Isn’t that just a great quote?

I did a thing recently- I went on vacation to a place with a metric shitton of people to a place with a whole lot of people I don’t much agree with. (Hi, Florida.)

What’s a metric shitton, you ask? Two assloads, of course, please keep up here.

I’m not really a mass of people person in general- especially as I get older and deafer. But there were a few ermagherd that just happened things that happened.

Rick and I went en masque, which feels like a slightly classier way of saying we wanted to avoid the disgusting germiness of our thousands of co travelers. Leaving from Albuquerque, we were far from the only ones being cautious, and plenty of folk were masked up.

Then we hit Atlanta. You know, for a town that’s supposed to be all about southern hospitality, they missed the mark… by a lot. Maaaaybe it was the mask, maybe it was the purple hair, I dunno. I don’t think it was the Grogu cardigan, cause Grogu is freakin adorable… all I know is there were a variety of stares and downright unfriendly glares. When we were on the way home, we again got to fly through Atlanta, only this time, we stopped for a quick bite cause our flight actually arrived a tad early.

I noticed the sign at the brewpub stating that we were forfeiting our rights to sue for catching covid in the establishment by stepping foot over the threshold. I nudged Rick and said something to the effect of ‘how quaint’. I figured it was some kind of holdover from when facilities first started opening up that someone forgot to take down.

Then our server rocked up… and there was definitely an attitude there. It stuck around as we ordered an appetizer to split, thinking that would be a snack for two and be the fastest to have made up. Every other table around us got a jovial lady, filled with goodwill and chat for all that weren’t us. Even the lady with neon blue and purple hair got happy, chatty server.

We got tudinal server and burnt af food, with four trips to get the bill settled, even though we were in a hurry and disputed nothing.

Another, similar encounter at the speedy mart made it clear that we were offensive to people for just wearing a strip of cloth over our mouth and nose holey bits.

Me being me, I got to thinking. I wrote a whole book on fostering a healthy awareness of our impact on others and trying to have less of a negative impact. And it’s sold pretty well, with some reviews and feedback that it IS helpful.

So, I’m giving it away for free, cause I would really, really enjoy life more if there were less assholes out running around. You know one? Send ’em the link. You is one? Pick it up and give it a shot. What’s the worst that could happen, you lose a half hour of your life and laugh a few times somewhat unwillingly?

That’s a risk I’m willing for you to take.

From today until 2/26, let’s be the change we want to see in the world.

So imagine this.

Imagine you built a railroad because you wanted to move your goods around. But you don’t have enough engines to use the rails 24/7, and there’s these guys with horse drawn carriages that could travel faster and further if they got to use your rail system. Now, these carts don’t carry enough to really compete with you from a volume perspective, and it’s a good for the community, so you allow it without any restriction. And they used the rails and were able to not just support their own cartage needs, but also pick up some business from their friends and neighbors that wanted some items moved, too, but didn’t want to always pay for full on locomotive speed. Everybody wins.

With me so far? Kinda nice little story, isn’t it? Well hang on, cause there’s more.

Everything’s humming along okay, until a couple of things happen. Farmer Jenny starts hauling explosives over your rails, and a couple of small accidents lead to complaints. You have to deal with all the complaints, and the people who no longer think your rails are safe because of those accidents. You also notice that Farmer Jill, the biggest owner of horse drawn carts is organizing their schedules a little more tightly, getting a little more competitive in the market. They are even taking your customers! And turning a heckuva profit doing it. On your rails that you built.

Now, if it were me and those were my rails, yeah, I’d probably start charging Farmer Jill a toll, and remind them that the reason they were making any money was because they were using my rails. If they thought they could build their own rails and do their own thing, power to them. And I’d stop letting Farmer Jenny use the rails at all before someone gets seriously hurt. Or, she too can build her own rail system. Choosing to pay a toll and not haul dangerous items is the price of getting to use my rails.

https://www.npr.org/2023/02/04/1154247737/fans-said-the-future-of-dungeons-dragons-was-at-risk-so-they-went-to-battle

See where the analogy comes in yet? (Slight sidebar- wtf is it about having to ‘go to battle’ and ‘declare war’ on shit? Can’t we just say there’s a difference of opinion and sit down and figure it out?) If you don’t want to read the article (I’ll get to the podcast in a minute), I’ll break it down. Wizards of the Coast has had an open game license on Dungeons and Dragons for 20 years. That’s 20 years of people being able to use their game system to create, play, modify, and sell their own content. Think about that for just a minute- that’s like Disney lending you their studio and letting you make your own Marvel movie and put it right out in the theater next to Ant Man 7, and you get all the profit for it.

