This blog began out of necessity. On January 4, 2023, I started writing at home instead of at the local coffee shop in the mornings. This was partly to save money ($5 a day adds up) and mostly to be a help around my son, (who is a total hellion) so Jo, my fiance, was able to get ready for work and not be harassed by a crazy child. Looking back now, my first post, Space Chef, was an odd one. It’s weird to read it now even though it’s barely been over three months. Since then I’ve posted every damn day, through thick and thin. Let me tell you, it’s a struggle to come up with something. I first set out to do three months straight and I’m not sure if I have the gumption to continue with that schedule. Now that I’m over that hump I’m thinking I might make it a year…Maybe…But goddam, I’d be lying if I said it was easy. Shit, 268 more posts to go…

My old routine was walking down to the coffee shop, Bluey’s in Santa Monica, at 8 a.m. sharp, writing until 10, maybe eating something and then taking my son to the park for two hours. I started this routine during the pandemic on June 20 of 2020 and finished my first book December 17, 2020. At some point during quarantine, I realized I was a writer who didn’t actually write and hadn’t for a really long time, so I just walked out of the door one morning and did it and then didn’t stop. During that time, until the end of 2022 I managed to write four novels (The Canary and the Coalmine, The Arsonist’s Daughter, Confetti, and Chiaroscuro), two short stories (“The Magic Ticket” and “Benchwarmer”), and one cocktail book (The Seasonal Bar). Yes, you heard that right. Pretty crazy no? It was the first time in my life I set out to do something with that kind of insane focus. I would buy a coffee, sit down, put the old headphones in and just go.

If you write just one page a day, you’ll have the first draft of a novel in a year. My goal was four a day, or 1,000 words. Do the math. Stephen King tries to get 10 pages a day. Yeah.

These days the routine is much different. Trying to placate a toddler means stopping and starting constantly throughout the morning. He gets in fights with the dog, he has temper tantrums, so on and so forth. He’s a little boy and taking care of his needs is more important than writing. It also means, when I try to write, my once unbreakable focus is now broken multiple times throughout the morning as I race to post something before 10 o’clock. I thought at first, writing a blog would be easier than a novel because, well, it’s a blog, how hard can it be? Ha. That was a stupid thing to think. There are days, like today, when coming up with something to write about, while trying to stay glued to the subject matter, is near impossible.

I’ve had a novel, Nocturama, on my mind for some time that I’m not sure will be written any time soon. It’s about a father, sifting through his life after his son’s suicide, who discovers a way to never have to sleep again. There’s a lot more to it than that, but that’s all I want to say about it. I veer toward writing science fiction most of the time. And yes, no matter how much I write, there’s always something in the chamber waiting to get out. Right behind Nocturama lurks Deluge a modern take on the flood myth. I just keep going and going.

How long will this blog go? No idea. I was going to do it for three months straight and then just do one post a week on Sunday so I could work on the novel. I’m still mulling that over. This blog isn’t read by all that many people. I’m grateful for the few that are dedicated to it, however. Nocturama is this creature that has been knocking on my door for quite some time. Yeah, dark shit.

This makes it 98…