Wednesday Night Ramblings
I’m sitting here trying to make sense of my life. I don’t intentionally hurt anyone. I don’t lie, steal, or use people. I treat people with respect until they disrespect me. Then, I mirror back to them how they treat me. I’m fairly smart, fairly creative, hard-working, loyal, faithful. I try do all the things I was taught are the proper way to live. I’m not saying I’m perfect because I’m not. I know I have flaws. I know there are parts of me that need improvement, but I’m a decent person. How the hell do I always end up hurt? How the hell do I always end up feeling like this huge amount of love I have to give is never appreciated, never respected, and never fully returned?
I try to be affectionate. I try to be supportive. I try to listen. I try to pull my fair share, but somehow, I end up made to feel like the bad guy. I see all these men who are just assholes, men who treat their women like dirt, and I hear women complain about those men all the time. But somehow, even though I try not to behave like those men, at the end of all my failed relationships, that’s how I’m made to feel, like all the love and loyalty and affection I know I gave never happened.
I really don’t have another heartbreak in me. I really don’t have any more to give. I feel like the more I give the less it’s appreciated, the harder I try the less it’s returned. Is it me? Is there something about me I’m missing? Or do nice guys really finish last? I know enough about myself to know I don’t have it in me to become one of those men. Empty, meaningless flings are not worth it, either. I truly feel like the first 39 years of my life have been wasted. I feel like I’m going to grow old alone and bitter. I don’t want to become one of those men either, but I simply don’t have another heartbreak left.
If you just wasted a couple of minutes of your life reading this blathering, I’m sorry, but I had to get it off my chest. Otherwise, I felt this enormous scream building in my chest, and I’d rather vent here than scream.
Wednesday Afternoon Ramblings
Honestly, I wish I could erase from memory the last four years and 26 days of my life, or better yet, I wish I could go back in time and redo everything from January 5, 2008 to today. That’s the day my children left my home, and since then, my life feels like one mistake after another after another. If I could go back in time and redo everything, I would be alone. Completely alone. As odd as this will probably sound to most people, I truly believe I was meant to be by myself. I’m obviously incapable of making good choices when it comes to dating, and for that, I take all of the blame. I put myself in bad situations and then tolerate too much for too long.
I’ll also take my share of the blame for why my relationships don’t work. I’m stubborn, proud, opinionated, moody, sensitive, and sometimes insecure. When I’m completely honest with myself, I know I’m probably not easy to be around for long periods of time. I do have my good points, and as a human being, my good far outweighs the bad, but in relationship terms, I just don’t think I’m built to be anyone’s partner. So when I add together my inability to make good decisions and my own shortcomings as a husband/boyfriend/lover/whatever, the equation sums to it’s better to be alone and find contentment than continue this pattern of the kind of woman I attract. I recognize what they all have in common but won’t air that publicly.
Unfortunately, I can’t selectively erase my memory and time travel isn’t currently a valid option, so my only real choice is to learn from my mistakes. Right now, that means being alone for awhile, maybe the rest of my life, but definitely for awhile. The good part is that as a writer I enjoy solitude and can always find ways to occupy my time. All I really want from life at this point is a little time with my sons and stability. Those two things would be more than enough for contentment. I also need to finish the series, so I guess I’ll pour my energy into completing the last two books.
I have to be honest, though. My heart is deeply broken. The good parts of this person are truly special and rare, and for most of the relationship, she gave me more than I’ve ever felt in terms of love and nurturing. I really thought I’d found my home and my place in this world. I’m not sure how or why or even when that dried up and withered away, but somewhere along the way, I became the enemy. All I know is that by the end, what had once been so good had become equally poisonous, and I’ve been through too much to remain in a situation where I no longer feel loved or appreciated. The details will remain private, but losing this relationship hurts because it had once been so healthy and positive. Right now, I need time to myself to heal and hopefully grow from this experience. One thing I know for certain is that I don’t want to go through this pattern ever again, so that’s why I think I’m better off remaining alone.
Tuesday Night Ramblings
I will not go into details because I’ve learned the lesson of that mistake the hard way, but I am once again single. This time, I plan to stay that way for a long, long time. Not sure how soon I’ll post another entry because I have a mountain of work to catch up on, but if there’s any news on the books, I’ll try to pass that along.
All I’m going to say about the situation is that I gave the relationship my best. No matter what anyone else says, no matter what trash-talking is done behind my back, no matter anyone else creates to justify their own feelings, I gave everything I had to make it work. I paid bills, cooked suppers, hauled off trash, provided a strong shoulder during rough times, nurtured, fed pets, ran errands, and did anything and everything asked of me. I also stood up for myself, demanded respect, and refused to let anyone use me as a doormat.
That’s all I have to say. All other details will remain private.
