Five years ago—and not coincidentally, two years after California legalized recreational marijuana—I accepted an invitation from a Christian friend to attend her son’s baptism and took my younger son with me. Last summer, my younger son decided to get baptized after attending a church camp. I decided if he’s going to do it, I would too.
Interest in UFOs waxes and wanes like moon phases, and it’s waxing again—a bright, ginormous, greenish-grayish alien moon appearing next to our usual boring one and causing strong tides of interest, diverting our attention from more important news—the Bud Light boycott, all-ages drag shows, Trump’s indictment, Biden’s trips and falls… Frankly, I find the UFO gossip a welcome distraction.
I can’t let myself overthink it. I can’t worry about whether the prose is any good, at least until I finish my draft. It’s always the same. The beginning coalesces, hardens into concrete, while the middle is mush and the end none existent. The worst that can happen is I don’t finish it. I have to keep reminding myself to stop worrying about the quality of the prose and just get it down. All of it.
I’m sitting at my writing desk with my coffee and a couple of “Coppengrath Gewürz Spekulatins” spiced biscuits (cookies) from a package my German mother-in-law gave to my kid. Yes, I am eating his cookies. There are plenty in the bag. He doesn’t need all those cookies. He won’t miss a few.
My latest short story, “Robot Mommy,” is now appearing in Issue 972 of BewilderingStories.com.
How Often Should I Blog? Consistently. Here’s a better question: if I want to be a novelist and not a blogger, should I bother at all?
My heart goes out to the people of Ukraine, the Russian troops being sent to their death fighting this senseless war, and any other victims of Putin’s megalomania.
I woke up this morning to discover that Joe Rogan apologized for yet another podcast that triggered another round of social media outrage…
I come up with a lot of excuses for not writing, which is inexcusable. My latest excuse: my 16-yr old kid came down with COVID.
Okay, not literally. The interval between seconds didn’t actually lengthen. Time didn’t tick by slower than usual. People around me didn’t speak with a drawl or move in slow motion. There were no redshifts or time dilation effects that I noticed. It wasn’t as if I was launched into space at near light speed and returned to Earth to find my husband an old man, hunched over, grasping a walking cane, and my boys with gray hair and grandchildren. Nothing like that.
