Month: April 2025

It is hard to get back in the groove of writing one thing when I’ve been writing a bunch of different stuff and trying to generate new content for a couple of classes. I’m pretty burned out, and heading back to the novel today felt not like coming home, but trying to get back into a pair of pants you wore before you got fat. This is not how I want to feel. To make matters worse, I cannot stay focused. I am so supremely distracted by everything else going on in the universe that I don’t stay locked into the writing mode for long.

Doesn’t help that I don’t sleep.

I think, if I add all of these stressors together, I am running from the story because it was so totally obliterated in the edit and now I am afraid of not being able to turn it into a gold seller. All of that is in my head, but my head is where the fiction happens. I need to get clear and develop a sense of how to stay writing and stay focused so I can get back into the mindset of these characters and help them reach the end of the journey.

I have the slightest inkling to purchase and play NBA 2K. No, not park mode. That can be fun, but it isn’t my thing right now. I occasionally catch sight of my kid playing a season on his PS5 and it makes me wanna hop on and run it back. Basketball has largely lost its appeal to me, thanks in part to the Knicks. They are why I started with that game in the first place. I used to want to make a Knicks team and be a player who was carrying the squad. I wanted them to be good again so desperately. Now I do the same thing with the Giants and experience that same lack of real life hope.

They will screw up this draft.

I shouldn’t put that energy into the universe, but unless they make some trades or some talent falls far, they are not going to be getting the pieces they need. Take for example the suggestion that they should draft Abdul Carter. People are comparing him to Giants starter Kayvon Thibidieux. They are also calling Thibs an underperformer. So, why the heck do you draft that dude?! Is he Thibs? Is he Micah Parsons? How about you don’t and take a spot you have a need for. I’m thinking an actual generational talent like Hunter (if available) or trading back and getting two picks out of the deal that can stockpile you the talent you need.

Yes, the 1st round allows for the 5th year tag. That does matter. Still, it feels like the Giants are planning to either trade into the back end of the first and snag whomever remains of Sanders, Milroe, or Shough and letting them learn behind the two guys they got. Cam Ward is probably going #1. That means, based on what the pundits suggest, a QB to Tennessee or Carter or Hunter. The spot the Giants are in sucks, but you don’t want to trade up to 2 in order to control your fate, because ir really puts you on the hook down the line (losing a first next year at least).

I say take the best player available at a position of need or trade Thibs during the draft and see what comes of it.

Tomorrow is the last day of lesson planning for the week. That’s a good thing. It means I can get back to working on this novel. I haven’t hit the pages in a week plus and that doesn’t bode well for the deadline or the flow. I need to get back into it and get back into thinking about those characters. All I’ve been thinking about as of late is vacation. Sure there were some sporadic writing assignments and the well planned lesson here and there, but the key is entirely about the vacation. I cannot wait to get to it. This is a new experience for us–traveling this far to beach. We won’t have any of our stuff, which probably leads to getting more stuff. Among the toughest things to do when you travel is figuring out how to get the stuff you need. Fortunately, we are right next to a bus stop, so if that type of need arises, we can do what we do… which is shop.

At Uniqlo. There is always one wherever we want to go, save for possibly Victoria, Canada.

I am doing this at the tail end of a long day of working and writing. I don’t have a lot left in me, and my heart is pretty heavy. I just turned in the first chapter of The Justice Engine for review in my grad program. It is a timely piece right now, given advances in technology and the awful case involving a Texas kid who stabbed another kid at a track meet. That hits me on a number of levels, given the context of the story I am writing, the fact I have black children, and the unfortunate and continual portrayals of young black men as violent thugs.

The more that comes out about this case, the more we learn about who the victim and his twin brother were. Reading a NY Post article about the event did nothing but reinforce my fears. The article speaks lowly of the suspect, Karmelo Anthony, and treats the victim as if he were a saint. This isn’t the case. In fact, the article goes one step further to push opinion by stating the family will, “retain two hot-shot Dallas lawyers with a history of headline-grabbing racial justice cases.”

This is how it is. Justice is often written in the court of public opinion. It isn’t right or just. Let the truth be heard. Once it is, we will all know what happened, why, and what consequences should result. That’s the story I am writing. I don’t know how mine ends yet. Maybe watching this unfold will power me with inspiration.

Long week. Draining week. About to be a longer and more draining week. This will be followed by two more. Then freedom.

This is what my life looks like these days. Long days and sleepless nights. Part of it is the writing. I made the choice to go to grad school and that choice inevitably added stuff to my plate. I am quite worn out, and I am in this mindset of wondering if I will finish the necessary draft (or lesson) in time. I don’t have a choice, really. I have to get all of these things done on time. There is not room for being late with any of it. I’m looking at ways to ease my stress but that takes time from the task. All I seem to do is avoid what needs doing, and that is not helping at all. So, it is head down, butt in chair, work.

I’m up at 5 am to go get it.

