And I Shall Be Filled With An Endless Sense of Wonder

Some days I wake up and I don't recognize my life. I see the things around me and it is as though I have stepped into a dream. A story. A movie that I somehow stepped into. It's odd. It's like I know that it's a movie I wrote the screenplay for. Or at least it's the book that the movie screenplay was adapted from. 

I read about other authors from days gone by. Authors that I have grown up falling headfirst into their worlds. I wonder what they would have done if they had had the benefit of putting their words out into the ether for all to see. 

Sometimes I think it's probably a good thing that we don't have ready access to laudanum in the same way the authors and creatives of the past did. 

It's a weird thing, to be honest. And maybe that's why the 7 of you that still come here, I'm too honest. It's not like it was on Facebook, where everything is all shiny glitter and unicorn farts. No, here is where sometimes the blood actually gets on the keyboard and slips onto the screen. 

Have you ever been in a situation and you've been in it so long that you don't really see it for what it is? You see it for what you think it is, or what you have come to believe it is. I think that I do that. It's got to be some kind of defense mechanism. I did it in both marriages. And if I'm being honest, I've done it in many of my jobs, too. 

I can't go into to too much detail right now, mostly because I don't want to fuck anything up, but suffice it to say, I'm in one of those phases in my life right now where I am looking closely at the details of the background. The things that blended in and became the everyday. Those things. The things that when you really take the time to look are actually the things that make the beauty. 

Yes, I know it's somewhat bloated of me to think that a) anyone really gives two rips and that b)....shit. What was b? I forget. 

I won't lie. There is a part of me that has seen dreams or visions in which I am actually an author of some renown. Of course, the other part of that is, I actually need to get off my ass and get back into the writing of the books, eh?

I'm in the middle of a change in my life. It's a good change. Or at least it has the potential to be. 

Did I mention I sometimes overthink things?

Well, it's true. I do. But I'm putting that to the side for the next week or so (if I can, no promises--it's kind of a horked up noggin).

In other news, the house is actually...well...looking like a house now. All the rooms are actually sorted and usable. It's kind of really good. And I can't really describe how good it feels to have rooms that feel like rooms instead of storage containers. 

It has been an epiphany of sorts. There's more really to go into, but for now, I think I need to dial it back a bit.

I mean, after all I have a book to finish (and another). I also have the recording area to wire up. And...yeah...all this and we're on the eve of a ball-blistering cold day coming on.

Nope, you're totally right. There really wasn't much to this post other than making sure I didn't go to bed without putting some words down. Such as they are. 


Dealing With The Inner Critic

There is a long and storied tradition that writers have to be tortured or crazy. Or any sullied variation that deals with being plagued by demons of all sorts.

I know plenty of writers that this holds true for. I think I know of a couple where this doesn’t.

But I’m not really here to talk about them. And you’re not here to read about them. Or, maybe you are. I’m not sure. There is a slight chance that you happened upon this blog by mistake. And, that’s OK. I get it. Happens to the best of us.  I have shelves full of un-opened Scentsy bars for a similar reason. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Here’s the deal, though. Eh.

Or is it?

I struggle with this sometimes. I struggle with how real I want this blog to actually be. I think the danger of someone actually finding out I’m human has decreased significantly since I left Facebook. There was a time in the not so distant past when I would bare my soul, or at least the part of it that I don’t mind sharing with the world. I would come up with some clever title for it and I would put that out there on the book of face. And some of you would see it. I think I got over 200 views on a post or two. It helped me feel like someone was actually reading my stuff, or caring about me as a person. Or both. Both? Both. Both is good.

Not, that’s not to say that I don’t have people in my life who think I’m human or people who care for me. If that was your takeaway, please. Don’t be silly. I know better. Most of the time.

Yeah, most of the time.

There are times, though, where things don’t seem to fire quite right up there in the old brain bucket and I feel like in a crowd of a thousand people, I am alone in the universe.  That feeling usually doesn’t last. I’m a lucky son of a bitch because my best friend is my roommate. And she has this knack for helping me get out of my own way. She usually doesn’t know when she does it and when I thank her she gives me this weird, confused look and the conversation usually ends with one of us being called a dork. Spoiler alert—it’s usually me.

I overthink things. A lot. I learned not too long ago that that is actually a side effect of the general anxiety disorder that I have. Oh.I also learned that I have a general anxiety disorder. The hard part is knowing that this happens and finding myself unable to stop it.

Take today for example. Before I went to bed last night, I made a list of things I wanted to do on Sunday, including some people that I wanted to spend time with. I got up, had breakfast, and prepared to set out. I hit the remote start on the car, grabbed my stuff and headed out.   When I got to the car, I noticed that it wasn’t running. No big deal. Happens sometimes. I know that the 10 minutes runtime that the car gives you before you have to put the key in can sometimes go quicker than I think. Got in, put the key in, and turned the starter.

The car made the sound of an asthmatic yeti and still did not start. I tried several more times, to no avail.  There was much cursing. This, apparently, also does not contribute to resolving problems of a mechanical nature.

