Thought-Drive

 I have this friend. He's been an easy target for chiding over the years because of his inability to multi-task. When he sends an email, he needs peace and quiet, no side conversations, no texting. When he goes out to eat (when people used to do that) carrying on a conversation would be nigh impossible if there was a television that he could see. And despite this well documented inability, he has the most varied list of hobbies of almost anyone I know. He writes and plays music, belongs to an off-roading club for which he maintains a capable vehicle, rides a motorcycle, hikes, and plays video games. Or, he did (referring to children this time, not the pandemic). I always felt like he would've been happier, felt less stretched, if he had found a way to focus on one thing.  I wouldn't say I lost myself in my humble little Instagram project , but concentrating on that did make me lose sight of blogging. I guess I only have so many spoons for social media. Difficulty entraps me

 It says I haven't posted in some weeks, but unlike a lot of other times this year, I don't have to invent writing that I was thinking about doing. I don't have to wonder if thinking about writing is the same as actually putting words down, if editing and brainstorming and outlining well help throw off the specter of stagnation. Seven weeks ago I felt good about the critical mass of story notes and setting detail and decided to see how far into it I could get. The story was kind of a continuation of a short story I penned last year. I cannot recall what the impetus was for that piece; honestly, I will admit that I don't even know where I saved it. Regardless, it had a similar premise, and it got my attention because despite everything else that was going on, it kept my attention. And now I am working on chapter seven.  It felt really good to read back through everything, adjust the outline, flesh in some notes, make some decisions, and some gambles for the long term, an

 My time on websites like YouTube was limited once upon a time, but over the years, as technology advanced, I came to rely on it as the primary research tool for "Hey did you see-" type inquiries. From wildlife videos to news clips to movie trailers to comedy skits, it is a time sink. I learn things every day, and a lot of that education is dispensed through the platform. And I sunk deep enough recently to discover the existence of content creators, and that some of the content is video of people responding to other people's content. Reality folds back on itself. But something useful came out of it, too, which was a growing confidence in my getting back out there, into attempting to promote myself. A co-worker is starting a business. We work in education, and according to her, a sad reality of that is needing a second job if one wants to be an educator, long-term. We discussed all of what she's doing, and she showed me the beginnings of a website she was designing, wh

I fell off again. I didn't get sick, or suffer any great personal tragedy. I was actually given more time to work, and with that time I managed to work even less.  For the cover art, the artist assures me he is still working, though at this point I should probably reach out and make sure he's alright. In general, I like to think that my record for messaging people is much better than average, kind of the opposite of blogging. I sketched out the cover for book 6, even though I have no idea what I'd like book 5 to look like. I'm in the same place I was some years ago, when the 5th book was put out by the publisher and the problems of management finally took their toll. The impact of effective management has been a reoccurring theme that I am not happy with with organizations I associate with.  For the writing, I finished edits on the 4th book, and started working on the 5th, when my momentum suffered the kind of setback and loss of momentum where I can't even

I am alive. It is unfortunate that such a thing is an even greater uncertainty in these times, and not because whatever random 90s disaster movie turned out to be true, but because of our bizarre relationship with objective truth. I haven't posted in some time, and not for lack of thinking about it. The walls of my apartment have been my world for the most part since the "virus season" began. I leave once a week for groceries, sometimes for walks, but generally my world has shrunk down to a scant few square feet. I work in this chair. I recline on that couch. Sometimes, I share time with friends through my internet connection on yet a third chair. I've learned a lot about myself, and one idea is that without work, I have little reason to go anywhere. Still, the adjustment of being forced to stay at home was difficult. I had strange dreams and stranger thoughts. I wrote a short story , and had the idea to write more, to get together with other writers and commit t

Distracted thinking saw me contemplating book titles like The Virus Season and invented colloquialisms like 'the 19 in 20.' Working from home has been jarring, also feeling a little trapped. This morning I woke up with a story in my head, so, without a great deal of fanfare, I wrote it down. I don't like the ending. So, there we were, standing on opposite sides of the lot with an audience of parked cars ordered neatly into their spaces, watching us do a little dance. One dog and walker went left, while another went right, one back, another forward. All the while holding tight to the leashes of our family pets who didn’t know a thing about social distance. In the beginning, Dad took Yorker out mostly. I think he needed something to do, wanted anything to control. He never said if he was taking time off, or if he’d have a job to go back to, if he was working, or if he was looking for work. Then, some time later, I guess Mom wanted in on the activity. She was working fr

I like to tell my students when they fail that an error only becomes a mistake when they neglect to learn from it. It's largely semantics, but there is a certain difference in permanence between the two. Make a wrong turn on a new commute, that's an error, that's an opportunity. Make the same wrong turn six months later, that's a mistake, that's a flatly wrong decision. Like an exhausted mine, it's settled and resigned in what it is, and what it isn't. So, the cover art is almost done for the third book, but I finished the edits yesterday. There is still a dull whine like I've forgotten something, but before I left the office I was able to read the last line on the last page, be satisfied with the sum total, and sigh. The conversations about Covid 19 in earshot have been escalating, but in the midst of all that the only thing I felt was gratitude. I'm a bit in awe, really, of the transformation I was able to enact, from the little changes, like wh

The hallmark holiday was just about done when I realized I had missed it. Seeing the decorations at the grocery store, the pinks and reds in advertisements, I was aware that it was close. But the day of held no specific focus for me. However I did receive an email that the second book was finally available for print orders .  I say finally because an additional wrinkle appeared this go round. I spoke earlier on the exact nature of the measurements: that the trim and border and gutter are all measured down to the thousandth of an inch. This time I also learned that another important measurement is the distance between the edge of the spine and the text of the spine. It took me a moment to even conceptualize why that mattered. The email was a shock because I had already approved of the cover, already submitted the product, the pricing, the distribution, walked away and happily forgot. And then the notification that something had gone wrong. However I did do less staring, less ponderin

The director of the program where I had my first job out of college recently went in for his second hip surgery. A group text got circulated, the kind that encourages people to reach out and well wish. I was a week late with my communication, and even then called at a bad time. A few days after that, he called me back, and filled me in on his recovery and retirement. And rehabilitation. He explained the pain of the program, of the discomfort of building up strength again, in preparation for when the pain medication runs dry and one has to endure without supplement. He told me about a lady he used to see at the hospital, recovering from a knee procedure, and how she would always cut corners. He saw her some months later, apparently. She had a limp, and would forever require the use of a cane. I used to be pretty good at math. Or, Maths. I thought that when the cover for the second book arrived, I'd be able to hustle through the publishing process. The problem was that I peeked at

My manager gifted me with a bookstore gift card for the holiday, and this past weekend I decided to go and see what I could buy. I spent very little time researching my options and cursed myself later for my dereliction. I walked circles around the store, gift card in hand, like maybe it was a dowsing rod or other divination tool. Like it would vibrate when I was near the item I sought. I had aspirations, and each was quickly dashed as it bubbled up into my mind. I saw the music section in the back and thought about all the music I wish I had unlimited access to. Then I realized I don't own a CD player. I thought that surely there must be some mechanism to purchase mp3s and transfer them to my phone or a cloud account or... and then I was in the toys and games section. I thought about something to put on my desk, a puzzle I could articulate that would stimulate my mind while winding away the down hours. But I had never heard of any of the games; I was suspicious of the promises on