At the 73rd street kiosk the line stretched almost to 74th. People waited slouched on walls, barely talking. The rain fell from the sky in sheets. It was worse on 78th where the line was so thick and angry that Kenyon had seen two fights breakout before deciding to pick himself up off the street and find someplace new. The line wasn’t moving anyway. It never moved fast anymore, not since they added the new battery of tests. You needed to test, then you needed to wait, and only then could you make your entry.

Kenyon trudged through the rain towards 89th. He didn’t like going back uptown. He had a theory that the winners always came from lower Manhattan. The big winners did. Nothing over 100 credits ever rang up north of 96th. He’d heard it was always that way; heard in that when they still let trains run through the tunnels below the city most people would get off at 96th. The people that traveled on were always like him.

The rain picked up as he approached the 89th street kiosk. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, fights? A longer line than 78th even? What he saw was a near empty kiosk sitting on the corner. The last person waiting was just starting to press her arm into the slot.

Someone had already won. He’d never heard of a kiosk awarding more than one prize a day. When somebody won–when they dropped their guard and let on–the kiosk would empty. The line of contestants would move on to another block hoping for an opportunity to win enough to eat for the night, or a warm bed if they were lucky.

He watched her as he approached the kiosk. Pedestrians huddled under umbrellas moved past her on the sidewalk, keeping a healthy distance from her and the kiosk. When she finished, withdrawing her arm, he watched her small mouth tense, waiting for her result. She glanced at him nervously, covering her readout implant as she did. Still, there was something there. He slowed, staring at her.

She was smiling.

He broke into a shambling run, hoping that he could get to the kiosk before anyone else. It was impolite to ask what she’d won, but it was clear that she did. It was also clear that she wasn’t going to stick around to tell him how much. By the time he arrived at the kiosk she was halfway down the busy street, weaving between slower pedestrians and disappearing into the fog of rain.

He came up to the kiosk. It was still making the grumbling sound it did as it cleaned itself. The smell of ozone tinted the thick air. Kenyon slid his arm into the slot. There came the familiar beeping sound he’d been told was co-opted from gameshows of the distant past. The receptacle tightened around his bicep, checking his pressure. Then the needle sunk in with a small jolt. He knew he didn’t have any diseases that were on the list, but that didn’t change how long it took to for the test to go through. As it did, he waited and prayed. 100 credits would be enough for him to eat for the rest of the week.

The machine cycled, clearing him for blood withdrawal. He’d given a pint yesterday and hadn’t won anything. If he decided to double his chances today. He clicked the middle option. The machine whirred and bit into him. He felt the fluid leaving his body and hoped.

After a time the whirring stopped. The readout implant on his opposite arm chimed. His eyes widened.

I had originally intended to write a 500 word short story this evening, but I’ve been up since 2:30 AM and that isn’t going to happen. Instead, I’m just going to wax philosophical for a bit about how I want to write. Not in the I want to write more sense, but in the sense of what Voice I want to take on i’ve spent years cultivating our reputation and following as a role-playing game author. However, somewhere along the way, I forgot what I was trying to do in the first place. I was trying to process novels, of course. I was trying to publish short stories. However, I was also trying to tell a certain kind of tail one that is not derivative of a genre, but advancing of a genre. What I really wanted to do was to move the needle. I wanted to tell stories that were being told. I wanted to tell stories that reflected different parts of this very intricate story that is the sixth world.

however, I will be set in rather quickly, and after a time, my stories became rude and repetitive, and in many instances, I was really trying to push for the tale of certain characters that I really liked. Yet I didn’t know why I like them. I had no real understanding of what it is. They were ultimately trying to do other than to be seen and to be known. That works for some characters. That is in many ways, a fundamental characteristic of certain types of people. Let’s take Lex Luther for example. Everybody knows that the dude is really out to be seen as something greater than Superman. His defining goal his reason for being is to be the greatest, and this strange alien is standing in his way. So, what does he do? He tries to find a way to take this guy down. Again he has to fine by this. He is defined by his role as an antagonist. In some tellings, however he is also defined by those ones and needs that are purely human constraints. He has made more in these circumstances than just a two dimensional. I must kill the man of Steel kind of Character.

so this is where we get to the crux of it. I don’t want my characters to be flat. They have been very much so for a very, very long time. So the plan in my mind is to begin to tell stories about people again.

Big writing day. Big.

I’ve been pretty terrible at the game over the last two weeks, failing to do my exercises and daily word count outside of the blog for twelve of the last fourteen days. This qualifies as a tailspin–and not the cute Disney version. I don’t really know how I get sucked off track. It is a combination of factors often starting with the home life or some emotional issue in my life. Once I get off, it is tough to get right. I need to get right today, because there are due dates. One is even today, but I need to get it all back on track before Monday rolls around. Too much to do. Meanwhile, the Lady Talis is taking on more, which means I need to take on more in order to help keep this house straight. All of it feels like a great deal of piling on in the midsts of recognizing that I am not getting paid nearly enough for any of it.