Pretty freakin generous, right?

Now, the whole brouhaha is coming up from Wizards wanting to amend that license, with a draft being leaked to the public. There’s two major bones of contention here- that Wizards wants the outside content to be registered with them (so they can see to it no one’s publishing Nazis and Behemoths or Space Confederate Slavers go to Gor- modules with objectionable content that they don’t want affiliated with and potentially damaging their brand), and if the content creator makes over $750,000, they need to pay royalties on it, to the tune of 20-25%.

Cue the madness. Only it’s not madness, it’s very carefully orchestrated outrage… because the content creators that are making millions using Wizard’s rails don’t think it’s fair to have to pay that toll.

If you didn’t already, listen to the audio version of the article. Note the tugs on the heartstrings about how Wizards wants to take your world and your imagination and own it. And no one can do that! It’s not fair, it’s not right! We are victims here! And on. And on. And who’s speaking?

Linda Codega. Who just happens to earn her daily bread by writing for the gaming industry. Including all those content creators that were potentially going to need to cough up royalty payments. Maybe she has a vested interest? I find that far more likely than the idea that a professional journalist cannot maintain her composure through an interview with NPR.

And, of course, with all the outrage, Wizards walked it back. For now. The shipments will continue to run on the rails.. but ask yourself this… what incentive could Wizards possibly have to keep maintaining and improving those rails when everyone else will get to profit off them freely?

If you were a business owner, wouldn’t you let the rails do their thing and go build something new, away from the entitlement and controversy?

Yeah, me too.

Well okay then… first, I want to thank yall for continuing to share and encouraging folks to try a new author. Not only has After the End been the strongest launch I’ve ever had, I’m now seeing upswings for my previous ebooks and audiobooks.

I wish I had the words to express how deeply thankful and joyful this has made me- it’s one thing to live and breathe my imaginary friends’ world to get their stories down- it’s another to know that folks are discovering these stories. The idea that there’s laughs where I meant for there to be, that these people who are as real to me as anyone I’ve ever met- they are real to someone else, too.

So here’s my somewhat belated present- for this week, from now til midnight on New Year’s Eve, The Witch’s Daughter, the first book in the Nessa series, will be a free ebook download. Hell, if you want it in audiobook, message me and we’ll work it out.

https://www.amazon.com/Witchs-Daughter…/dp/B018V6GAP8…

This part never gets old.. of course, I’m saying that NOW when it’s all done with a bow on top. But the new book is done, the preorder for it is live for Kindle, with the paperback not far behind, and it was a whole lot of fun writing this one. For a while I’ve been wanting to get into writing epic fantasy as opposed to contemporary- so this was something new, in a whole new world.

So you know the part that comes next.. if this sounds like a read you would enjoy, or a friend would enjoy, please buy my book. It’s $4.99, and I tell you what.. if you read it and post a review, I’ll split it with you. Just email me at ari dot wellman at gmail dot com with a copy of your review, and I’ll send you an Amazon gift card for two fifty.

How’s that for putting my money where my mouth is? So there’s the link, and under that you’ll find a sample chapter to check out and see if this is your thing.

Happy reading over holidays.. whether you’re enjoying my book or someone else’s!

Sample chapter from After the End- all rights reserved blah blah blah.

Justin 

The clinging mist that had hung over them like an ill omen had not cleared by the time Justin and Harl reached the top of the last hill before the Citadel. As much as it had made for a miserable ride, Justin found that he didn’t mind it. For one, he was riding home, and a warm bed and hot meal that he didn’t have to work for awaited. He didn’t mention it to Harl since the grizzled old squire didn’t share the same happy circumstance.

The second reason Justin also kept to himself, mostly because it was entirely too fanciful for a man within a season or two of acquiring his spurs to indulge in. But, very privately, Justin admitted to himself that when you stood just here and looked down into the vale with the light shining on the mist that way, you could almost imagine what it must have been like Before.

No one in Dama Tiah’s company talked about Before much, and if they were new, they got a look the first time, and a cuff the second time that made their teeth rattle. And if Dama Tiah heard even a whisper of wondering what that life must have been like for their ancestors…

Justin remembered the last time it had happened, back in the spring. He had been standing behind the Dama, and noticed the stop between one step and the next. The rest of the company on hand had noticed it too, and froze, as if they didn’t even dare to breathe. They all watched as the figure in full blackened plate, engraved in signs and sigils of silver began to turn. The noble face encased within the helmet was just as smooth, just as immobile. Only the flinty dark gaze showed any signs of life as it settled upon the offender. He was a brand new recruit, blond, thin and gangling, a boy that had grown too much on too little. Undoubtedly he had been pledged only because the planting was done and there wasn’t enough food to go around back home.

