thoughts, dreams, hopes, wishes, and reminiscences


decisions, decisions. delicious decisions.


I haven’t written anything here for a while. A little over a month. Which, granted, is not nearly the longest I’ve gone without posting something to my blog.

I have been writing.

Just not here.

Several years ago (about 3, actually) I wrote a short story. I titled it “Drunk”. It’s about a man named Billy who was – you guessed it – drunk.

Well, I wrote that story, and a few people read it. Everyone that did read it said it wasn’t finished. What happens next? Where did Billy go in the end? You have to keep writing, they said.

So I did.

For a while. A very short while. I didn’t get far, I got stuck, and I stopped.

But then, a while ago. I read a quote from Terry Pratchett. It said “The first draft is simply you telling yourself the story.”

“The first draft is simply you telling yourself the story.”

It stuck with me (obviously), and I started thinking about all the stories I started but never finished. I started working more on one idea, fleshing out the characters, my ideas for the plot, etc…

But then my mind went back to Billy. And so I pulled up that story, and I started writing again. And writing and writing and writing. I wrote in the mornings. I wrote in the evenings. I wrote on the weekends.

It’s a rough (very rough) draft.

Too much detail about crap that doesn’t matter. Horribly awkward dialogue. The pace too slow when I should have sped things up, and rushed when I should have slowed down.

But that’s a first draft for you.

I took my short story of just over 4500 words to a slightly longer short story of just over 20,300 words. Quite easily the longest story I’ve ever written.

But it isn’t done yet. It’s at a stopping point, but more like the end of a chapter. Not the end of a book. In continuing the story, I realized that the story isn’t even really about Billy. It’s more likely about two other characters that just joined the narrative. Everything I’ve written is just the beginning.

So we come to my choice. Do I:

  1. Go back, start over, and write a 2nd draft of what I’ve already done?


  1. Continue writing my first draft?

Part of me really wants to go back and rewrite what I’ve written so far. Clean it up, polish it up, and turn it into an actual story.


But what if…

But what if I spend all that time writing the 2nd draft, then when I continue writing the rest of the story, the story shifts on me? What if things need to happen later in the story that change the beginning? What if I have to throw it all out and start over from scratch? What if the fundamental concepts of the world changes, and the beginning becomes obsolete?

With that in mind, it seems best to continue writing my 1st draft until I reach the end (the real end) of the story. Or at least what could be the end of a book. Because in the end, no story ever really ends.

Decisions, decisions.

I think about it, but never having written a book before, I’m just kinda making things up as I go along.

Whatever I decide, I’d like to thank my superlative wife for slogging through my first draft and giving me some excellent feedback. Not only did she confirm a few thoughts I had about what needed improving, but also pointed out several things I never realized were missing. Which is the whole point of getting a different point of view.

And even though stories never end, blog posts do.


For now.

story in six


she came to me: I cried.

happiness born of disappointment

bright sun is still shining

This poem was born of sadness and disappointment. Once upon a time, many, many years ago, I was sent outside to do a job. It was raining. Not pouring, or even a heavy rain, but just a little more than just a sprinkle. Not enough to have fun splashing in puddles if you wanted to get wet, but enough to make it annoying if you’re trying to avoid getting wet. The clouds were gray, but not dark gray, and they covered most of the sky. Every once in a while, the sun would peek through a gap in those clouds. Whenever that happened, I would look around, hoping to see a rainbow. I kept thinking about how cool it would be to see one that day, and kept scanning the gray for any hint of color, no matter how faint.


No rainbow for me, not that day. But the experience did inspire the above poem. And the internet has inspired me to put that poem on the above picture, which my wife took several years ago. Because my wife is awesome and the universe gives her rainbows.Double rainbows, even, if you look closely between the lines.

in the wind: re-imagined and re-imaged

in the wind

A poem is just a poem. Words strung together in vague and mysterious ways. Unless you put it with a picture. Now it’s fancy. Trendy. Exciting. Like those “inspirational quotes” people share on Facebook and shit. Except this is about dying a horrible death in a desert. Not exactly feel-good motivational material. Of course, it might motivate people to avoid deserts. Or at least bring lots of water with them. So this isn’t just a poem on a picture, or motivational, it’s also educational. A life saver. I am saving lives. I might as well wear a mask and a cape, ’cause I’m a goddamned superhero, saving people from doom by dehydration.

Like and Share if you want to be a superhero and save people’s live too.

Ignore and keep scrolling if you drown baby chinchillas.

That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? Like all those other inspirational pictures with words out there on what was supposed to be the information superhighway? I think there’s a traffic jam. It seems to have turned into a parking lot for click-baity faux news sites (“You WON’T believe what happened next!”), pictures of cats (which, admittedly, most of which are cute…) and DIY projects that 99% of the people sharing will likely never do.

I think my superpowers are sarcasm and cynicism. Especially when I’m tired. Cause this isn’t going to save anybody’s life. It’s not educational, motivational, or trendy. It’s just words on a picture. Words on a picture, people. Nothing remarkable to see here.


pity is not

pity take 2

haiku for you: standing still

Standing still. All others
moving forward, laughing at
me falling behind.

