What’s going on?

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I’ve dealt with my stomach issues over the last few months, but that’s not what this post is about.

After I had my initial visit with my doctor, I asked to be put on anti-depressant/anxiety medication. If you’ve read this blog for a while you understand my reasons for that; now I’ve run into a problem.

I started taking the medicine in November and I haven’t written a word since. I don’t feel like writing, reading, or watching anything with my wife. A malaise settled in over my life. One that I’m not comfortable with. Writing and books are where I get the most enjoyment. They’ve always been my safe space. Not writing feels worse than depression.

I’m not cured of depression. That doesn’t happen. I understand that the medicine takes away the depression and the lows in causes. It’s also taking away my desire to work. I get to my desk every morning and stare at a blank screen. I may write something but I delete it later because I’m not interested in what I’ve put down.

I usually start exercising to help with my depression issues. I don’t want to do that either.

I’m going off the medication to see if that fixes this. I can’t live without writing. It’s causing me more mental issues than it’s solving.

I had wanted to publish this year. I don’t desire that either. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t posted here.

Anyway, I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Lost & Found

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I see it when the world stops. I feel it when my heartbeat goes through the floor. There’s a resonance to it and an underlying pulse.

When it morphs, my breath catches, the breathing stops and the rhythm of it all falls into place.

There’s a tragicness, a solemn regret to the meaning of it. A distant path of neglect. It’s a scurrilous falsity. It comes and goes with the way the world turns. It’s tragic in its breath. It’s undeterred in the space it occupies and yet it is there. In runs the gamut of emotions. It finds its hope among the rotting and the refuse of the left behind parts. The phantom life. The perilous thing that wants to be, but can’t.

It runs across the floor and yet…we don’t see it, not yet. It rolls across. It fumbles the mechanics of it all and when it does, we don’t feel the push. We don’t understand its rhythm.

We’re lost in the heartbeat. We’ve sold our souls to find our place and within the strategems of willing it to continue.

In the last heartbeat, we’ll see the distant underlying pulse, the resonance, and when the breathing stops, we stop.

It’s coming together.

Gained A Level, or a few.

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I sat down the other day and wrote out all the projects I’ve written in the seven years since my family moved from Las Vegas to Ogden, Utah.

I have 10 projects either done, outlines, or ready to be written.

Four thrillers in the military/political/espionage realm and six in the horror genre.

I’ve been hard as hell on myself for the last few months. Writing these down feels like I’ve gained a level in my writing.

I’m a big gamer, and I have been since the ’80s. Looking at all this feels like I gained a level in one of my games. The fear of rejection and the fraud police will always be on my mind, but I have a date for my military/political thriller novel, November 1st. Here is the link.

But I want to thank everyone who commented on my posts over the last few months. I’m working through some things personally, and all of your support has been amazing.

I have a whiteboard above my desk, and I have all of the books I’ll be publishing until 2024 listed. There are seven with dates. I have one of the 10 I listed above out on submission. As soon as I get a reply on that, I’ll add it to the queue.

I write horror and military/political/espionage thrillers. I grew up watching horror and reading thrillers. Tom Clancy will always be my favorite in the genre, but Mark Greaney, Jack Carr, David Baldacci, Brad Thor, and Brad Taylor are my favorites right now.

Here‘s my list of what I’m currently reading.

I hope you have a good rest of your week.

The change is here

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When I said the change was coming last week, I meant this.

My world was turned upside down in the last three months. I wrote about that on Monday.

I found myself hating writing, hating myself, and not wanting to do anything to improve any of it.

The change is about acknowledging those things. It’s about understanding why I fell into a depression and how I must get out of it and work through it all to be a better person for myself.

There are many steps on a path, but the first step to improving oneself is the most important. On this journey, I’ve learned to understand that change sucks. Coming out of a dark place into the light, or at least as much light as I allow into my life, is worth everything.

My writing never took precedence over anything, and surely not editing.

Today I’m writing this post on Sunday before it posts. I need this separation from the blog articles. I’ll write blog articles on the weekends and fiction during the week.

I’ve discussed a new schedule for my writing day. How I’ll manage my writing and the editing I need to do. These are intrinsic to the goals I’ve set. The execution will be the more difficult aspect of all of this.

I am now sober for 76 days. I say this not as a brag but as something I’m proud of. I’ve consumed alcohol regularly, barring the few times I’ve gone sober over the last two years since I turned 18. Some of those times are good, but all of them are cloudy.

I’ve reached a point at 46 where alcohol no longer works for me. It dissolves me into a bottle, and the contents are not who I wish to be. It’s a long fight. I need to do it for myself.

Today is another day on this patch of dirt, and I’m glad I’m here.

The break that almost killed me

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I’d wondered how this post would go most of the weekend, and while I’m sitting here on Sunday awaiting the blood moon and eclipse. I learned a lot about myself over the last few months.

My break wasn’t one I’d intended. It was magical journey into one of the worst depressions I’ve had since my break in 2014.

It started with my son having some issues at school. I’m not blaming him. I’m blaming myself for not dealing with my mental health in a satisfactory way. There were inklings of the coming storm with how I handled a few things after the first of the year. The echoes of the coming storm reverberated and then took over as if the echoes weren’t echoes but the storm’s arrival at my doorstep.

I fought hard to contain the storm. I stopped drinking because I needed to. I put myself on a limit on how much social media I could participate in. This last part led me to take a break from Twitter and screw up my algorithm. I no longer saw the people I cared about seeing. It was all bullshit all the time. I dove into TikTok and into my Norse practice. The latter has been my saving grace over the last eight months.

I may go into the Norse practice if there is any interest, but let’s just say I had a few conversations in dreams last summer that led me to discover it.

As I fell more into a depressive state and swore, I wouldn’t say anything to anyone for fear of what they might say.

Those moments of clarity in the depths of my depression caused me to wonder what I was doing. Whether I should continue to write and if it was a waste of time. I’ve written steadily for the last eight years. I’ve written eight novels, 4 novellas, and more short stories than I can count.

Recently I wondered if it was worth it. I’ve often wondered whether I should continue. It’s something that still plagues me as I write this. After that much writing and having nothing except the collection out in the world, it’s hard to understand what I’ve done wrong.

The biggest problem is allowing others to dictate what I should write when I know better than anyone else what my mind is capable of. In that vein, I also understood I needed to find a real editor for my work. Finding one made a huge difference. I’ve barely touched the draft they’ve worked on. That changes this week.

I am on firmer footing with myself and my work, but there will always be that questioning mind about whether I should continue or move on. This hits hardest as my oldest graduates in a couple of weeks. We’re taking them and their sibling to Disneyland to celebrate this occasion.

As they step into another phase of their life, I know my wife and I are doing the same.

I will always struggle with depression. It’s a fact that I’ve come to accept. I won’t merely exist with it. I will live with it.

I began a new story this week, writing it for myself. I’m avoiding the traps of my former writing ways and throwing myself into it.

I hope you’ll stay and follow along.