Thursday Afternoon Ramblings
Dear sons, I wish I could describe for you just how much I loved playing sports as a kid. I didn’t really blossom as an athlete until about 14 or 15, but I loved sports, even when I was a chubby, uncoordinated kid without much skill. My sport was football, and my position was nose tackle/defensive tackle. I know I didn’t have the size or talent to ever play pro ball, but if not for my accident, I think I could’ve at least made the roster for a small college. One of the only things that nags and gnaws at me is the fact I’ll never know the answer to that question. Was I talented enough to play college football? I don’t dwell on it often, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it from time to time.
I want to share with you one of my fondest memories from the eight years I played. It was my junior year of high school, and I was 15. From a couple of years of intense weight-lifting, I was strong beyond my years and had earned a starting spot as the right defensive tackle. We were playing Cocke County, at the time one of our biggest rivals because our head coach was originally from there and couldn’t stand losing to them. The left guard who blocked me that night was 5-6 inches taller than me and was pretty athletic. Play after play, we battled like we were in a street fight. One play he would beat me, the next I him, and the next, we’d stalemate. It was without a doubt the most intense one-on-one matchup of my football life. I left everything I had on the field and played an extremely sound game, giving up hardly any rushing yards to my side.
In the end, we lost the game, but as the teams were shaking hands, he pulled me out of line and hugged me like an old friend. ”That was the most fun I ever had,” he said. ”You’re a warrior, man.” I thanked him and told him he had played a great game, but in the moment, the sting of the loss hurt too much. I walked back to our dressing room and sat down outside against the brick wall. Then, I just started crying. And I cried pretty hard, too. I couldn’t believe we had lost that game, and losing hurt, especially after I had played one of the best games of my life. Several of the Cocke County fans had gathered outside our dressing room to taunt us, and when they saw me crying, they really let me have it. Some of my own teammates gave me a hard time, too, yelling at me to stop, but I didn’t care. To this day, I’m not ashamed of crying after that loss because when I really care about something, I give it my all, and when you give your all and still come up short, it’s painful.
I sometimes think about that left guard and wonder if he remembers that game as well as I do. I wonder if he remembers how hard we battled play after play after play, neither one willing to quit, neither one willing to back down. I wonder if he ever looks back on that game and feels the way I felt out there on the field, like I’d never been so alive. I hope he does, and I hope that you both one day will get to experience something like that, even if you have to suffer the same sting of defeat, because that memory is one of the most fulfilling of my life. As old age takes me and my brain begins to fade, I hope the memory of that game on that night against that guy will stay with me until the end because the memory of feeling that alive and that present in the moment isn’t experienced very often, and it’s a pretty amazing feeling.
Tuesday Afternoon Ramblings
Want to learn more about my history as a writer? Curious about the origins of the characters in The Brotherhood of Dwarves? Then, check out my guest blog appearance on Urban Fantasy Reviews:
Monday Morning Ramblings
Dear sons, here’s another lesson I want you to learn from me. Life doesn’t owe you anything, and you are not entitled to a free ride. Anything and everything you strive for in this world will come with a price, and every choice you make, good or bad, comes with consequences. If you make good choices, those consequences can benefit you for a lifetime. If you make poor choices, they can hold you back from reaching your potential. If you make terrible choices, they can haunt you for the rest of your life. I know this from personal experience and from watching others live with the consequences of decisions they made in haste or short-sightedness.
Too often, people fall into the delusion that success is a given. Too often, people believe that all they have to do is show up, and the world will be so enamored with their charm or genius that riches and fame will be theirs for the taking. In my youth, I suffered from this delusion. I believed at 18 that my writing ability would be so astounding, so original, so authentic, I would be granted the keys to the walled city and live on easy street for the rest of my days. By 22, I had learned my folly. I had to hone my craft, had to get knocked down multiple times, had to get back up, and had to earn every iota of success I’ve achieved. The world taught me quickly and succinctly that it owed me nothing.
I’m sharing this lesson not to dampen your spirits or dash your dreams, but rather to prepare you for the reality of just how difficult life can be. I want you to be ready for those times when you do get knocked down to get up, brush yourself off, and brace yourself to fight again. Just as I tell you whenever you lose at a video game to practice more and try harder, in life, you must do the same because it has a way of being relentless, especially when you’re down.
You both have unlimited potential. You both have intelligence, creativity, and personality. You will have opportunities to achieve great things with your lives, but you will have to earn that greatness. You cannot wish for it; you cannot hope for it; you cannot dream it into reality. You must earn it, and it can be a long, hard road. I will be there for you as much as possible, but in the end, you will have to do it for yourselves.
Saturday Afternoon Ramblings
I’m starting a new category here on the blog. It’s called “For Collin and Finn” and will be a place where I can share thoughts and ideas that I’d like to share with my boys but can’t because of circumstances. Some of these posts will be public and some private, but they are here so that one day they can know me. I have so many regrets about the last four years, regrets of time lost with them, of those special firsts that I didn’t get to share, of not having the financial resources to do more for them. In a way, these posts are my effort to make up for all that we’ve lost and missed out on, and while nothing can ever give us back the time, my hope is that one day when they are old enough, they will read these entries and understand how badly I miss their presence, their laughter, and their energy.