Standing still. All others
moving past. Leave me behind.
Alone. Forgotten.

Standing still. All others
rush past. Leave me behind
on top of the cliff.

Standing still. All others
have fallen far below, while
I am standing still.

Standing still is not
doing nothing. Standing still,
until I can see.

Standing still I still
cannot see past the next turn.
No one can see all.

Standing still no more.
I have waited long enough.
I choose. I move. I-

standing still

confusing midnight musings

So I have this notebook I keep by my bed.

Sometimes I write out thoughts before going to sleep. Other times I write things after I wake up – dreams, or just things that have taken residence in my brain overnight.

And then there are times I wake up in the middle of the night with some burning idea that has to be written down RIGHT NOW!

As I look at the things I’ve written down later, sometimes I see thoughtful philosophy, or witty poetry, or something that at least has potential to be something cool or interesting. Other times I see unintelligible gibberish, or random scratches on the paper (I have attempted to write things down in complete darkness on more than one occasion. Sometimes I can actually decipher what I wrote. I think…)

And then there are the times you end up with gems like the one I apparently wrote on February 19, 2013:

The frog

goes for a jog

around the bog

in the morning fog

thinking about his blog

as he passes the hog


Yep. That happened. There are also some crossed out lines about a turtle leaping hurdles and a fly zipping by. Or something. Gotta love some of the things that happen in your brain when it should be sleeping. Or maybe still is sleeping…

midnight musings

sixty second inspiration insanity

I’ve been wanting to write more the past few days. Feeling that restlessness in my brain and my fingers. I had several bits and pieces I’ve written down in various places that I wanted to organize and save with the rest of my stuff, and maybe even flesh out a few of them into actual finished (or closer to finished) projects. I had some larger ideas I had in notebooks I wanted to add to the even larger projects they related to, and I was hopeful that I could continue working on those as well.

Last night, I had the opportunity to do just that.

I had emailed several notes I had on my phone to myself, and I started by saving those as documents on my laptop. One of the notes was a couple of ideas for titles for an idea that I had a long time ago. Except now I couldn’t find where I had saved that idea…

I looked in all the likely and most of the unlikely folders and files on my hard drive. I went through years worth of emails between me and a friend of mine because we often bounce ideas back and forth and I thought I had sent him my idea. I went through two notebooks of mine in case I had written there, but never typed it out.


So, I wrote out a few things I remembered from my idea, and saved the titles, but I know there are a lot of details I wasn’t remembering right then.

And now it was hours later. The larger ideas I had for my writing time now seemed too big for how tired I felt. So what to do? I didn’t want to not write at all. I sat there staring at my desktop for a while…

Recently, I set my desktop background to cycle through several of my favorite pictures and images, changing every minute.

I was staring at one, birds flying away from a tree, and a few lines popped into my head. “the bird flies, you think it free” I hurriedly opened a new document and typed it out, along with a few other lines that seemed to fit, then went back to my desktop. By this time, the image had changed.

With each image, I tried to find something about it that inspired me to write. I tried to think about the story behind the image, or look at it from a different angle. And I tried to do it all in the sixty seconds the image was on my screen.

It didn’t always work. Some images I didn’t think of anything. Other times I took too long writing, and I would miss the next picture.

But after the second cycle through all the images, I had sixteen or so documents, all with some bits and/or pieces of something that could possibly be worked into something that might be good. And through one of those bits and pieces, I ended up with a idea for what could be a much larger story.

(Sometimes I think too many ideas and not enough working on (and finishing) these projects is going to be the death of me…)

Overall, it was fun impromptu game, overloading myself with prompts and limiting the time I have with each one. I might have to try it again sometime. But for now, I’m going to go work on some of the projects I’ve already started…

haiku for you: nightmares

late at night, laying

awake, thinking of a dawn

devoid of nightmares


you run from monsters

if my nightmares came to life

you would run from me


hiding in shadows

sneaking in darkness. silent

and patient nightmares.


hiding under my

skin, disguised from all around

monsters and nightmares


some may find it hard

to worry about nightmares

while the sun is bright

but not so for me

mid-day is when my nightmares

come out to haunt me


burned by two fires
one no one could see
tied and surrounded by enemies
they thought they caught her
they thought to end her
but as the flames grew hotter at her feet
the secret inside her burned brighter
she must not tell
they couldn’t know
the heat in her heart filled her head to toe
she’d rather die than let it out
but she had no control
the fire charring her knees
fed the one raging in her soul
the crackling cords rough against her feet
the choking smoke rough inside her throat
the flames leapt higher
and seared her bones
her clothes fell away like so much ash
her skin felt tight
her blood boiled in her veins
she could no longer take the heat
her secret she could no longer keep
she drew in one last breath
and the fire poured out
as she screamed at the sky
the fire storm raged and burned the whole town
no building left standing
enemies and innocents all fallen
burned as she was to burn
one set of foot prints in the ashes
leading away from her would be pyre
she walks away crying
her soul still on fire


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