The Trap

I did the blog thing. I wrote two posts, and then was never seen again.

I worry that my life isn’t interesting enough to talk about, that no one could possibly ever have any interest in anything that I have to say, and given that this is the internet, that is completely true. Therefore, I should never have let myself fail to return to this site for so long.

There’s a contentment in creation, a satisfaction that comes from having Done the Thing, and maintenance doesn’t have quite the same hormonal thrill, and as such, is not nearly such a joy. This, more than anything else, is the trap that I fall in to. I do enough that I can convince myself that I’ve done enough, and then I rest on my phantom laurels until Inertia, my patron saint, takes over, and then I am an immovable object.

Which is a lot of words to confess that I am lazy. I am a lazy person.

But rather than start over completely, I will keep my shameful three year gap in writing on the record as a reminder of what happens to me when I let Inertia run my life. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be as susceptible to the Object in Motion half of inertia, preferring to remain an Object at Rest for as long as is humanly possible, or perhaps slightly longer.

I am still working on the as-yet-untitled novel, or I should say, I am working on it again. That three year gap wasn’t just from this page, it was also from my actual productive writing. One hundred thousand words in, and I still have no ideas for a title. I’m quite bad at titles, I get a lot of anxiety around the idea of naming a thing. It feels irrationally final, as though the name becomes the thing, and changing it would be disingenuous. This is ridiculous, of course. Spouse and I both changed our names when we got married, everyone here in the 21st Century has at least one screen name, and I add names to my dog like he’s the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Yet here I am, concerned that a working title, or a temporary name would somehow damage the future credibility of any final title. I also fear that I am bad at titles, tending towards the grand and away from the descriptive. My first book (unpublished forever because it’s bad) is called Forgotten But Not Gone, which sounds like a book about the lasting damage to families after a loved one has been kidnapped or otherwise disappeared, and never found, but is actually a book about a trio of misfits on a fantasy mystery adventure to discover something completely new.

To make things self-inflictingly worse, I am loathe to continue with the file named “BOOK” as it currently is. If the name is part of the substance of the book, then it deserves a better one.

Therefore, I will give it a code name. Something intended to be replaceable, and not descriptive of the contents.

Welcome to the reinvigorated adventures of Project Sunrise.



So I recently got back in to Magic the Gathering. I know, I know, the Cardboard Crack just ain’t worth it, but the Spouse and our roommate both play and after a certain amount of time it just gets saturated into every aspect of life that it’s hard to stay out of it.

I got tired of interrupting conversations about MtG to ask if there’s anything they want added to the grocery list, of moving stacks of “sorted” cards off the coffee table so that I could set my drink down, and of listening to them complain about how T buys whatever cards her husband tells her to, and how J refuses to run fewer than four Sol Rings because his “decks just don’t work without them.”

So I bought in. I bought a single box of Eldritch Moon in the hopes that I could build a single EDH deck and then I could play with them. Not the whole play group, as it’s sprinkled with Alpha Nerds viciously attempting to strut and peacock their way into respect, but Spouse and our roommate and maybe some other friends who haven’t fallen victim to the Alpha Nerd trap.

As it turns out, a single box didn’t have the variety for me to build any EDH decks with the generals I pulled, so I figured, hey, I’ll just build one standard, it’ll be fine. I can get some play in, shake off the dust, and relearn all of the fiddly little stack rules.

Now I have three 60-card decks.

It’s been a week.

I’m doomed.


I recently finished a book I’ve been meaning to read for some time. It’s come up multiple times on online discussions and in real life, and it’s been on my list. As soon as I’m in a book-buying mood, though, my eye falls on the latest Modesitt Jr and that’s that. I’m weak, what can I say.

The book is The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Becker, and I highly recommend it. I have a soft spot for anything about human behavior, from documentaries about body language to Criminal Minds to sociology textbooks to Psychology Today. Anything and everything that falls into my path, I consume, and happily. The Gift of Fear is compelling in precisely the way that thrillers are. It constantly dangles that bait, the lure of knowledge, and uses it to delicately lead you down the path of things you already know, but don’t understand and couldn’t quantify before.

As is my wont with nonfiction, once I’d finished it, I flipped it back over and started again. I’ve found that nonfiction the second time has more depth than the first, and I always want it to be as fresh in my brain as possible. It’s just as good the second time, and loses nothing in repeated exposure.

The title is a bit sensational at first, but the content perfectly justifies it. The writing is a bit stilted, but it’s written by a non-author whose expertise and complete honesty and lack of condescension makes that minor ding disappear under the polish of a gentle and reassuring voice.

If I were in to rating systems, I would rate this book highly. I’m not, though, so instead I’ll just recommend it as highly as I can. I borrowed this copy from a friend, and I’ve already purchased another to replace it on my shelves when I have to give it back.

Self Promotion

So I’m the kind of person who spends ten hours on Google doing research before even trying anything. Usually this results in me thinking I know everything I need to know, and actually not knowing a damn thing. Today this has resulted in my starting a blog, because apparently it’s The Thing to Do.

You see, I wrote a book. It’s at the beta readers’ now, so I’m casting about for things to do with my life while my baby is away. One of the things that’s highly recommended across the All-knowing Internet is some sort of self promotion. Some kind of Get Your Name Out There thing.

This puts me in a bit of a bind, because, you see, I’m not particularly entertaining. I’m not funny, and I don’t do exciting things. In fact, if I had my way, I’d have my groceries delivered and then never leave the house. So if you’re in this with me, just know that I’m sorry.

Here’s about what you can expect: stories about my dog, video games, daily life, maybe The Spouse, and of course, writing. If any of that appeals to you, or if you want to give it a shot and see and then fiercely judge me later, that’s great (I’m mystified, but whatever floats your boat), happy to have you!

I’m a huge nerd. Like, it’s embarrassing, or it would be if it weren’t way cool. D&D, board games, video games, sci-fi and fantasy, the lot, so if that’s not your bag, this may not be the place for you. I’m always open to criticism and questions, so feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments.

I’m glad you’re here. Welcome.