Like thousands before and thousands after to encounter that basilisk stare, the recruit that had spoken made the mistake of trying to explain. “With all respect, Dama, if’n we could find enough faesparks to make the rails go, it’d make these patrols dead easy.” The hapless recruit gulped, his sunburned face managing to turn even redder. “Why, I bet we wouldn’t even have to draft folk at all, volunteers could manage.” This was spat hastily; from nerves or maybe resentment.

There was a sudden flurry of turned heads as the whole company within earshot looked to see how the altercation would play out. Officers made notes for later use in details like latrine digging and foraging. Those that had been with the company awhile watched with grim foreknowledge, and the other recruits gulped along with their brother.

Justin had sighed inwardly and waited, as though watching a brief rainsquall come and go. The time when he would have spoken up had passed, and because he took the words of their daily oath to heart, he had no sympathy for the fool.

The Dama let three more breaths pass before speaking. Three breaths for the tension to mount into an inexorable tide, ensuring the words would not have to be spoken again for at least the next two circuits. “Easy living did ‘em no favors, boy. If they had been as quick and strong as we have become, they wouldn’t have left us all to waste time whining about what we ain’t got and don’t need.” Terrifyingly, the Dama hunkered down next to the boy, putting that cold gaze closer and closer, so that the next words were whispered as a lover’s. “Believe that, and I don’t mean you nod your head at me like a bird, I mean believe it down in your heart,” and the gauntleted fist smashed into the boy’s hardened leather tunic. “Believe it in your gut,” and the fist was in the boy’s stomach. “Easy isn’t the point… and it didn’t do you any favors, either. Their way of life cursed you to live in a world that’s gone on living when it should have died, and spending time thinking about Before is only going to see to it you give that curse to your own children, should any slack jawed farm bitch be stupid enough to lay down in the dirt with a useless scut like you.”

Dama Tiah stood slowly, watching the recruit gasp in the dirt before casting the same cold glare over the rest of the group that had been sitting by the fire. It was enough to break the spell. As undoubtedly had been intended, everyone who had been at ease went to make themselves useful. Elsewhere, anywhere there was a chance that gaze would not follow. Once, after another such performance, the hapless victim had remarked in Justin’s hearing that seeing the Dama like that was like having a corpse stare into your soul, and Justin had nodded to himself that it was a pretty good way to put it. 

So if it amused him to stare through the soaring towers of the Citadel through the mist and pretend it was all whole again, lit up by magic, it was a pleasure Justin kept to himself. The sea was in, wrapping its arms around the city greedily and feeding into the mist. That meant they’d have to go over the causeway, but Justin didn’t mind like some of the company would. The newer recruits thought the immense stones were magic, even if they came upon the Citadel while the sea was out. His father had shown him the old blueprints, though, and Justin knew that while magic may have been used to move the stones, it was plain good engineering that built the causeway and kept it in repair.

That thought made Justin frown, remembering his last visit when his father had told him, rather pointedly, that the numbers of engineers were dwindling to the point that they had given up on the Moon Quarter of the city entirely. Undoubtedly, there would be more, less subtle reminders on this visit that Justin wasn’t too late to register for the College’s winter term.

Even though it had been three years since Justin joined the company, his father refused to see that this was where he belonged. The tournaments and honors and the small reputation he had worked so hard for were all noise and distraction as far as Joshathan, son of Josiah was concerned.

Justin sighed, then yawned and stretched in the saddle. They had broken from the weary jog trot of the infantry just after midday, and Dama Tiah had sent him and Harl ahead to give warning to the quartermaster.

“Baths and beer will be needed.” The dama’s mouth sealed in a hard line upon observing the ragged ranks. “Two months and more on the road and they still can’t manage to keep up in a quickstep. Erdu preserve us when they forget everything they knew after tasting the delights of a city.” The gaze snapped back to Justin, and one corner of the line quirked upwards for the barest moment. “And after you’ve spoken to the quartermaster, go see your father.”

Justin saluted, then rapped Harl on the shoulder to accompany him. He owed the old man a favor, and being the first into the Citadel to hear the latest gossip and soak his weary bones in a tub was the best Justin would be able to offer.

