Over a decade ago I started writing.

It was a chaotic time, and what I wrote reflected that. High-emotion poetry. Passion and heartbreak. Love in all its turns.

There was truth in it, no doubt. I can look back and see it as an honest reflection of where I was. It had a veneer, though. It was honesty dressed up in the latest fads, and as anyone who has traveled a few miles knows, fads have a shelf life. We tend to look back on them with at least some embarrassment.

It also did something that carries some humiliation for me now: it begged the reader to hold my emotions.

I had a lot of them.

Apparently, I thought I could cast them out into the world and the world would keep them. Maybe it would make the load a little lighter. It was like I got tired of taking care of the chickens, so I threw open the coop doors and let them wander away. Time has taught me that emotions and chickens both have a habit of coming home to roost. And, you still have to take care of them.

Looking back now, I understand why I started by distancing myself from what I wrote. Why I used a pseudonym to give myself some anonymity. I was experimenting. Toying with words and feelings. Figuring out who I was and how I could communicate that.

Wyatt Robson gave me permission to do that. He let me own the work without fully owning the writer. I appreciate him for that.

Time passes, as it is wont to do, and I kept writing. The writing changed. The purpose changed. I suppose I learned a few lessons along the way. Eventually, the disguise stopped creating freedom and started creating distance from the work. Held Ground is the point where that distance stopped making sense to me.

For a long time, Wyatt Robson gave me somewhere to hide while I learned how to write. I don’t need him for that anymore.

My name is Rob Wyatt.
I wrote a book.
It’s called Held Ground.