Unusually Complimentary

There has been a strange turn of events these past few days, my husband has shown interest in my desire to be a writer.  I know! I am just as shocked as you.  Don’t get me wrong, he is … “supportive” to a degree.  He’s just a realist when it comes to dreams.  If he cannot see a hard path, he is not taking it.  Does that make sense?  Well, anyway, since I told him my plans to document our trip to London on the cheap and possibly write a book he is on-board.  He even called me on Friday and started pouring compliments over me; my body was in shock.  It is not accustomed to such gushing, but I’m not one to turn it down.

My husband told me that he thinks I would make a good travel writer because I can tell a story and I am humorous.  Which, that sentence in itself shows my humor, because the man has never thought that I’m out-right funny prior to last Friday or at least expressed any similar sentiment.  It has not been until the past few years, hanging around our friends, that he sees I can be a downright riot.  If he and I are talking I can’t crack a joke and make him laugh.  He only finds me entertaining when I say or do something stupid and he can point it out.  And like the true attention whore that I am, I play right into it, developing a whole “persona” to go along with my flustered awareness.  We just have different styles of humor with only a portion of overlap.  The most ridiculous scenarios easily amuse me.  To be a little more precise: give me a cat video any day and I will laugh so hard I will cry.  He will not.

I don’t mean to discourage him or his compliments in any way.  He is an amazing man and honest.  That’s why I always go to him for an opinion.  He will not sugar coat it.  If I wasn’t good in a play or in what I’m writing he will tell me.  Which is a double edged sword, for him and me.  The fact of the matter is that if he says I’m good at something he truly means it, and with that I am energized.  So,  during our trip I’m going to be extra-observant and take copious notes, and when I get back I can write a book proposal.

Impeach Ebola

I saw this little gem on my way into work this morning.  I wonder if it belonged to the guy in Starbucks that had this insane comb-over that at one point went outside to check the windows of the store for no apparent reason. I don’t mean to or really want to be this persons PR person but… This has to be the most nonsensical thing I’ve ever seen. Truly. And I don’t care where anyone stands when it comes to the president, this is just crazy.


First off… The thing that irritates me the most about this is that I truly believe this person thinks they’re being “witty” and “intelligent.” Ebola…. Obama… Oh my god! That’s the most hilarious comparison! I nearly died laughing. You sir, you need to be a comedian, because you’re observations are A-1 riots.


Impeach Ebola… Is the author trying to say that we should impeach the president for the two cases reported in Texas, which has so far resulted in a single death? That it is the fault of the president that Ebola has reached the Unite States? Because… if that’s the case we need to blame Reagan for AIDS back in the 80’s. I mean, really. At least this president has recognized that it’s a potential threat after a SINGLE PERSON HAS DIED, as opposed to the HUNDREDS that perished before Reagan wanted to admit AIDS was even real.


It’s strange to me how people seem to think the president is an omnipotent being that has control over every situation in the country at the same time. He’s not a god, folks. He’s a man.


Finally… Impeach him? Really? That’s like having someone run a 5K and right as the finish line is only 200 yards away, yanking him out of the race and tell him he’s done. Why don’t we just go ahead and let him finish this one out, okay? I think the House of Representatives has more important things to worry about than impeaching the president. Although, I bet they’d love to do it because then it’d look like they have actually accomplished SOMETHING. “Good work guys, we got rid of someone who attempted to do something. We’re awesome.”


I understand that we all have our differences of opinion. We are all our own individual snowflake, but when it comes to certain things a modicum of rationale has to come into one’s head before he does something that is idiotic and offensive

London is Right Around the Corner

My husband's and my trip to London is only 21 days away and I cannot wait. My mind has already started whirling with what we will do there, will it be as fun as it was last time, and how will we afford it. We bought our tickets back when my husband's business was doing better than it is now and were in a more financially stable situation. At this point in time... not so much. But, we can't get a refund for our tickets... they're already bought and paid for so we might as well just enjoy the trip.

Our plan is to try and do London on the cheap. We've already accepted it'll be a lot of "fast food" like Burger King, which happens to be across the street from our hotel, and a lot of just walking around neighborhoods "site seeing." Sounds pathetic, but I imagine that's where a lot of the fun will happen. In all of our trips it's the stuff we've done off the beaten path where our stories have sprouted from. For instance, last year we went to a chalk mine that billed itself to be very historical. We toured these twisting and turning tunnels by this tiny old man I was certain would get us lost in the dark or kill us. At one point he took our gas lamps away from us and left us in complete silence, beneath a carving that was supposed to be a druid sacrificial alter (which it was not, by the way). Then he walked back to us talking slowly. I was reminded of Sméagol in the Hobbit.

This go around there is only one thing I have to-have to do and that is go to Oxford. I would particularly like to do it on my birthday. My main purpose is to visit the grave of C. S. Lewis, my idol and the man who inspired me to be a writer. Other than that... I'm basically just along for the ride.

Thoughts On a Selfish Lie

Well, I have this webpage and pay a hefty fee to have it exist in the “inter-webs” I might as well put it to good use. My theory has been to primarily keep it to writing and my journey to establish it, yet I haven’t worked on my novel in some time. It’s primarily due to the fact that I’ve been busy with my two on-line college courses, but that’s beside the point. In reality it may be due to the fact that the chapter I stopped on was in ROUGH condition. It needs a total rehab. Full gut, full rehab. And I don’t have the “funds” for that right now. Which leads me to my point… I am a very opinionated, self-absorbed, person. Typically I reserve my rants for Facebook, but I don’t want to be “that guy,” you know? I rather use it for uplifting shit, whatever that may end up being. So thus, I am using my personal site as a platform to shout my insane opinions.