At six and fifty, Harl had given forty years of his life to the company. Never quite sharp enough to serve as an officer, never quite lucky enough to find a woman that’d give him a life beyond the company, never quite fast enough with his sword to win acclaim on the battlefield. When he’d turned fifty, someone had pushed the right papers to get him the mostly honorary title of squire. He was solid, dependable, and always the last man to laugh at the joke. Sometimes Justin had the sense that he only laughed because other people were.

A solid soldier, but not one to spend much time talking to, which suited Justin fine for the last lap before home. 

He needed the time to think of what in the world he would say to his father. If he hadn’t been commanded to see him, Justin would have put it off for a day or two. Spent some time drinking, maybe wenching, anywhere but standing at attention before the Archmagus and telling him his only son would not be donning the blue mantle of a wizard in training. 

They had reached the first stones of the causeway, and he still hadn’t a clue how to begin. He looked up at the towers again, but the magic of the mist didn’t work the same way this close. Even looking into the sea didn’t help; it was unusually restful, giving up the mirror image of exactly what Justin didn’t want to see.

Towers, yes- but too many as stubs of fingers, obscenely mutilated before they could reach the sky. Some were blackened by the magics that had consumed them- Justin had counted them once. They were the five spires in the Moon Quarter, as though some unthinkable destruction had been focused on that one part of the city. He’d heard once that Danu’s priestesses were still finding bodies there, to be tenderly gathered and consigned to the earth amid prayers and incense.

But it may have just been a story to keep the Citadel’s too few children from playing among the unstable structures.

Danu’s Quarter was still reasonably intact, and it was where most of the inhabitants remained. The Sun Quarter was for learning, and Erdu’s was for those who served, who only allowed trespass for ceremonial purposes.

Erdu the Father indeed, Justin snorted to himself. Not one to let you make a home, just come in, be judged, and be gone. Stone hewn rooms for stone hewn hearts and minds. He had never particularly enjoyed his visits to the temple proper, though most of a company found their way there while in the city for the simple rites to ease a soldier’s conscience.

But Danu- ah, that was another matter entirely. At the barest edges of memory that one has from very early childhood, he could remember causing an unholy amount of fuss from having climbed up onto the effigy and fallen asleep. He didn’t know what had drawn him to the unlikely marble couch beyond that it was cool on a hot day, and he felt safe under the lady’s soft smile. 

He hadn’t had the words to explain at three, and he wasn’t sure he had them now. Justin only knew that when his mind was troubled, it was restful to sit on one of the benches that was always offered in a temple to Danu. Words that tangled themselves up in his mind into unholy knots magically untangled and let themselves form into the neat, regimented lines he preferred his thoughts and feelings to have. Those of the company that knew of his habits believed the visits were not for the ease of mind, but the easing of urges of the body. Danu’s priestesses were known for their warm welcomes, and Justin did not dissuade them from thinking whatever it was they wanted to think.

Luck was with them at the gate, in the form of the quartermaster himself in a suspiciously affable mood. The burly dwarf stumped over to the travelers, slapping Justin’s horse on the shoulder. “Ah, Justin, son of Joshathan- Dama Tiah must be finishing the circuit early. What’s the headcount, lad?”

“Full company of five hundred, sir,” Justin answered, with the barest hint of pride.

The quartermaster whistled. “You’re the first this season to meet the mark. Ride on with you, I’ll give good report of you to the dama.” The broad wink after meant that the messengers would have a few free hours for their own pleasure. It took Harl a moment to realize the implication before giving his overly enthusiastic thanks, and Justin could still hear the old man’s effusions halfway down the street.

Justin sighed and wondered how many of the inns near the gate were offering the dwarf kickbacks this week. If he reported it officially, he’d be a tattletale. If he dropped a quiet word in the right ear, he could get a cut, the wrong one and he’d get cut. Shrugging to himself, he decided it wasn’t his affair. 

Riding on past temptations of the flesh, he also abjured comfort to his spirit and passed the temple of Danu with another sigh.

Knights, above common soldiers, could be trusted to follow their orders as a matter of honor.

Above all, Justin valued his honor, and it was time his father understood that. Resolute, Justin went to do his duty.

From the time he woke the tiny fae that still served in the gatehouse until he was presented in the formal dining room by the ever pompous faun he had never known by any name other than Vernus, Justin didn’t have time to work himself up into a proper fret. He could have sworn every member of his father’s extensive retinue had welcomed ‘young Master Justin’ at least three times, all with the greatest of warmth and respect. The maidservants sighed at his trim form in riding leathers, his father’s valet laid out fresh clothes (and the thought of clothes properly cleaned that hadn’t been clumsily mended by himself was almost reason enough to come home) and sent him to the baths.

