makes you smile

If you’re my brother
Listen to our voice messages and laugh
Remember the day at Pinchot Park

If you’re my father
Read the poem I wrote you
Watch the movie I always bothered you about

If you’re my mother
Remember the surprise concert when I was nine
Read a story that gives you peace

If you’re a bystander
Live your days cherishing the ones you love
Find life in death and the silence that rests between the words

If you’re me
Close my eyes to a mortal world
Open my eyes to something brand new

If I should die

I Can’t Help But Wonder

I can’t help but wonder
How all the little pieces come together
I think back to when my memory begins
I had broken pieces of a childhood
Severed chords of my adolescent years
And prison to pay for my actions when I was an adult

I can’t help but wonder
I sit here in this church sitting beside the one I love
The reflection leaves me weary and sad
But my reflection ends when I look at what I have now
How can all the broken pieces of my life
Form together to make something whole?

I can’t help but wonder
Somebody asks me a question
“Is God good?”