The day was going off the rails, and quickly. People were notified, plans were cancelled. I found a battery charger in the garage (because damn near everything is in the garage, or in one of the many closets in this house. If I didn’t know better, I’d say J.K. Rowling herself fashioned the Hogwarts Room of Requirements after the many closets and garage of the Gallifrey Annex.

I digress. I connected the charger, after making sure I wasn’t going to blow up the car.  Insert some additional cursing. Again, no mechanical miracle borne of fitfully thrown obscenities. I checked 10 minutes later and the asthma seemed to be a better, but the car still wouldn’t start.

I made a grocery list. Hey, don’t judge me. Oddly enough, I find grocery shopping with a list resets my noodle. I make a list of things. I put the estimated prices of said things. I then go grocery shopping with the fervor of a Price Is Right contestant.

I borrowed the roomie’s car and hit the grocery store.

Today was a good day. With what I had on my list, I estimated that I would spend $100 of my $100 budget for this pay-period’s groceries. I came in at $89. Not too shabby. Oh, sure, I was over, so I would have lost the Showcase Showdown, but that’s OK. I definitely would have made it that far.

If you’ve made it this far and are wondering what this all has to do with the Inner Critic, you’re in luck, because I’m about to tell you.

Not much.

No, ok. That’s not quite true. It has more to do with the overthinking and the hard time I have with making plans and having them go sideways.

I get that there are things I can’t control. And I get that there are things that I need to learn to let go.

Logically I get all of that.

But today went sideways with a big side of fuck you. Consequently nearly everything I had on my list to work on today is just chilling. I might get to some of it tomorrow after work. I might not.

And that’s OK.

The important thing is that I’m writing. I had a goal this month of getting some words in every day. If they were part of the work in progress, cool. A blog post? Awesome. Tweets? OK I guess, but I’m probably not counting it toward my word count goal.

So, here we are. Groceries put away. And the car has had 3 hours to charge.

I start it...more wheezing, as it is about to give its death rattle, I give it some gas. And then some more. I give it enough gas that the exhaust is a little angry with me (and now the mystery of why my throat feels raw is not such a mystery now).

And it stays running.

I let it run for a bit and then decide to take it to my local auto place to see if they can run diagnostics on the engine. They can. For a fee. And it might not be today. That doesn’t work for me. I head back to the car and cross my fingers.

It starts right up.

And it does so for about 8 more times. It’s as though nothing happened.

Sure, I’m pleased. The day is still spun sideways, but I’m feeling a little better.

Until I see the writing calendar on my wall. There’s a big fat nothing on the day for yesterday.

And here’s where the inner critic, and perhaps some personal wisdom come into play.

I know that if let another day go without putting down any words, then it will become easier to not write. You see, at the moment, it’s kind of hard to not write. I need to write. I need to let those thoughts, disjointed and cracked-out though they may be, I still need to put them on the page.

That inner critic was waiting for me to skip another day. I mentioned something about not hitting my words yesterday to my roomie and she said, with no hint of judginess, “So? Yesterday was Saturday. Give yourself one day off a week.”

Makes sense. And it helped spin the day back around.

And here we are. Thing about that inner critic is this. They usually don’t know shit. Find yourself someone whose opinion you trust more than the opinion of your inner critic.

It can make all the difference in the world as far as your creative endeavors are concerned.

The other thing I’m trying to be better about is sleep. So, with that my friends, I bid you a good evening.



A Brief History of The Feels

I had a thought tonight as I finished watching "The Theory of Everything." If you have not seen this movie yet, find the time to watch it. If you don't walk away from the movie a changed person with a little more insight into humanity, then watch it again-obviously you missed something the first time. That wasn't the thought, though. No, the thought was something I would tell my younger self (and younger just means "Todd that is before Present Todd" See---Younger Todd sounds better, doesn't it?

It would go a little like this.,

Dear Younger Todd,
When given the chance, always kiss the girl. There will be doubt. When the doubt clouds everything and threatens to shut you down at your core, when it threatens to steal your words, when it turns your hands into a damp washcloth on a mid-summer Ohio River afternoon, you must absolutely, if given the chance, kiss the girl. The kiss will kill doubt. For that one instant. Not for ever. But for that kiss. For that one to 17 timeless seconds, doubt will be gone.

Hold on to that time, that memory, those seconds without doubt. Call them to the foreground when doubt and fear fill your head and heart with lies. And if necessary, kiss the girl again. 

Do this until your first reaction when faced with doubt and fear is a lingering memory of an amazing kiss.  This is your armor. The lips - your shield. 

Dear Older Todd,
Same thing still applies, old man. 

Present Todd

I  have a few memories like this. I must admit that I didn't think to use them as armor until tonight. Did I mention it was an amazing movie? Well, it is.

I had a goal this month to get words in every day. I didn't worry about a word count for this goal--it seemed to me that a count goal might be a little too intimidating. So the deal is just to write. Whatever. Backstory, front story, bloggy blog blog posts, research posts from the library (sorry, I just finished watching The Librarians). Anything. Words. It didn't matter. Just that they got written.

I thought about incorporating art into that. If I do a digital painting (or a real one), does that count toward my words (not sure these pictures are worth a thousand words. Is that even still a thing?).