The naiads had seen to his grooming, and very properly, too. Perhaps you would hear lewd tales of what went on in other bath houses, but in Joshathan, son of Josiah’s manor, there would be no such breach of decorum. The attendants were appropriately formless containers of fluidity, and seemingly sexless until they chose to speak.

The largest one, a furrow upon her brow, would not release Justin to the attentions of the masseuse until she had shaved him. He had stoically permitted the naiad to do her job, both deeply embarrassed at the poor job he’d made of clearing the stubble two days before and gratified to have it done properly before he had to face his father.

And so it came that when Justin was presented most formally by the stuffy faun butler, he was scrubbed, shaven, and dressed within an inch of his life.

The dining hall was immense and imposing, with a table that would seat a hundred guests. The vaulted ceiling was a dome of glass, allowing both the light of the stars and the city to shine through. Interior light was provided by wall sconces that were once inhabited by glowing pixies in every shade of the rainbow, but now held ordinary candles.

Of course, Vernus had ushered the son of the house through the eastern door, as befitting a member of the family returning from a long journey. While Justin appreciated the honor, that meant he had half the length of the hall to walk to reach his father’s right hand at the northern end of the table.

He just stopped himself from snapping to attention when the Archmagus looked up from the missive he was reading. To cover the near breach of manners, he strode smartly to his chair, feeling his father’s hooded dark eyes on him like a weight of disapproval.

When he arrived at the massive chair, all gleaming blackwood, Joshathan surprised him by rising. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Father.”

It was said of the Archmagus that his face never betrayed his thoughts until the moment he decided it would. Justin had fervently agreed with that view, and the longer he stayed under his father’s gaze, the harder it was not to break a sweat.

Joshathan looked his son over from head to toe, his thin lips not quite pursed. After a very long observation, he clapped Justin on the shoulder and bade him sit. “How were the roads coming in? We hadn’t expected you for some days more.”

Justin sank into the seat gratefully, feeling as though he had passed some kind of test. “Stormy, but with wind rather than rain, so they were dry and passable, sir.”

The lips did purse now, a moue of displeasure. “While I appreciate the respect, Justin, can we settle on father as formal address, please?”

Rebuked, Justin ducked his head in apology, which made his father sigh and motion for the wine to be poured. It was only then that Justin realized there was a third place setting for the evening meal. He looked back to his father, only to see a flicker of amusement in return. “Did Lamplighter manage to wake up for you?”

“Yes, father, a bit reluctantly, but no more so or less than any of the smaller fae I’ve seen lately.”

“Mmmm,” Joshathan tapped one finger on the base of his wine glass. “I fear the day is coming in which they shall go into the deeper sleep, like even unto death.”

That was a startling idea, though Justin supposed he should have seen it coming. “Why do the sea and river nymphs stay, but not the pixies and faeries?”

As he knew it would, the question sparked the educator within the Archmagus, and it was as though Justin had never left the gracious manor for a rough life in the wilds. “When the Adversary claimed the leylines of the world, the oldest of the fae went to him or into the deepest sleep at once; starved of the essence of their lives they had no other choices. The smaller, younger ones drank more recently from the well, and so can share their magic with us a bit longer.”

“Naiads, dryads, fauns, satyrs, and all their kith and kin are as far separated racially from the fae as we are from elves and dwarves. What other sustenance they require they receive from the elements and the good land herself.”

Justin didn’t know how long Dama Tiah had been listening at the door, but there was no mistaking the voice that rang out over the dining hall. “So it’s almost as though the heart land is worth guarding and protecting, isn’t it, Josh, and maybe even the folk?” It was clearly an old, old argument, from the flat phrasing of the challenge to the way the Archmagus’s jaw tightened.

“Ah yes, won’t you join us. I must have a word with Vernus.”

Dama Tiah waved father and son back into their chairs when they would have risen. “Don’t bother, I told him to get the food moving in the appropriate direction, like a useful little goat.” Swallowing hard, Justin looked to his father to see him both wincing and grinding his teeth before slowly exhaling through his nose.

“How thoughtful of you,” Joshathan said in a murmur.

Dama Tiah’s eyes sparkled with what could have been amusement or malice. “I didn’t want him listening at the door while we discussed whatever it is that we’re going to do with our son.” Only then did the Dama’s gaze turn to Justin, raising her wine glass to him in a salute. “After all, he’s done his mother so very proud.”

It’s almost here. No, not those holiday things folk get so worked up into tizzys over… National Novel Writing Month or how Ari spends November these past.. uh.. oh my, seven years now.

