Vonnegut is an author I’d heard the name of for years but never really got exposed to. It wasn’t until I got back into using the library (via Libby) for audiobooks that I started branching far out into the book-o-sphere, and I saw my opportunity to check him out.
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My first exposure was Welcome to the Monkey House which was a nice broad intro of short stories, but I wanted to at least read one full novel. Naturally, I put what was available on hold and… I started waiting for my turn. Only three books were available to borrow: Welcome to the Monkey House, Slaughterhouse-Five, and Cat’s Cradle.

The first novel that came available was not the one I’d heard of, and I could’ve kept putting it off, but I decided I didn’t want Slaughterhouse-Five to bear so much pressure of representing Vonnegut’s novels well, so when Cat’s Cradle became available, I went ahead and listened.
I went into this novel not even having read the synopsis or any book blurbs. I legitimately went in blind to anything except the title, the author’s name, and an impression of his writing style from having listened to Welcome to the Monkey House. So when I say I listened to this book without a clue what I was in for, I mean that.

I’ve found, via the short stories and Cat’s Cradle, that Vonnegut weaves plot together in a loose knot. It wanders in an out of itself, dancing around the crux or epicenter of poignancy, not quite revealing what its goal is or where it’s headed, until Vonnegut is ready to pull it tight so it suddenly becomes an intricate knot. Like dominoes falling into a pattern or something, it just suddenly clicks. The sudden moment of “O. M. G.” I have when I suddenly understand what’s going on, what all these moving parts were heading for… that’s pretty heady.

It’s exactly what happened with Cat’s Cradle. What blows my mind is how rapidly Vonnegut really puts big pieces on the board, so to speak. We learn right away the world is basically over, that this book is about what happened, and we even learn the name of the scientist responsible. We start getting interviews about him, spawning from how the scientist— Felix Hoenikker— was one of the creators of the atomic bomb. The author is wanting information regarding the bombing of Hiroshima… and in the long run, learns about a theoretical side project Hoenikker had entertained: a substance called ice-nine, intended to restructure the way water solidifies. Intended for military use— to keep Marines out of the mud— such a substance would hold the potential to convert all water on Earth into ice-nine.

Through a winding process of personal discovery and insanely odd religion, the author ends up converting and becomes mired in a small, fanatical nation heavily influenced by one of Hoenikker’s children, Frank. We learn that all three of Hoenikker’s children actually have a fragment of ice-nine, and Frank’s chip of it has put him in a position of influence. It’s only once the ice-nine is used as a form of euthanasia for the nation’s leader that the world… well, actually ends for real. Bigger than Hiroshima, bigger than any other disaster. The ice-nine-frozen body is accidentally dumped into the Caribbean, and… ice-nine freezes the world.

The thing is, Vonnegut telegraphed the ice-nine takeover multiple times. It was pretty much slapped on the wall once it was first mentioned that such a thing was going to be the end of the planet. It’s pointed at loudly fairly frequently, as an ominous note that ice-nine is around, in Frank’s pocket, or in his brother Newt’s luggage, and so on. It’s there. It’s THERE.

Personally, most of the time I was listening to the book, I was sort of absorbing it on surface level only. I wasn’t sure I wanted to “let Vonnegut in” so to speak. I’m not sure what I was afraid of, but I was honestly holding the book at arm’s length. Maybe it’s his reputation, my natural hesitation at things recommended to me. Not that Vonnegut was ever personally recommended to me. I think that’s the difference. If something’s recommended by someone who knows me, I’m more likely to trust that. But the general populace… it can be hit or miss with me. When you hear big names get dropped a lot, or fad or popular media, it can be hard to pick which ones might actually resonate with yourself. Like… people love the Austin Powers movies. They were all the rage when I was in high school. I’ve never seen a one and refuse to. I only watched Squid Game because I happened on a clip and enjoyed it, so I decided to see what else the fuss was about. But I adamantly declined to watch even a moment of Tiger King. I read Dungeon Crawler Carl and watched Arcane because a friend recommended it to me.

But Vonnegut… he was one I never had a direct recommendation for. I just knew his name and that he was considered a classic, notable author worth reading. But… that never told me why.

