The Land That Whispers: Resurrecting What We've Laid Down

On Sacred Ground: How the Land Brought My Imagination—and My Purpose—Back to Life

The other night, I was having one of those deep, winding conversations with ChatGPT—the kind that makes you reflect on where you've been and where you're going. The topic? The land I live on here in Readyville, Tennessee. We were talking about the history—both the spiritual and the documented—and while I can’t verify every detail, much of it lined up with what I already knew about this place.

Readyville isn’t just another dot on the map. It’s a pocket of Tennessee rich with story and soul. Nestled between Murfreesboro and Woodbury, this land has witnessed centuries of transformation—from the Native American tribes who once walked these woods, to the Civil War troops that passed through, to the moonshine whispers of Al Capone’s brief ventures in nearby Cannon County. But for me, the real history—the one that shaped me—was written in the trees behind my childhood home.

Those woods were my first gateway into other worlds. Long before I knew what a writer was, I was building kingdoms in my mind. As an only child, imagination became my playground, my companion, and eventually, my calling. I remember pretending to be Jack Tripper from Three’s Company, hanging out at the Regal Beagle, not really getting all the jokes, but knowing I loved the energy of storytelling. I thought I wanted to be an actor, because I assumed actors just made everything up on the spot. What I really wanted—what I was born to do—was write.

It was my fourth-grade teacher who first recognized my gift for storytelling. She saw something I hadn’t fully understood yet: that I wasn’t just pretending—I was creating. Still, as life went on, I laid that part of myself down. I thought it was what God wanted me to do. That’s a story for another day. But here's what I know now:

Some things are meant to stay buried. Others are meant to rise again.

In this season of death, burial, and resurrection, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the things we lay down—dreams, gifts, passions—and how sometimes, if we’re brave enough, we can pick them back up. Resurrect them. And in doing so, we can find healing, joy, even peace... even if we’re writing about monsters and chainsaws.

Resurrecting my creativity has brought something sacred back into my life. Whether I’m writing horror scripts or walking the trails where the trees still whisper ancient secrets, I feel closer to who I really am—more aligned with the Creator who made me this way.

Maybe today is your invitation, too.

Maybe it’s time to paint again. Or take a walk in the park. Or wander through the woods and listen—not with your ears, but with your spirit. The land still speaks. And so does that thing inside you that you laid down because life got busy or you were told it wasn’t practical.

Pick it back up.

I’m currently building the core team for my upcoming horror film. It’s a microbudget slasher with mystical undertones—think vintage horror meets spiritual unease. If you’d like to join the team remotely (you’ll receive an IMDb credit), or if you’re interested in investing or donating to help bring this vision to life, I’d love to hear from you.

But whether you make movies, paint, sing, or just dream—this is your reminder: not everything that dies is meant to stay buried.

Sometimes, the most important thing you can do is resurrect yourself.