If you want to check it out, http://www.nanowrimo.org will get you there.. it’s 50,000 words in November, with a goal of 1500 words per day. And yeah, I’m doing it again.

So here I am, in my little writing nook, with a bunch of little homey bits of comfort here and there. Yes, my notes and outlines are all ready to go… even a couple of protochapters, if there is such a word. This year is a little different- fewer people and concerns to take my thoughts away from the writing part of life. Also, not writing a Nessa book this year, it’s a completely new concept, new fantasy world that’s been on my mind for a minute now. So yeah, it’s harder, but also easier in a weird way. It’s completely new, with no expectations other than it be an interesting tale.

It’s hard to describe how this feels… anticipation, worry, a little fear, it’s easing into a too hot bath, knowing that it’s going to be your warm comfort spot where you can release all the breaths you didn’t know you were holding. Also new this year- how deeply sad and lonely I’m feeling. It’s dumb- mom never read my books, in fact, she frequently made me insane by pushing me to keep writing beyond the goals (for what reason, I could not tell you). But like it feels so good when you stop banging your head against the wall…. even the overbearing tiger mom talking about something close to my heart was still an acknowledgement of what’s close to my heart.

Instead of thinking about that, I’m taking some time to try and center on WHY I do this. WHY do I give up so much time to telling stories that will never be bestsellers, that are just one more thing at the end of the day?

I’ve led a fairly chaotic life, with, I think, more than its share of anxiety. But you know who I could always count on, even in the darkest of days? Robinton. And Belgarath. Skye O’Malley and Claire Fraser. Conrad Stargard. Phedre. Ayla. Scarlett O’Hara. Elizabeth Bennet. Harry Potter. Lucy Pevensie. Cathy Scarlett. Amergin the Bard. Even Michael Corleone, and Jake Brigance, and all the wildly weird people from Carl Hiaasen’s head. I read about all of these characters over and over again and found solid ground to stand on in my own head. Now I can sit in my little nook here, pick up these books and feel that sense of comfort as though I was walking down the hall barefoot in the dark- I know where this path leads.

Maybe my books won’t be read by the whole world. I think that is okay, so long as it gives anyone that same sense of settling in to hear the story that has brought me so much comfort and balance over the years, then that’s a good enough reason to write them.

Cheers, yall. Happy NaNoWriMoing!

Because we are slowly becoming old people, and because we get up at 4am every day, Rick and I tend to eat dinner on the slightly earlier side.

Which means right around 7ish, we start feeling like it’s snack o clock. I’d decided to snuggle into my spot with a corgi and some chainmail while Rick worked on BD1 (if you know, you know) lego set.

Rick got up and wandered into the kitchen, and this is an approximation of what happened next.

Me- you got the munchies?

Rick, staring into the depths of the fridge- Yeaaaahhh.. can’t decide what I want though. Are you munchy too?

Me- (noncommittal that boils down to we’ll see what you find).

Rick- well, I’m not sure I want frozen pizza

Me- I’m sure I don’t want frozen pizza. I definitely don’t want anything sweet. Let me know what you find.

Rick- (points out I’m not very helpful)

Me- I wasn’t TRYING to be helpful. I just know I don’t want frozen pizza. A quesadilla does sound pretty good though.

Rick- then you’re either making it or ordering it.

Me- Why is it always my problem to deal with food?

Rick- (points to self) Laundry. (points to me) Food. That’s how this works.

Me- What the fuck? Why is it I have to deal with food two to three times a day and you only do laundry….. oh.

Rick- Exactly!

Me- I screwed myself over on this one.

Rick, exits kitchen, laughing.

I haven’t ordered shit. Screw him. I’m getting the short end of the stick here, cause he only does laundry once a week!

That’s my stats from yesterday. No, I didn’t put Google Watch into a paint shaker at Lowe’s (though because I said it, you know I’ve thought of it).

I’ve been on something of an adventure these past months.. since I decided I need this meatsac to get me around and do all the wonderful things I want to do before I shuffle off this mortal coil.

And it started with Switch Sports.

Really? you ask. Really really, I answer. Now I’m not saying it alone was this magical thing… I’ve tried a lot of things over the years to change my lifestyle, most of had mixed results. I also had some major life events that caused some reassessments… and some of that was pretty stark and brutal.

There’s no one left on this earth who gives a fuck about my weight but me.

See? There’s a few different ways you could see that statement typed out like that.. but the way it is in my head is freeing. So please don’t waste time feeling sorry for me, cause I definitely don’t feel that way for myself.

Once I could let go of the expectations others have of and for me, then came the even more stark realization that I’ve probably already lived over half my life.