I doubt he’s going to be a favorite author of mine anytime soon, but after two books, I definitely think I can look forward to when Slaughterhouse-Five finally becomes available for me. The more I’ve thought about Cat’s Cradle, the more I realize I enjoyed it overall. So much of me enjoys the concept of spoilers when done right. I’m more interested in HOW something happens than what actually happens. Like… I grew up knowing Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker’s father, long before I ever watched a Star Wars film. And I saw the prequels first, so my first exposure was watching Anakin become Vader.

Once I recognized that that’s been what I’ve gotten from Vonnegut, I was able to really see Cat’s Cradle for what it was. Sad thing is, that didn’t happen until I began writing this very review. I’ve already put a hold on it again. I’m looking forward to listening again. And it’s the mindset I’ll be going into on Slaughterhouse-Five. Because I’m not reading any synopses or book blurbs or anything about it, either.

Yes.
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Yes I have.

In fact, not only have I considered it, I’ve done it multiple times.

When I was in high school, I was part of the creative writing club. It was run by my favorite English teacher, who I had as my actual teacher in 10th grade: Mr. Walker. Along with writing exercises and games and all, there was one big project the club took on: the making of the school’s annual literary magazine, “The Stylus.” Any students could submit to the magazine, and toward the end of the school year, it was published and distributed. It wasn’t all writing either. Some visual art also did get places, though it was mostly intended as a wordsmith’s entertainment.

Anyway, I wasn’t really involved in it much, mostly because my life then was really taken up more by marching and concert bands. I wrote like mad, but… the magazine was never a priority for me.

Except for my junior year. I don’t remember exactly why, but for some reason that year, the vast majority of content printed was mine. Keep in mind this would have been something like spring of 2001, so my memories are 25 years old at best for any of this. I THINK I had a conversation about it with Mr. Walker at some point, about how much of this was my work. I don’t know whose idea pseudonyms were, but it was probably mine, just knowing me. 

I used at least three names for the works in that issue of the magazine, with one definitely being mine.

Another time I used one was for another organization. Those of you who know me are aware I’m a citizen of Westarctica, a micronation project. Over the ten years I’ve been a citizen, I’ve been involved in a number of initiatives and held a few specific roles.

But the initiative to talk about here is the Westarctican Art Expo. In its prime, it was a yearly exhibition of art made by Westarctican citizens. It allowed for visual art and written word. It was not a competition by definition, but some entries did get singled out as favorites. The Crown, the Council, and the Citizens all got votes, so there were three distinctions handed out every year.

Long story short, I won the Council Selection in 2018 with a chainmail piece and the Citizen Selection in 2019 with a miniature acrylic painting set. But I was a writer, and the populace knew it. In early 2020, I took on the role of Minister of Culture, which directly oversaw the Expo. Needless to say, I didn’t want my position to affect anything. That was also the year the Expo got split into an alternating form: 2020 would be writing only, 2021 would be visual art, and it would alternate from there.

It didn’t seem fair to be eligible to enter with the advantage of my name’s influence, so I submitted under a pseudonym. I also recused myself from the Council Selection and Citizen Selection votes, as I didn’t want to risk any conflicts of interest.

So when the Grand Duke messaged me about his pick and confusion that the author’s name was new to him and unfindable in any citizen rosters… he both was and wasn’t shocked when I explained how I chose the name I did.

I also won the Crown Selection because of that. At that point, I retreated wholly from entering the Expos. I’d gotten the trifecta of selections and felt good about it.

To answer the question, yes, I’ve written under pen names before. Will I for my novels? Maybe sometime, if I put out something I don’t want directly attached to my established name. But just because? No. I’m good claiming my words.

This question is one that, just in its nature, seems somewhat layered. Just sort of meta-analyzing the question and what I know about people makes me want to criticize the asking itself. Because in a way, it’s almost like a form of gatekeeping. What gives me any sort of authority to judge when other people get to call themselves what they want?
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Because that’s kind of the thing. People can call themselves whatever they want, and it doesn’t have to affect others. It’s really a matter of the individual’s relationship with themself and… how they handle the truth or falseness of their claim within their own heart. 

Because there’s really no way to quantify it. It’s not like a Doctorate, where if you don’t have one, you’re legitimately not a doctor. 

