Over the past 24 years, Flash Meridian has been described as a hero, a superhero and an action figure. For a long time, I believed it. Those are natural descriptions for a futuristic astronaut, hurtling through uncharted space and encountering alien beings.

That is, until a 14 year old pointed out that Flash Meridian doesn’t DO anything!

He fixes broken equipment, and hikes distant planets at times, but he mostly sits in his spaceship sipping lattes and thinking deep thoughts about his life, the universe, and his place in it. Kind of like me.

He doesn’t really fight villains. He doesn’t possess any unusual strength or have any notable abilities.

I’m in the process of producing the complete audiobook. Friends who have listened to parts of it have not described it as thrilling, but rather darling, and have said that it helped them fall asleep. But in a good way.

I’m not offended.

I’ve described this as introspective.

When I used to do late night radio shows, listeners called in saying that my voice was relaxing. The music I played was melancholy. One listener even said my music was morbid. Ok. I just think it’s beautiful.

I’ve written guided imagery meditations specifically with relaxation and sleep as the goal. I fall asleep to the sound of my own voice every night.

This is what I do. I subvert a genre. It’s similar to the way I present the world in my paintings. You might think you’re looking at majestic old growth pines, only to later notice the fish swimming in the treetops.

I accept that my story is not the action adventure you might expect. It just happens to be set in outer space.

It comes out of me, with the themes and flavor that flow through me. That’s not unexpected. If it helps you fall asleep, it’s served a purpose. If it makes you think differently about life and death, it’s served a purpose. If it entertains you, it’s served a purpose. If it inspires you to express something that you find flowing through you, it’s served a purpose.