Feel that chill? Yeah, me too.

I decided that I want to be able to be here in as good a shape for as long as possible. I want to dance all the dances and take all the walks, and do all the things.

So when Switch Sports came out, I started bowling. It was just kind of fun to get up and move around in the evenings, and hey look, it gets my heart rate up more than sitting on the couch and not doing anything. Cool.

Then I discovered playing online and getting points! But you have to wait between frames. Well, shit, that’s boring. So I put on some music. And I started walking and dancing in time with the music. And hey, my heart rate went up some more! Awesome!

But soon, just walking wasn’t enough to get my heart rate up as high. So I started jogging in place.. but not for very long, I’d still stop and line up my shot and bowl, then jog again, and walk when I couldn’t jog anymore.

I’m sure by now you see what’s coming. Eventually that didn’t work anymore. So now I run, and I do not even slow down to take my shot. And not only did my heart rate stay up, but my average scores improved too. I’m not EVEN sure wtf that’s about, but hey, it is what it is.

I also run out of doors when I can… I had some beautiful mornings down on the beach during a recent trip to Oregon.

But yeah… as strange as it is to say it… this is a thing because I decided it’s a thing. I’m down a few pant sizes, learning portion control, and went from aching ankles, knees, and hips to feeling just fine with running for a solid sixty minutes a day. When even marching in place for four or five minutes used to be a no go. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’ll ever be a skinny Minnie… but you damn sure better believe that the next amusement park run we do? I’m riding fucking everything I want to ride. I will see everything that I want to see. Because this meatsac is going to get me there without bitching about it.

And that? If that’s not a piece of personal magic, I don’t know what is.

I know this is a shocker, but, I have a thing. A thing about things… specifically about marking or damaging things. I like things to look and feel new until I don’t use them anymore, and will fret about every mark and scuff.

Someone once talked to me about how fun it is to break glass. I think I actually recoiled in horror at the idea. While yes, I’ve broken things from time to time (who hasn’t?) it throws me into something of a tizz, and I have to tell myself it’s just a thing, it’s replaceable, it’s not a big damn deal.

So while we were at Battlebots, I apparently applauded too hard, causing my trusty FitBit to take flight. I don’t know if it ended up under the bleachers, or if someone found it and picked it up. And since I had at least two more here at the house, I *knew* it wasn’t a big deal, it was replaceable. And I took a few breaths and decided to let it go and not fret over it. I wanted to enjoy the damn day, and I wasn’t going to let it get me down. (And maybe I sighed and took it as an excuse to get the new FitBit/Google crossover that I couldn’t quite justify the week before.)

Later on, I ended up leaving my mini Kindle (I specifically got it to fit in my mini backpack) in the terminal, I just looked at Rick, who didn’t even bother to sigh, but instantly bolted to the front of the plane.

One of the thousands of reasons I love him- Rick understands how much I can and can’t deal with. He knew perfectly well that giving up two pieces of my beloved bits of gear on the same day would be way too much, and went to fix the problem before I could even ponder it.

I know it’s just stuff. I know it doesn’t have feelings for me to hurt. I know I didn’t abandon a thinking, feeling being- even though I can definitely imagine that’s exactly what I did. I could make up a whole story about how this FitBit will be back to take its revenge for me putting it on a cheap band and leaving it to lie all alone, down in the dark.

And just to make sure that I know I know that, I deliberately put dragon stickers on my writing chromebook today. I was careful, washing and drying the surface first, picking out what stickers I wanted and where I wanted them to go, and if I applied them a tiny bit crooked, I don’t even care, because it’s my chromebook and they are my stickers, and it looks just fine.

Blogs are just cheap therapy, you know.

Oh, and if you like the stickers, they are courtesy of Carla Morrow, of dragonladyart.com.

Yesterday was a long, long day. 22 hours, to be precise.

And they were full of people.

To be entirely fair, I don’t out a whole lot. My work is all from my home office, where I may wear leggings or jeans or full professional gear. I talk to people all day, but there’s a key. There’s a point behind every word. I don’t make random mouth sounds, and while I may think out loud, even that has a purpose and a point.