But if you’ve written one word, ever… you are a writer. You engage in writing in some form. 
I guess, if I’m going to be so avoiding of just taking the question as it is, I do need to address the opposite thought to the simple “you can call yourself whatever you want” claim.

Stolen valor. 

Those situations where people will claim military experience or awards when they have never served, or claim medical expertise when their education is very literally having watched two Youtube videos that support their own opinions. That’s what I’m talking about. Where does one draw the line with creative endeavors? If you published a book twenty years ago but haven’t written a word since, are you still a writer?

I think so.

So… I think a lot of this really boils down to “what is a writer?”

Is it someone who has published a book? Sorry journalists, bloggers, and fanfic creators, you’re not really writers. Someone who writes regularly? Well, that novelist who was once prolific but now is not can no longer claim being a writer, even though they used to be able to. Is it someone who has tons of readers? Oh, the fanfic writer, blogger, and journalist now are writers… so it depends on audience then? 

But then… what about the person who writes long journal entries but only for themself? What about the woman who has self-published twenty romance novels and hasn’t sold a single copy?
Why are we so determined to police creativity?

I’ve been a writer for a very long time. I have had long stretches of productivity and long ones of zero production. I have things no one but me has read, and I’ve had fans seek me out at conventions asking what my next project is. I’ve written things just for me that will never see the light of day.

Some things are quantifiable, like having a doctorate or military service record. 

The arts… are so different. And humans are so varied and exciting that it really isn’t fair to try and ask when someone is “allowed to” call themselves an artist. 

Because even people who write horrible stories are still writers. People who draw stick figures are artists.

If you want to call yourself a writer, do it the moment you want to. I’m not the boss of you. It’s not my call to make.

I just hope that however you do it, you enjoy it. If you only tell stories to yourself in your head, you’re still a writer. If you’ve got a dozen bestsellers, you’re a writer.

Make it your own, however that looks. It’s not one-size-fits-all. 

When should you call yourself a writer? Whenever you’re ready to.

Well, you guys should know me by now. I like to sort of answer things a bit tangentially if I don’t necessarily feel like the original questions is that good.

“Inspired you most” is so darn selective, and… frankly, I almost find it trivializing. There are so many books out there, and maybe if I was younger with a lot fewer books under my belt (reading and writing) I could narrow things down to a “most” inspiring book. As it is… that would be making something small of what’s really a large question.

There’s no comparison between books that have inspired me, mostly because… well… I take inspiration from tons of small places. Tons of them. A conversation, an observation, an experience, a musing, a passing comment… all of those are sources for inspiration.

So I suppose… I’m going to tackle this in a sort of “name your biggest, longest-lasting inspirations” or something like that. Because… yeah, my inspiration sources are constantly changing.

I decided to write a post about the specific inspirations for my published projects, so that was last week's post. But for this post… let me talk about one of the books that has truly inspired me to be better… by showing me what I do NOT want to be.

Immortaland: The Greatest Fantasy Kingdom to Exist and That Will Ever Exist

So, this is hands down the worst book I’ve ever read, and it’s basically a guidebook on how not to draw people into your fantasy world. I really don’t want to encourage anyone to read it, nor do I want to spend too much more of my life thinking about it, but let’s just say I read it in 2017 and I still remember nothing more than it being totally awful. Let me just paste the review I did of it as a precautionary tale.

“I seriously only read the entirety of this book so that I could write a review with a clear conscience. I can honestly say I have never been so happy to leave a fantasy world than I was to leave Immortaland behind.

Let's start with the claim that it's "The Greatest Fantasy Kingdom To Exist And That Will Ever Exist." Is that not ridiculously presumptuous? Right from the start, the writer is setting the bar ridiculously high. It's claiming that this place is better than Randland, Temerant, Middle Earth, Earthsea, and countless other worlds that are rich and full of adventure, culture, and intrigue. With these high expectations in mind, let's begin to read.

Start out with second-person POV. Oh, so I'm the hero here? Okay. Let's see what kind of adventures I get into.

100% done with the book... none. No adventure. No conflict. Hardly any culture. Zip. I'm not exaggerating. There was nothing here. The entire book is just... description. Not even infodump. It's like someone saw the opening scene of a movie, touring a castle, and tried to transcribe it into text. It doesn't work in the slightest.

