I enjoy a remarkably successful career as a freelance writer with five published books, one bestseller, dozens of popular magazine and technical publications, and numerous inventions in various scientific fields. I've created breakthrough software published and marketed by Microsoft, IBM, and others. Bill Gates refers to my Microsoft Typing Tutor as the most successful program ever written in BASIC. Similar successes involve audiology, chemistry, theatre lighting systems, and more.

What the hell is this? What are we doing here? We're the voices. Voices? What voices? The voices in Dick's head. We're like a chorus. A chorus. A Greek Chorus? Exactly. We repeat the same stuff over and over. Do you mean we sit here and create constant drivel in Dick's head? That's about it. Does he ever pay attention to us? You bet. Shush. He's listening again.

What I've said about my life is true, but that's not the truth. There's more. I've also broken a few things. Several companies I created along the way failed miserably. Over the years, I've wasted time and energy dealing with anger, killing my aliveness and blocking my creativity. I broke a few laws here and there -- not serious. A few hearts -- perhaps serious. And who knows what else.

Maybe we were a bit hasty with all that praise and cheering. Compared with what he could have accomplished, his track record so far isn't all that great. He hasn't focused on anything for very long. Always the consummate autodidact. Never sticking to one thing and attaining true mastery. Next to what he could have accomplished -- Phooey!

Wait a damn minute. I'm not done yet. Even though I'm 87 and surviving my third cancer, I'm also entering the most creative period of my life. But there's a vitally important next step: I'm saying goodbye to all the voices in my head. Thanks for your concern and assistance, but the only voice I'm listening to now is my own. 

Goodbye? Is he leaving us? Who will he listen to? I'm worried that there's nobody left. Nobody. Maybe, that's OK. What happens to us? Are we going too? Who will we talk to if Dick isn't listening anymore?

I care what you and others think, of course. Still, the driving force now (finally) comes from following my bliss, creating good art, and watching external praise and blame go down the same drain.

How can he  NOT care what we think? He's what you sometimes call "thinking" after all.  Where will we go?

Sorry, guys, but it's goodbye to the voices in my head. I have more creative adventures to come. 

I think he's finally figured it out. Or, more importantly, he's stopped. 

As I write this, I don't know the next field or the next direction my creativity will take me. It could be -- anything.

The next phase is going to be exciting. We're still here. Watching. Waiting. Silent. 


Goodbye Dick.

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