So you might kinda get the fact that I think words should be used on purpose. Maybe it’s the hearing impairment (so I actually have to work to understand people verbally) or maybe it’s just a twitch from growing up (of which I retain many)- I’m not sure. All I know is that if you want to stress me out, put me in large, echoey rooms with a bunch of people who don’t know how to shut the fuck up when someone else I *want* to listen to is talking. Like maybe over a whole sound system for a TV production. If I can’t hear THAT person over your bullshit ‘yeah I could build a bot, but…’ and a bunch of lame ass shit that sounds like it’s a fourteen year old kid talking about how he *could* get girls, but- I”m going to get really damn over your ass really fast. If it’s Rick talking to me, it’s not that bad, even if I can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, I can use the pattern of his mouth plus the probability of what he’s likely to say to get there. But a faceless announcer over a sound system? I’m screeeewed. And the longer I go on not hearing what I want to hear, because life doesn’t come with closed captioning enabled, the more I’m going to resent you for thinking your words are more important.

Airport announcements.. similar problem. I rely on the signs and the updates through Google travel. I was also completely astounded by how many people feel the need to PROJECT when the person they are talking to is sitting right next to them. Like, dude, I’m (probably over) half deaf, facing the opposite direction, and I heard every syllable perfectly. Meanwhile, I have to lipread Rick sitting right next to me and speaking at a reasonable volume, you know, the not to be intrusive to others in the area volume. The trying to be a good human and not make you an unwilling party to my conversation volume. The indoor voice.

And do NOT get me started on the number of people who have to FaceTime every minute of the goddam day. Being apart is okay. It’s healthy. Your mom/sister/bestie/significant other/etc does not need to follow you via the magic of technology. I honestly cannot fathom what you’d talk about when you aren’t apart.. I mean, they kind of know everything you’ve done already…? And of course, when you use the magic tech bits, you PROJECT. So now your bestie/whoever knows about your last bowel movement AND SO DOES THE REST OF THE TERMINAL OH MY GOD THANKS EVER SO MUCH FOR SHARING.

Upon consideration, I am not really sure if I am peopled out or just worded out. It didn’t help that most of the people that were ‘here to help’ really didn’t. I don’t know if you were aware, but TSA regulations vary from venue to venue. So in Albuquerque, they only want your ID, not your boarding pass, and they don’t care if you take off your belt or hoodie or not. Cool. I’ve had items pass in one place, only to have them thrown away in another (you can’t carry over 4 oz of toothpaste out of Eugene, but it flew in there just fine?) and I shrug and roll with it. It’s not worth questioning and potentially ending up unable to fly.

In Vegas, everything off, all things reviewed, and dear heavens don’t you DARE put a laptop type item in the bin with anything else. And BARKED at for being wrong. Like dude.. we don’t know. We know you’ve said the same words five thousand times today. But there were no signs to guide us, and you didn’t say it five thousand times to us. So maybe don’t yell at us or treat us like an utter waste of space? That’d be good.

So am I peopled out or worded out or mean spirited out? I’m not really sure. I just know a day of staying in my spot on the couch and puttering around appeals a lot more than going out right now. And thinking about how lovely it would be if folks started the day off thinking about how they impact people around them, and decided to do their best to be a positive impact. Sure, there’s times where that’s just not a possibility, but I think it’s more of a possibility than a lot of people try to make it.

So y’all. It has been a day and it ain’t over yet.

For a thousand reasons, we decided to go to BattleBots this year. It’s been something we’ve wanted to do for at least five years. And when the tickets went on sale about a month ago, we said fuck it, this is the year.

And oh. My. Eris. It was amazing! To see Chris and Kenny, Faruq, Matty Vasquez right THERE. To see the sparks (and bots) fly and yell out encouragement when it actually could be heard… Magical. Neither of us really have voices left, we’re dead tired, but had the absolute best time, so we WILL be back for this. My heinous shirt was much admired, and I feel a little less redonkulous and a lot more brave for going way out of my comfort zone in 5000 ways today.

In addition to all that, I got to meet one of my workmates and her family. Just watching them together warmed my heart. I think in observing others, if you’ve done it long enough and pay attention, you can feel the love that they share. They are one such family, and I’ll remember our breakfast together with a delight in simple pleasures.

Now the ick part. Our flight has been delayed, so we are holed up in an airport bar, waiting. And I bent some rules and had a Blue Moon. It’s fucking excellent and I regret nothing.

The bracelet shot… Follow your bliss- it was a gift, and I’ve been trying hard to take the mantra to heart. I particularly like wearing it as a reminder when I step out of my comfort zone and do something crazy. Or crazy for me, anyway. Between covid and an unfortunate situation with a mob during a convention, large groups of people aren’t my thing, really. But I wasn’t just going today for me. I went for my step-dad, who freaking loved BattleBots. I went for Rick, who loves them as much as I do. And I went for me, because life is too fucking short.

Seek your bliss, yall. Cause NOT seeking it ensures it’ll be hard to find.