So let's try to take it in terms of something like a Dungeons and Dragons rulebook. Maybe we can use it as source material to play with. Nope. Doesn't work there, either. This "world" is nothing but a storeroom of overpowered artifacts and ejaculations from a clicheed imagination. I can't tell you how tired I got of everything "bestowing ultimate [INSERT TRAIT HERE]." The whole time, the character named You was basking in more and more ultimate power. Soaking it in, basking in it, and so on. It was like watching a sequence from Dragon Ball Z where all they do is glow yellow... ad nauseum. Imagine a game where all you do is go around and collect buffs. What do you even use them for? Nothing. There's nothing to purpose there. What's worse, there wasn't even any real connection between the buffs. One throne that You sat in pushed away all negative emotions and cares. But a few scenic places later, You asked a question that's been bothering You, and it was answered. Were the negative questions and annoyances cast aside or not? Even as a resource, there's nothing of serious value here.

So let's take it as what it really is: drivel. I hate sounding cruel, but this was nothing but personal stimulation. It's an exercise in creation. That's fine. I don't understand how this can be considered anything more than a poorly painted word-landscape. It was wanting an editor, something to actually give it some sense of value for itself.

I will say that there is the potential for many stories here. Sadly, this book told exactly ZERO of them.”

In short, do NOT read this book. Save yourselves. You’re already better than this guy as long as you’re not trying to pass unsatisfying softcore self-insert mental masturbation off as a fantasy setting of value.

“Where do you get your ideas from?” is a pretty common question, so I thought I’d go back and reminisce a bit about what made each of my published works happen in the first place. Those first sparks, if you will.

I’m even going to go into how they strayed from the original ideas on some of them, because… why not?

Empeddigo - Man, this is digging back in the old days. I remember having two main basic ideas when I was developing this story: a fantasy/science fiction genre mashup, and an infectious disease. I definitely didn’t pull things off as well as I’d hoped, but to be totally honest… I haven’t read the book in a decade and a half. I remember very few of the details. I could probably only name three characters from it.

The Trials of Hallac - This is my epic poem, and a lot of my inspiration came from the format of other epic poems. Naturally, one of the main influences was The Odyssey. I’ve been a fan of Greek mythology since I was ten years old or so, and I took Latin in high school, so even the Romanized side of things was on my radar for a long time. Mostly the narrative technique of in media res affected me here, as well as the idea of there being certain specific, self-contained segments. The syllable-count system affecting the format was somewhat inspired by basic numeroulogy, but more from numerical symbolism across some faith systems. Like 3 and 7 being “lucky” or “holy” numbers, and therefore being the syllable counts spoken by deities, for example.

Plot-wise, it was strongly inspired by generalized fantasy gaming. The monsters and incidents were pretty basic in that regard. The main character’s familial conflicts were ripped pretty much straight out of Final Fantasy Tactics, with the main character being the third son and the only one born to a non-noble mother and therefore seen as less than his brothers.

Mere Acquaintances - So this story was really a project on writing vs editing and sticking to your guns. The nature of the project was to release it serially, much in the way authors like Charles Dickens published some of his works bit-by-bit in the newspaper. Mere Acquaintances was supposed to be something I never got to edit, a literal first draft novel put out as a sort of “don’t compare your first draft to someone’s finished product” kind of thing. There is a ton wrong with this project, and like Empeddigo, I doubt I could tell you much about it now other than what I remember. I haven’t read it in ages.

Starsigns - Now we’re getting into the books I definitely remember better. Starsigns went through a lot of changes from its first inception. The initial idea was “the boy who could speak fairy” and that whole idea came from my local renaissance faire. I’ve been going every year since 1999 (except for 2020 and 2021 - thanks Covid) so I’m super familiar with it. Well, we have an awesome gaggle of fairies who work the faire, and they have a certain high-pitched, somewhat bubble-throaty way of speaking. Think something like Stitch from Lilo & Stitch, but more garbled. Anyway, it’s a voice I can easily do, so I’ve been “speaking fluent fairy” for ages and seeing people who can’t do it or who barely understand the fairies themselves gave me the idea of there being only one person known who can understand them.