Anyway, here are the two pieces of art I created in 2019 so far:

I like both of them for different reasons, but I like the fact that light is rising. Seems that what I've been needed to see--the light. The weeds growing where nothing did. Greenery on the sheer face of the rock.

Proof that light brings life, always.

There’s more to say on this, but I’m tired. And I’m doing a better job about listening to my body this year.

Goodnight friends,


Hashtag Not Inspired

I was going to start off this post doing that thing where you take a word and you put the dictionary definition of the word in funky font to make it look to the reader as though they are reading form the dictionary. Complete with schwa e and all that fun stuff.

But, I thought better of it at some point. I’m still going to get all up into the word I’m writing on, but I’m going to go ahead and do it without gimmicks. It’s the first day of the new year, so I figure it’s best to just be me. The real, the raw, the cunning scamp you have all come to know and love. Or at the very least that you have found interesting enough to come back to this site from time to time.

I’ve read in places that the blog is dead and that Newsletters are where it’s at. And that’s likely true. And that’s OK. If it is true, then this place will get less attention and I can be more real and honest within it’s walls of ones and zeroes.

So what is this mystery word, Todd?

I’m so glad you asked.


There. That’s it. Inspiration. I find that it’s peppered throughout my life way more than I really ever noticed before. And maybe that’s not true. Maybe it’s not that there is more of it lately, but maybe it’s that I’m more receptive to it.

Part of me thinks that’s dangerous. Inspiration in itself is not dangerous. I appreciate it. And perhaps that’s a better word for it, appreciation. But if I come to rely on it, to depend on it to propel me into action, then I’m good and truly fucked. If you asked me what inspired me during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month for those of you not masochistic enough to participate), I would have been hard pressed to answer honestly. I would have spouted the response of so and so inspiring me because wow, look at their word count. But I wasn’t feeling that. And dammit, I really wanted  to be inspired. I was waiting for it. Waiting for the cerebral lightning shot down from the Muses into my brain bucket so I could put those perfect words on the paper.

That’s just it, though, isn’t it. I was counting on it. And counting on inspiration to lead you to the work often leads to the work not actually getting done. At All.

And it didn’t. I didn’t write shit in November. MAYBE 3000 words on my project total. Maybe more. I don’t remember. I’m not going back and looking, because at the end of the day, I can’t go back.  So, I can only move forward.

What inspires me these days?


And everything.

I know, it’s cryptic. And if you have known me for any length of time, you will understand that in my mind, this makes absolute perfect sense.

Nothing inspires me. And by that I mean that I have come to realize that the things I find inspiration in are things that I have come to appreciate with each passing day. They are things I am thankful for in my life.  They are nuggets that I pick up on Twitter or Instagram from authors, friends, people I know, and people I would like to get to know. When I say that these things don’t inspire me, though, what I mean is that they don’t move me to action.

I used to think they did. I used to see a tweet by Gaiman and think holyshit, that’s awesome. I need to go write now! And I would go write. Or I’d see friends putting out books and that would push me to back in front of the keyboard with the sinking realization that I wasn’t going to fulfill my writing dream if I didn’t actually continually write.Or write on a somewhat consistent basis.

What I didn’t see until recently was there was a middle step there. None of things in themselves inspired me to act. They just stoked the flames. I had to still do the work. And this hit me one Sunday afternoon in December where I was as inspired as I think I have been in quite some time. I think it was something I saw on Facebook about what a friend and fellow author had achieved and I was super pumped. I had visions of riding the NYT Bestseller list right alonside them.

Three hours later, I was still on Facebook. Clearly I had just cracked the code. There was no causality (for me) between inspiration and action.

I have to say this was liberating. For many reasons.The main one being that I finally realized that I no longer had to wait for inspiration to strike for me to actually do the dirty work of writing. Holy crap, you mean I can just sit down and write without the Muses giving me mental handies? Seems so.

Fine, so nothing inspires me (to act).

Cool. So, how then does everything inspire you?

Good question. Simple answer. Everything is connected. And by taking the time to be present, in this exact moment, I can see the beauty in everything around me. I can see the hand of a creative presence in everything. In an argument. In a shitty Spongebob episode. Everything.

Don’t get freaked out on me. I’m not anywhere close to being enlightened, and if I were, the very act of thinking that I was would simply mean that I wasn’t yet. It doesn’t happen all the time, but I can see things fitting together. And sometimes I really am just blown away by the series of events that had to happen just so in order for the me sitting here typing this blog post on an iPad was actually able to get this to you.

So, nothing and everything. And I can actually write without needing to have the inspiration. It helps, sure, but it’s not the key.

The key is writing.

And I think starting off 2019 with that particular nugget of knowledge restored is a very good headspace to be in.

Until tomorrow,

PS, not that I will necessarily be posting a blog post tomorrow, but I might be. In either event, I will be writing, as I have a goal of having a word count on each day on the calendar in January. We’ll see how it goes.

Have an awesome sauce evening my friends!

Failing NaNo - 4 Years and Counting

I looked, Dear Readers, and noted that the last time I saw fit to let the words fall from my brain bucket and onto these virtual pages was o...