Sons, the most important lesson I want to teach you, if you learn nothing else from me, is that there is no substitute for hard work. Regardless of what path you choose in life — artist, musician, director, doctor, plumber, or carpenter — there are no shortcuts for success. You will have to dedicate yourself to learning your craft, and you will have to spend countless hours practicing to hone your skills. If you want to be great at what you do, and my hope is that you’ll strive for greatness, you cannot get around that simple fact. Be prepared to study and struggle and fail and relearn and try again.
This world is a competitive place, and whatever path you choose, there are thousands out there who want to achieve success in that field. If you want to stand out from the crowd, work harder than they do. Set your will to achieving your aspirations and let nothing hold you back or slow you down. You will learn that if you give your all and fight with everything inside you to reach those goals, even if you fail, you will feel pride in knowing you gave it your best. I’ve learned this one firsthand because I’ve had more than my share of failures, but when I lay my head down at night, I know in my heart that those failures were not from lack of effort. When life has you down, and it will knock you down at some point, having that sense of pride to hold onto is important. It will give you the strength to get back on your feet and try again.
So please, guys, don’t go through your lives searching for shortcuts or hoping for windfalls. Good luck and fast bucks are too far and too few between, as the Outlaw once sang, and if you wait for life to give you anything, you will find yourselves bitter and disappointed. Work hard at whatever you do; commit yourself to pursuing excellence; and never quit. I learned that from your grandfather and great-grandfather, and I hope you can learn it from me, too.
Friday Morning Ramblings
The other day, I wrote on here about the 2011 Readers’ Choice Awards through Tor, and how there has been major backlash against independent writers for openly requesting their readers vote for them, to the point of accusations of impropriety. Yesterday, it was brought to my attention that the backlash had spread to another website, where several “professional” writers were openly and viciously denigrating a close friend of mine, insulting everything from his prose style to his professionalism to his ethics. It took a considerable amount of restraint on my part to restrain from joining that thread and defending my friend, but I recognize that no good could come from arguing with elitist fools in their arena.
So I’ll post my thoughts on the subject in mine.
Reading their comments took me back to graduate school and reminded me of why I had such a terrible experience there. In the name of defending the gates of the literary world, these so-called professionals publicly and truculently assaulted not just his writing but his very character, all without knowing anything about his works or him as a human being. That was what I witnessed and experienced throughout graduate school, a level of pettiness and vindictiveness that is truly sickening. Anyone who claims to know “the right way to write” is completely full of shit. In literature, the only right way to write is what appeals to your audience. If enough people enjoy your writing style, you get to keep doing it. If enough don’t, you fade into oblivion.
And here’s my biggest problem with those particular literary snobs. Yes, on a technical sense, they may be talented writers, but most of the writing they produce is geared to impress other writers with their skill and style, not to reach a broad cross-section of society. Then, those writers complain about how dumb the masses are for not “getting” their work. Whenever someone comes along who does appeal to the masses, those same jackasses rip into the populist writers for not being as technically skilled as they are. I’ll admit that to some degree I’ve had that reaction to a work like Twilight because I see it as superficial, but guess what? I’m not the target audience for that series, and Stephanie Meyer has tapped into her audience in a way that engages them on a deeply emotional level. While I may disagree with her themes, I recognize and respect that she knows how to reach them.
The literary snobs would have you believe that they and they alone know what “good” writing really is, and that the masses are just mindless hordes feeding on bubble gum. Well, I say that when a writer such as John Grisham or Stephen King can engage millions of readers and keep them riveted through several hundred pages of a book in a time when TV and movies are a much easier and convenient option, maybe, just maybe, populist writers know something about writing the snobs don’t. And that something is first and foremost, fiction writing always has been and always will be about entertainment, and there is a vast audience out there starved for good literary entertainment. A good story isn’t always about having perfect POV or a perfectly stylized narrative voice. A good story is about touching people’s lives in a real and tangible way that makes them want to read more, about giving them either an escape from the drudgery of their daily lives or hope that maybe one day good will triumph over evil.
And one more point about this contest and the backlash against the independents. It’s called Readers’ Choice not Writers’ Choice for a reason, so to anyone and everyone out there who believes that an independent writer doesn’t deserve consideration, maybe you should take a long, hard look at your own career and ask yourselves why you don’t have an energized and enthusiastic fanbase that will take the time to vote for your literary masterpieces. When the Writers’ Choice Awards are being voted on, then you can have your say, but until then, shut the fuck up and listen to what real readers in the real world are saying. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll learn something.
Thursday Morning Ramblings
Here is the second interior for The Brotherhood of Dwarves. Crushaw defends Molgheon and Visghu from a sand lion in the wilds. The pre-order window with the special bundle deals is only open for a limited time. Please, don’t miss the opportunity to get the reissues for the lowest possible price.
Wednesday Morning Ramblings
This is the first interior picture for The Brotherhood of Dwarves. Molgheon, veteran of the Resistance, defends the group from an attack by the Great Empire.