Add in inspiration from Robin Hobb’s Realm of the Elderlings and even more from her Soldier Son Trilogy and… yeah, that was the basis for the book.

Like I said, it went through a lot of changes. The main character’s name was originally Kerr and he was one of like 7 or 8 siblings, mostly boys. He was the only one without a prescribed fate and was therefore considered sort of… extra. To the point the working title for the book for a very long time was “The Extra Son.” Well, Kerr turned to Cair, and his many siblings got pared down/combined into a set of boy-girl twins. The book was planned to span a few years, from Kerr’s early teens to his early twenties maybe. Cair’s story spans a few weeks at most. There’s no pirate storyline like I originally had planned. Hell, in the original plots, there was no Almo, and… I don’t think there was a Tivory, even. 

In all honestly, I think Starsigns came out better than The Extra Son would have as originally planned, and I say that while still having some dissatisfaction over how Starsigns turned out!

Criminal From Birth - Ahh, Criminal. We’ve definitely come into the zone of books I remember more of. Well, we started that with Starsigns, but even that’s already 8 years old in publication, and a good 10 years since its first inception. The idea came from a similar place as Empeddigo, actually. I wanted to do a sort of genre mash-up I hadn’t seen before, and it turned out to be fantasy courtroom drama. That’s because I’ve been a fan of the movie Basic for a long time and the form intrigued me. For those who haven’t seen or heard of it, it’s a story about an incident in military training in Cuba where a few soldiers ended up dying, and they bring in a disgraced former investigative agent to sort out what happened. The story gets rehashed multiple times, with the details being questioned and investigated until something unties part of the mystery and the real answers finally come out. If you’ve seen Hero or Roshomon, it’s that same sort of thing.
I didn’t pull it off nearly as well as I liked, but… that’s how we learn. The story I came up with involved investigating bits and pieces of one man’s life, all to determine whether the crimes he committed were things he could truly be blamed for or if he was doomed to commit them with no choice because of his own nature.

The hard part is that the book has turned out to be the first of a trilogy, and neither of its sequels are going to be a bit like it in that sort of setting or tone.

The Deadly Studies - This is probably one of the least-inspired-by projects I did, mostly because it’s a spinoff series. So I had to take most of the inspiration from the original source material, John G. Walker’s The Statford Chronicle. Since I was working in that world, with certain plot points, timelines, and character info to line up to, I had less freedom to do much. I don’t know that I can really pinpoint any sort of inspiring stories or sources for its format or anything, which strikes me as sort of odd for me. This is probably the closest I have to a general amalgamation of all the potential inspirations I’d taken up to that point in my life. I never really thought about that before. Weird.

With so many great, fun novels coming out these days, it can be very easy to ignore past greats. I’m not talking like… the “classics” like the books of Dickens, Dumas, Wells, and so on. 
I’m mostly going to be talking about science fiction in this review, since the book I’m reviewing is sci-fi, so let’s go ahead and steer in that direction. 

Technology right now is  insane. Sci-fi books written even 10 years ago likely have some incorrect science in them. So how the hell can we read something science-fictiony that was written 50 years ago and take it seriously, especially in situations where the future year they were writing about was the early 2000s, where we’re currently living?
It’s that sort of thoughts that make science fiction from the 30s-70s and even into the 80s a little hard to take seriously or digest. 

So when I finally picked up The Forever War by Joe Haldeman, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I love science fiction. I love classic sci-fi. H.G. Wells was one of my favorite authors when I was a kid. Him and Jules Verne kind of set my tone for what science fiction was. Even so, it has been a while since I’ve sunk into any “old” sci-fi, and I almost gave up on The Forever War pretty early on.

Boy, that would have been a mistake. 

This book is known for a reason. It’s like… at least in my experience, one of those hidden gems that you uncover randomly and that really makes a mark despite its existence on the edge of the shadows. 

Quick synopsis: Earth is mired in a war with a largely-unknown alien race we call the Taurans. Our POV character and protagonist, William Mandela, is an elite recruit set to be a ground trooper in a sort of mech suit. His training and combat is intense, demanding, cruel, and just straight up deadly. His fellow troopers die in training, not just in combat.

