cold wind blowing

By the end of this week, I’ll have a working manuscript for The Mungk. Ideally, I can start sending it to potential agents and publishers after that, and maybe, if I’m lucky, within six to nine months, I’ll have a deal in place. Then it’s release, marketing, probably mostly by myself, based on what I’ve seen in regards to how publishers help authors market.

Which means building up social media. Which probably means less woe-is-me navel gazing. Things are going to have to change. Still, I can’t help but feel there’s a cold wind blowing across my dreams, a stark reality waiting to chop my head off, a la Ned Stark.

Sometimes, just when you think you’re getting started, you’re actually at the end.

the day after

The problem with spiritual revelations is that they ultimately have to jive with reality. We may make a decision about how we want to behave in the future, the kind of life we want, but then, we get back out into the world and other people’s agendas, and it all goes to pot.

It takes strength to change in an instant; the reality is most change never really happens or happens very gradually. I recognize that, and I also recognize that pre-existing relationships can get in the way. We have to renegotiate the terms of each affected relationship, which is a lot easier if you don’t like the person, because you don’t feel bad at all about telling them to get stuffed. When you like the person or value their respect, it can be difficult to change the nature of that relationship and set the boundaries you need to set.

Of course, a true friend will respect your needs. The reality is that most won’t, even if, by all definitions, they are friends.

For now, I just want a workable, hopefully saleable manuscript, and a work life that doesn’t infringe on every second of every day with ridiculous demands. I can hopefully manage one of those things. I suspect a change of scenery and a new environment where I can set the standards I need right off the bat with no preconceived notions about how they should be is what will ultimately be needed. There’s too much history, too much water under the bridge. Too much written in stone.

Change is traumatic, even when it isn’t you changing. Others inevitably push back, because the status quo is what they’re used to. It’s often what they want, because it’s to their advantage. Unfortunately, the status quo is killing me, so something has to give. And if they can’t get on board with it, however fast or slow the change happens, then fuck ’em.

heart attack man

I feel like I’m on the verge. Heart pounding and fluttering all at the same time, because fuckwits everywhere just can’t hold up their end of the bargain. I’m done taking on responsibility because others can’t be responsible for themselves.

It’s not that much to ask to handle your own shit. I do it all the time. Hell, I handle other people’s shit all the time because they aren’t capable or willing to handle it themselves.

But I’m done. I’ve gone far enough down this road. It’s time to plot a way forward beyond the idiots and the assholes.

There’s no way I can endure another forty or fifty (or even five) years of dealing with myopic, selfish dickfaces whose entitlement makes them think doing whatever to whoever is fair game. Accountability is the name of the game. You want freedom? You already have it. You are in control of your own behaviour, as am I.

With freedom comes responsibility, however, and if you won’t accept yours, I’m sure not taking it on for you. Meanwhile, I’m taking my freedom and my responsibility straight to heart. If I am free, which I always am, no matter what, then I am responsible for what I do in this world. My choices are my own. Circumstances can be whatever, and other people will do what they do, but I choose, I am free, in how I respond, through action or words.

And I am sick to near death of people who behave like spoiled children because they refuse to recognize they have a responsibility to handle their own shit and to show at least a modicum of respect to those around them.

I have no doubt it will get me labelled a hypocrite, because I’ve certainly had my piece of shit moments in the past, and I accept that. I will endeavour to do it with as much class and respect as I can muster. My goal is to do better and be better than I was a moment ago. To move forward, not dwell on the past.

You fuckers nearly got me, but hell if I’m going to let you. I’m done taking on more because the idiots in the room can’t be bothered or think they have the right to impose. You’re on your own, as you always will be, no matter what.

champagne anniversary

Today, I’ve been married for thirteen years to my beautiful wife, one of the rare sources of sanity in my life. I’m not sure she believes me, but every time I look at her, I can’t help but wonder how I managed to make her my wife. She’s beautiful, no matter what flaws she sees in the mirror, and I would spend all day, every day, in various states of undress with her, if it were up to me.

Mostly, I want her to be deliriously happy, content, peaceful, multi-orgasmic, well travelled, and whatever else makes a life worth living. The care and responsibility she shows for the people she loves has earned her that gift.

Here’s hoping for another thirteen centuries or so. If science fiction has taught me anything, if we can avoid an apocalypse, nanomachines will keep us alive forever.


Every time I think about my office, my heart starts to panic. Odd rhythms, missed palpitations, full on panic attack.

Every single time. There I am, outside, enjoying a cup of coffee and a good book, and the knowledge that I have to call some jackass back about his fucking voicemail (for the seventh time this month) or some idiot who knows exactly how to fix his own problem, he just wants to someone to come out and do it for him (on the weekend! for free!) and my heart starts trying to kill me.

I think it knows I’d be better off than continuing with this fuckshit of a company.

I was hoping things would change after we got rid of those lazy, deceitful jackholes, but since head office has decided eliminating four people (who admittedly weren’t doing much) and combining all their jobs in mine (who was already overloaded, and let’s face it, even though those idiots weren’t doing much, they were still doing something, and there were certainly a whole lot of things they were supposed to be doing that just weren’t getting done), and then allowing me to hire one single frontline guy (after making me suffer for over a month) who can’t really assist me with the things I need assistance on, well, let’s just say things aren’t going well.

If only my heart would finish the job.

I don’t even get paid well for this shit. And the afterhours stuff? It’s fucking free. If I didn’t have a mortgage to pay, I’d have walked out yesterday.


Sadly, not the fun kind where you splash a bunch of random paint on a canvas and call yourself Jackson Pollock. Maybe I’m not enough of an art lover, but while it might be pretty, does it actually connect with people genuinely that way?

Not the pretentious types who pretend to connect with it so they sound smarter or more sophisticated, but actual, gut feeling connect?

I’ve never found it to be that way. I supposed I’m a Neanderthal that way.

tired of interruptions

When a person has forty-seven projects on his desk, plus another dozen or so daily tasks, and everyone wants him to do them (or he needs to do them for himself), why the fuck do those same people seem so goddamned entitled to infringe on every second that person has to spend on those tasks with inane, unnecessary things, extra bullshit work that is entirely pointless or time wasting, even if the time is simply spent telling the person that?

How many times must a person tell someone they’re FUCKING BUSY and that they have TOO MUCH TO DO before that person fucks ALL THE WAY OFF?

The irony is that I’m not a particularly aggressive person. I avoid confrontation like the plague, unless I have no choice. I prefer kindness, gentleness, serenity. I like people who think about other people, who take into account other people’s perspectives. People who genuinely make the attempt to see things from another person’s eyes. People who make the effort to move beyond their own myopia and see things as they are, as unfiltered through their own prejudices as possible.

Of course, I have that problem as well. We all do. We’re all the heroes of our own stories, or the victims.

The difference is I try to make the attempt to break that myopia, and then downplay my own needs and frustrations, and maybe I shouldn’t. What I want is peace. I need a Walden. Separation. Time. Silence. No fucking requests. No one else’s bullshit and banter.

I’m tired of being the punching bag for other people’s inadequacies, because I’m willing to make an effort and they are not.


It’s just fuck me all the time. Can’t open my mouth, someone wants to pick a fight. Stay silent, they demand I speak, and then they pick a fight. Doesn’t matter where I am, who I’m with. Everyone just wants me to suffer, apparently.

I don’t know a way out. There doesn’t seem to be one.

I have a recurring fantasy that I simply start walking and never come home. It seems more glorious than it probably would be.

There are people everywhere, and most of them seem to be awful, or at least hellbent on making everyone around them miserable.