Month: April 2025

It feels like we are missing the approaching singularity in a haze of all else that is happening in the world. We’re missing a lot of things. We’re missing how Israel is taking over Gaza. We’re missing how relatively quiet China actually is right now. We’re missing all the weird happening in space and under the waves. Yet for all of that I still believe the biggest turn we are missing is the thrust towards the singularity. AI is poised to allow us to make great leaps and bounds in technology over the next decade. Interlinked systems and wild robotics are happening at the same time.

All through it I keep thinking about the Ancient Flyer wall carving and how that could relate to the flattening of space-time. This singularity could have all sorts of impacts. It could in fact mess us up on a level in which the end of human time has already occurred and we are beginning to experience the bleed of that as we get closer and closer to that moment that takes us there.

Some Thoughts:

1. I cannot remember things nearly was well anymore. I am only 5o, so this is a serious problem–a flaw in the system if you will. I don’t know if it means anything. On any given day I become convinced that I have early onset Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s Disease, or both. It’s as if I was cursed and it was a moderately effective curse. For example, I could not remember the term singularity and needed to replace it with my standard XX while typing. I wouldn’t ever have figured it out if not for the book The Singularity is Near, which happens to be near enough that when I turned my head to the left there it was.
2. Sad.

I’ve been looking at smart glasses again. Doing so forces me into an existential conversation about privacy, freedom, etc. Nowadays everything has a camera and or mic. Everything can listen to you. Some things can see you. Consider the beach cam phenomena. We spend a good deal of time in San Diego and there are beach cams everywhere pointed towards the shore. It isn’t obtrusive like, say, London, but there is that constant sense of knowing you are being observed. I plan to tackle that in the next novel (with hints about the state of observation in this novel). We are going to the beach in Spain and there are cameras there as well. I can sit in my home and see how the wind is blowing and how the waves look lapping against the shore. Now can people see me seeing? Can people see me out there? All of these questions point to a level of global connectivity that says we are all linked and observed…

But who controls that data?

The best smart glasses (outside of the submersive apple gear that I won’t wear) are a product of meta. Moreover, the data includes video and audio and I have no way of knowing what is being shared with the company itself. This makes me feel strange inside, but it also is entirely the digital future I expected. I went into this smart glasses search because I fell in love with the overpriced apple system as a result of falling in love with the clunkier Meta Oculus center. The Ray-bans are not exactly an evolution of this (no visual AR) but they are pointing down the road of where things are going.

So, more and more we will be recorded. More and more we will lose the ability to remain private and off the grid. How do I feel about it? Well, we have all been trained to love the camera. We take pictures of ourselves and store them in the cloud or hand them to others to develop. Where is the privacy in any of that. It feels like I’ve been conditioned for exactly what is coming. Therefore accepting it is the likely response.

As a writer I do have a way to protest. I will be doing exactly that in this and the following text. Who knows, maybe that protest will become my practice.

Some Thoughts:

1. I am 117 comments into the 600+ on the novel I need to work through. I found a good one!
2. Some of them are very useful in terms of helping me clarify information and write better passages/dialogue.
3. I was thinking last night that I might want to take a turn at screenplay writing again. Feels like a moment to be had.

The toughest thing about being a writer is being able to hear criticism and not let it cripple you. For instance, I learned in a recent workshop that I use he/she far too much. He/She is indicative of telling vs. showing. By the very nature of “they did this” I am literally telling the reader what happened. My immediate reaction to this revelation was, “Well, I don’t know how else to describe!” I do know how else to describe. I’ve seen it. Done it. I know what needs to change in order to make these pronouns fade into the background of a story.

In the moment it felt like I was powerless. It felt like I was shit at writing.

There is this moment of helplessness one experiences when you’ve done the job and failed at it. Avoiding this experience is a large reason why I spent years turning in first drafts. Fire and Forget. This meant I didn’t have to feel helpless or feel as though I could do more. I gave it my all on that first go. If it didn’t take, it didn’t take. This is juvenile thinking… that I did through my 30s. And partially into my 40s.

It ties into a larger philosophy of what you do and how capable you are of doing and doing more. On my sidescreen there is a Cyberpunk 2077 comic book turned to the middle pages. Cyberpunk 2077 is a vibe. The more I examine it, the more I want to write a development plan for a Shadowrun comic and a Shadowrun video game. I want to use my knowledge (hell, I teach this stuff) in order to develop things that could reach people in different ways. What does that have to do with anything? By understanding I can get better I understand that I can do more.

My power isn’t capped. I just need to unlock the next level.

What I intend to do this summer is to build around that idea. I spent a lot of years locked in on one thing. There is an opportunity here to grow. There is an opportunity to be and do more. No, I won’t be good at a lot of it right away–maybe never. However, I am not afraid of that. I need to be afraid of never trying in the first place.

Criticism can cripple. It can make you afraid to try. It can also unclog your sense of what is good. It can unlock you from your conceived notions of perfection and allow you to finally be better.

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.