The solution: Put my head down and get the work done. That’s really the only viable option ever in these circumstances. I need to do things to get my students on track, I need to do things to get my life on track, and I need to do things to get my future on track. That doesn’t leave any time beyond these ten minutes for complaining about what is wrong or what might be bothering me. At least the sleep situation is starting to level out. I’m not cured or better or anything, but I am getting more than 3 hours. That’s an improvement and a half. Hopefully the uptick in physical wellness will translate to some level of success in the other areas of my life.

I don’t feel like I am alone in these moments. It feels like everyone goes through slides. Those slides may turn into spirals and the spirals can continue until your life is completely upended. I don’t want it to wind up there, which is why I have to draw the line right here. I have to accept the conditions of my life as they are, dig in, and do the hard work. The only way out of the mess is to get through it.

Some Thoughts:

1. Even my hands are refusing to type right. Not a good start to be flat out missing the proper keys… or keys at all on some attempts.
2. No, there is not alcohol involved. Not yet

I forgot about Quinn Ewers. It is hard not to. I mean the dude was on the cover of NCAA and all, but all signs point to him being there because Manning wouldn’t take the deal. Look, he was a placeholder. It wasn’t his fault. The hype train is just built like that. Is he a good player? Bad player? I have no idea. Like I said, I forgot about him. Then NFL.com decided to make me remember.

All of this comes down to narrative. There is a story about everyone in this draft “worth knowing” and the ones who aren’t getting talked about are following the narrative of the unknown who surprises everyone to become a breakout star… or they are the nobody who is filling space on a roster. We will see a little bit of all of it–more on Hard Knocks show once they figure out who’ll let them shoot their team. Football at this part of the year is all about storylines. Unfortunately most of those stories are bluster and not based in anyones actual talent. Take Shedur Sanders for example. He’s Prime’s son. That is the story. Had he not been. Had his name been Ewers or Everson or anything else the narrative would be the same one it was last season when you had two childhood friends coming up as competing QBs. We have that here with Ward and Sanders. Heck, they train together. It is all over youtube. But that isn’t the chosen story.

I hate this part of the year, because it has little to do with football and everything to do with optics and politics. It’s the game outside the game as everyone tries to disguise who they are going to pick while also trying to decide who they are going to pick. Makes for interesting TV after the fact. However, right now it is all bluster. I try my best to ignore it.

It’s been a while since I’ve sat for a workshop on one of my pieces. I get editor feedback, which has been brutal as of late, but that experience feels removed. It isn’t a dialogue the way a workshop is–or at least should be. Part of my daily job is to provide feedback to writers. In that I tell them what works and what doesn’t work, and what I like, and what I would like to see them change or enhance. It feels closer to the editor process where I am working to help them smooth out a piece of writing for public consumption or, more often, a grade. That feels far removed from workshopping. It feels as vast as the difference between having a conversation with a friend and interacting with them on social media.

Workshops, even online ones, represent a particular level of intimacy. My last one was a small circle of friends consisting of two non-fiction authors, a screenplay writer, a literary fiction writer, and me, whatever I am. At that point I was struggling through a short story about a man in India who was hustled by a con artist and it resulted in his company getting robbed. I was fortunate enough to have one of my friends in the circle who was born in India and visited often. It helped me get things right–not just in the sense of correctness, but the sense of feel. I went into the space with trust, knowing that they would nicely dissect my story and tell me the brutal truth while we munched on hamburgers and sipped wine.

Wine makes a workshop better. Honesty makes a workshop even better than wine does, though the two are effective in conjunction. One softens the blow that the other delivers. I think what made this experience right for me is the trust I had that these authors were trying to help me shape and tell my own story instead of directing me to tell the story they wanted to hear specifically in the voice they had in their minds. I’ve had a lot of workshops go that way and it isn’t terribly helpful.

I’m quite terrified about sharing my work in an MFA program. I haven’t had the time to build up that trust with these other writers. I don’t know them. I don’t know if they are trying to shape my ideas into what they want or if they are even interested in the kind of stories I try to tell. I don’t reach everyone with my words. So, what happens when there are people in the group that I don’t reach–that don’t get it or me?

I can start by accepting their feedback as critical; as a voice from the audience that will receive my writing and may or may not know what to do with it. I can take the same stance on writing as I take on life–be grateful for the opportunity to hear how they feel and read what they have to say. I can accept that the work I share is in progress and needs the eyes and the notes. Josip Novakovich writes in the Fiction Writer’s Workshop that “the hardest part is looking not only for the story but for the pattern for writing stories.” You cannot find that pattern in yourself alone but only through the practice and patience of carefully understanding what is being said about your work and what is being done in the other works around you. This is what happens in a workshop. We learn to find the pattern. So, no matter how I feel about what is said, I will look for the pattern, and in that find the way to improve.