That takes place in 1997. Thanks to space travel, time dilation, and relativity, he doesn’t get back to Earth from his 2-year war expedition until 2024. By then, the world is very different. His mother is old. The economy had to change to cover the needs of the still-ongoing interstellar war. Earth is dangerous in populated areas and even more dangerous in the less controlled areas. Freedom has a different face. 

So different that Mandela and many of his fellows can’t cope and simply… rejoin the military. Which means a promotion to trainer, but also much more time away. Over the course of many assignments, campaigns, and centuries, we follow Mandela through the war. 

What this book really does is gives the reader snapshots of human evolution in culture and adaptation. Mandela, being a “relic” of the 1900s, quickly grows more and more out of touch with his fellow soldiers. At one point, the man is in transit to take charge of a group of cadets… who haven’t even been born yet. During his transit, they’ll be born, raised, and prepared for him. 

Mandela loses everything he knew for this war. His own habits, preferences, and mannerisms become the drastic minority over the course of his life, where once he was a sort of “everyman.” The people and ideals he’s fighting for warp and evolve until they’re all but unrecognizable. 
There’s so much to unpack here. It’s a little bit of a Ship of Theseus situation for Mandela. He’s fighting for humanity, but humanity becomes less and less recognizable to him as things go on, and the war is all he really has. 

Well, that and his attachment to one of his fellow relic soldiers, Marygay. Their careers meet up and separate for longer and longer stretches, but Marygay remains one of Mandela’s driving factors. Seeing her again, connecting on a personal level with someone who understands him, becomes the main thing he clings to. 

What I think Haldeman did well with this book, which still holds up in the mid 2020s, was not make it about the science. Sure, we get some information about the technological advances of the military and the culture when Mandela’s on Earth in 2024, but… that’s not the meat of the story. The real story is about man’s relationship with itself. What humanity does to adapt, and how we can alienate ourselves from one another through necessity. We see the gradual changes in how humanity examines itself. Most notably, at least to me, is the change in sexuality over the ages in this book. Due to the war and the nature of military needs, Mandela’s heterosexuality goes from something to feed during his first expedition— the soldiers pretty literally all pair up every night to vent sexual needs— to an oddity, to a straight up minority, to almost unique. It gets to a point the man is almost like a freak show exhibit because he’s heterosexual. 

I won’t spoil the ending of this book, even though it’s nearly 50 years old. It would be best if you experienced it for yourself if you haven’t read it. 

But I cried. I cried joyfully and with hope. Not for humanity.

I cried for William at the end.

I knew July was going to be nuts, but… it’s gonna have nothing on September. We had two big travel cons, but in September, we’ll have three. Back to back weekends, too.

Criminal From Birth sequel - Still with editor. It’s been rough. Still mulling over the title.

LitRPG book (working title Subscription Life) - Well, I had like two weeks that I couldn’t make any time to work on this. Time slips way too easily. It’s on my mind, I just need to talk myself into stealing minutes where and when I can. It’ll happen.

I did get some writing done, but not as much as I wanted. The rewrite of chapter two is done, and I started on chapter three! Chapter two is at 1416 and the chapter three first draft so far is at 422, so 1838 on it for July. 

Collaboration Project - We’re doing planning and prep, figuring out our starting point.

MODERN ERA (2024-present)

A lot of what’s been happening in this modern age is put out in bits and pieces in these blog posts. I got hit with the old IDEA in 2024 and started picking at a novel. Got a good ways into the outline, too before I ran into an old trap of my own. Luckily, I had no plan to give into the sunken cost fallacy and push at it. Eventually, I did give it up, but I’ve talked about that on my monthly updates, and you can find them all in a collection here on Patreon or on my website feed.

Something was wrong outside writing, though. I didn’t realize at the time, but I was in a depressive episode that had been surrounding me for over a year by the time 2025 rolled around. I’ve lived with depression since the early 2000s (with 2005 or so being my worst episode) so I was no stranger to it. But this was a different source, one I’d never encountered before.

The company gave us an extra week of holiday paid time off at the end of the year, so we all got a half-day Christmas Eve and then didn’t return to work until the first business day after New Year’s. Some years, due to the way the days of the week fell, we could have like 2 weeks thanks to weekends and junk. I clocked out on Dec 24, 2024 (I believe, might have been the 23) and turned off my computer, planning to enjoy my holidays. Which I did.

Turning my work computer back on Jan 2 2025 was one of the worst moments of my current experience. That was the moment I realized that not only had I been depressed, I but I hadn’t been all during the holidays. 

Thing is… I probably wouldn’t have done much about it but soldier on, if not for my manager at that job. See, at this point, I’d been nearly 5 years in the same position at work. The job had evolved, tasks changing, responsibilities growing and morphing, but it was the same job title, barely any significant pay changes other than “cost of living” which are really “half inflation rate increase” raises. I got bonuses and one hefty raise over those 5 years because I griped when the ENTIRE REST OF THE TEAM got title promotions and raises except for me, but… I’d never been in a single job that long. The bank for 3 years came closest. 7 years at the call center had had me in 3 different departments, all VASTLY different.

I was burned out on the actual job. Problem was, I’d been casually job hunting since 2023 with not even a single hit.

So on Jan 3, I believe, my manager Kenny pulled me in for a one-on-one just to reconnect after the holidays, to gear up for the new year. I confessed being burned out, and he asked me a serious question:

When’s the last time you took a vacation?

I was stunned. Working from home basically was a vacation for me. I’d gotten my job down to needing only about 2 hours of actual work most days. Less on some, more on some others. I was making nearly $60k a year doing surprisingly little. I was good at most of my job, but the things I wasn’t good at or didn’t like seemed to be the direction my tasks were heading. It was going to get worse. But working from home made me not really consider work as work. I was doing stuff at home. I’d play video games, do chores, cook, or whatever between meetings and tasks. A lot of my day was entertaining myself until the clock ran out. I used my sick time for mental health days, but my personal and vacation time were usually for conventions I did with my best friend or the occasional family vacation with them and their kids. I almost always carried over a few days or even a week of vacation time at the end of each year.

I never used that time for myself. Just for myself. One mental health day if I needed it, then back to the grind.

So from Jan 6-10, I used 5 precious vacation days to give myself an actual staycation at home. Well, I had the weekend before and after included in that. 

Instant depression relief, knowing I didn’t have to log onto that damn computer the following Monday. On Jan 5, I had pretty much already decided that when I returned to work, I was going to put in my 2 week notice. I enjoyed the whole week of vacation knowing that. 
I waited a little bit to do it, honestly, but I did by the end of January.

And oh, did I phone it in those last few weeks. I handed over my tasks to different members of the team, made guides and instructions, but like hell was I handing over the things I’d automated or any of my serious tips and tricks. 

My last day there was Feb 14 2025. I started this Patreon not long after that, on March 10. Frankly, the rest is history.

As for my writing habits now… I’m struggling to make them real habits. It’s been improving, but only a little at a time. I’ve managed to make Mondays in general my serious writing day. I’m writing this on a Monday, in fact (June 15 2026). I get my social media posts about the week’s patron and free posts out, set up my posts for the next week (sometimes that involves writing a free post on the fly), and usually try to write another blog post if I can, just to try and prevent those on the fly ones. Any time and capacity for words I have left, I put toward fiction, be it a short, an exercise, or my current writing project. 

I’m trying to get back to a point where if I have some free time, I’m at the computer writing. That’s my next habit to rebuild. It’s… not there yet. Maybe by the end of summer.

I’ve spent a long time writing this post… to the point I’m probably going to split it into a few posts to stretch it and make my effort worth the time to release, like I did with my outlining series of posts.

But right now, it’s just after 2pm, I’ve been working on the Patreon setup and all this for about 2 hours. I need to go have lunch, come back, and get to Subscription Life. 

I’ll see you on the other side.

BURNOUT (2020-2024)

The mid 2018-late 2019 period is pretty dim. I was only unemployed for a month, during which I started streaming on Twitch. I got a temp job that quickly moved to full time, and by February 2019, I was in a great position that I saw myself in for a long while (spoiler alert; I was, until I wasn’t.) It was in music publishing administration, again an offline position, clerical. A small team, lots of data processing and management, and I gradually moved from more processing to more management over the course of my time there.

I kept chainmailing and writing, trying to get The Deadly Studies completed. The tenth novella released in September 2019, with the second volume coming at the beginning of 2020.

We all remember what happened in 2020. March 11, I believe, was the day management came onto the floor and said everyone needed to be out of the building within 90 minutes, but an hour would be better. Take your computers unless you planned to use a personal computer. Take anything personal you wanted at home.

Honestly, that would have been a very ideal time for me to enter a second golden age of writing. I was free of projects, having completed The Deadly Studies but… I’d been cranking those novellas out at the rate of 3 a year for 3 years, plus the time before the first release. So call it 4 years, pushing toward 5.

I was burned out. Completely. I tried doing some editing of stuff I’d previously written, but my passion and heart weren’t there. It felt… forced.

It was sometime in early 2021 that I finally confessed to myself that I was afraid I was burned out and might never write again.

It was in mid-to-late 2022 when I accepted I was done as an author. Life was okay. I had gotten a townhouse (thanks, Covid housing market!) and was still very focused on chainmail. I was more into gaming again, which I hadn’t really been through a lot of my golden age of writing. I had my friends and their kids. I was working from home and it was glorious. I missed writing, but I’d come to terms with being past that part of my life.

Turned out… words weren’t done with me.

THE GOLDEN AGE (~2009-2019)
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After college and entering the workforce, things definitely changed for a bit, but not as much as I expected at first. My first desk job— working the drive thru at a bank— actually gave me bits and pieces of time to crank out words. If things were slow and my drawer was in good shape, there was nothing really to do. It was in this time period that I first discovered NaNoWriMo and put out my first novel. (The REALLY bad one). 

Honestly, I can safely say that 2009-2019 was, so far, my golden age of writing. I was cranking out thousands of words most days. I definitely hit my first million words somewhere in there… my guess would be around 2013, if not earlier, honestly. I’ve never calculated and couldn’t if I wanted to. But I’d say definitely by then, I was well and truly past a million words.

It was my job after I left the bank that really blossomed things, and that happened in the middle of 2011. I started working at a call center, and it had… amenities. A cafeteria, a very nice on-site employee gym with showers, a “relaxation room” with a couple couches and a white noise machine. It was honestly kinda like being on campus again. I practically lived there for seven years. I also got into the best shape of my life… briefly… until work stress stole it from me. 

But I digress. By this time, I had a laptop and a lot of habits. I’d get up at, no kidding, 4:15 in the morning, drive the 50ish minutes to the call center to get a good parking spot and be there when the gym opened at 5:30. I’d get in at least an hour workout, get a shower, and have breakfast, all usually before 7 or 7:15. My work shift usually was 8-5 or 9-6, so the rest of that time was my writing time. 

Even better was when I got a promotion that took me to a different department, OFF the phones. It was still busying work, but this gave me the freedom to listen to music while I processed things, and my playlists got old pretty quick (this was in the days of iPods). So I started seeking other audio input. I found podcasts, podiobooks, and eventually audiobooks. Many podcasts I listened to were fiction based or about writing, and I eventually started one of my own that ran from 2014-2020, The Melting Potcast (RIP).

It was also somewhere in here that I had multiple 10,000+ word days. I almost had a 20,000-word day, but… that was a rough day. 

And the words were not that great. It was in here where… well, I’ve talked about NaNoWriMo before and what it taught me. I switched to quality over quantity in here.

In 2016, I got ANOTHER promotion to another offline department, and this was one that was even less work-intense. It was a monitoring hub for a bunch of nationwide call center departments, and unless there was a crisis going on, there was actually little to do. A lot of my coworkers spent their time reading, studying for certifications, all kinds of stuff. 

I generally did this: first couple hours, writing. I usually had some sort of goal: a chapter or two, a plot point, editing, something like that. Once I got through it… I usually started chainmailing, because it was in 2015 that that craft finally came barreling into my life. I was still cranking out a good thousand words on a good day. It was also during this time that most of my published works came out: Starsigns, Criminal From Birth, and The Deadly Studies being the most notable.

In early 2018, I got the bad news: the call center was closing. It was going to be relocate, take a BIG demotion and go back on the phones in a different department (but at a call center closer to home), or take severance.

I took severance. I lost my gym, my power naps, and all the easy writing time I’d been enjoying for the last few years. It was… very different, I’ll say.