For my first entry in this “re-branding” (if you will) I wanted to make it something I am passionate about. And other than writing (and cupcakes) I am an out and proud gay man, that cares about my community; and whomever may be in that circle. I say that last part because I came across a wonderful article: How Straight Spouses Cope When Their Partners Come Out by Christine Grimaldi. You can read it here .

As a gay man, I have gone through the journey of discovery and acceptance every homosexual (sounds so clinical) person has experienced. Mine was just as rocky as any others (I went to Christian school from pre-k to 8th), but in comparison to others it was a cakewalk. I struggled to accept who I was, but once I met my first boyfriend I knew I was gay and I accepted it without further hesitation, which is weird. I realize it now that my parents inadvertently raised me to be a confident adult with my own opinions and views. True, my mother was devastated that I was gay and subsequently didn’t speak to me for two months after I came out for the second time (That’s a story for another time), but I couldn’t live a lie. Side note, my mother now introduces my husband as her son-in-law. The woman is miraculous and amazing. And like any good gay son I cherish her.

Like many before me, I attempted to date girls. My tally only got to two, but that was all I needed to know that girls are just not for me. I feel no real connection other than one of a friend and no sexual energy at all. So, my foray into the straight dating pool never left the dock. I sometimes wonder if I had never met my first boyfriend and surrounded myself with a supportive girl friend, if I would have continued to deny my sexuality. And I can’t help but feel that I would have at some point accepted it, but it would have been in secret, hiding behind a woman. Standing strong in who I am now I see that as the most selfish thing that a person could do. It’s denying the heterosexual person in the relationship a chance at true love and romance.

In my life, I’ve encountered a high number of married men looking to meet up for sexual liaisons with men. And all I can think is ‘how could you do that to someone?’ Forget living a lie and the guilt and shame involved, let us set that aside. The wife is set up for so much agony. Maybe the husband shows her little to no sexual interest, what does that do to her self-esteem? Will she ever be sexually fulfilled? What if she worries that her husband is having an affair? Or evene worse, what happens if she finds out? What happens when/if kids are involved? So much hurt building up in this lie. I am glad I never did that. The consequences are so dire that no one will leave unscathed.

The only way these situations are going to change is with acceptance. Once social stigma has been erased from being gay/lesbian can people be allowed to live as their authentic selves. I cannot help but feel that this world would be better without religion… It’s with these beliefs that people bend and twist themselves to fit some mold that no one will ever live up to. Let us not forget, the Ten Commandments state lying is a sin, but says nothing about being gay.

Midnight Update

I have been in a rut for some time. Although, in reality, when am I not? I took some much needed time off from writing for school and to read one of my friends novels. Now that I have completed both (successfully I should say), I have been taking my time reading and resting my brain. At least that's how I sell the procrastination to myself.

Ever since I worked at Border's in the stock room, there has been a book that has jumped out at me. I've read the first few pages countless times. Just it's mere placement in the Border's store confused me. It was placed in metaphysical, the synopsis and cover seemed to state otherwise. Anyway, I just stocked the things. I wasn't the one dictating their placement. Either way, I've seen it around ever since and debated whether or not I wanted to toss out the cash to purchase it for my own use. A couple days ago I did just that in an effort to buy myself a little happy. I was stressing over my choice of going to a "special event" I had been planning on attending for the past six months, or doing a show written and directed by one of my closest (if not best) friends. At the time of auditioning I had an idea that it would conflict, but I thought it would be a simple answer and it wasn't. Basically it boiled down to my husband building up doubt in my thoughts until I couldn't handle my feelings. So, I escaped to Coldstone for a Strawberry Shortcake Serenade, which the bitch had no idea what I was talking about (noob), and then I traipsed over to Target to buy some more joy. Thus I finally broke down and bought "The Alchemist" by Paul Coelho.

The book was fantastic. His short, quick, style of storytelling was a little off-putting at first but once I had become accustomed to it the story opened up for me. As I was about halfway through the novel I understood it's Border's placement. It bordered on allegory, self help, and fiction. I wouldn't know where to put it now, really.

While reading it all I could think about was my own Personal Legend and how I was going to achieve it.

I don't want to ruin the ending, so instead I will just say: Read the effing thing now! It was very... As cheesy as it sounds, it was very inspiring for me. And I have taken a small step to get back to editing. I will have my novel finished. I will get it published. And it will be read by hundreds of people. (I'm starting small.)

Postcard From the Edge

It has been some time since I have written or updated anything with this particular online journal. Well, my personal-personal blog hasn't languished. It's been rather busy these past few months, but there are just some things you don't want to put on blast on one's own personal site. Especially since the intention of this site is to be a platform to build a writing/author career. But basically, people don't need a face for my crazy displays.

Insanity aside I have been making great progress with my book. I mean, enough that it has reignited my fire for my novel The Love Immortal. My current finish date is sometime in August.

I was having a tough time (if you haven't seen in prior posts) editing the damn thing. The moment I sat down at the keyboard to edit I would panic and then subsequently stop altogether because I had gone... for lack of a better word, crazy. I was just overwhelmed. So, I pushed it aside and then just tried to forget about it in an attempt to have my creative ego become a flat surface again. It was in these moments of silence in between projects that I came up with an idea.

When I was younger I remember I would spend hours, HOURS, sitting at my keyboard editing my novel at the time. I would prop up my notebook with either my new chapters to input into WordPad or my corrections from the work already inserted, and I would go to town. I love that memory and would look back and wonder what happened to that kid. Where did he go?

I analyzed the scene and it became clear to me. I would work at one piece at a time. I took baby steps in a larger project. That thought then lead to when I actually finished this project the first go around, NaNoWriMo. And then it dawned on me that it's all about moderation. When I took a massive undertaking and broke it into bite size pieces I was able to accomplish my goals. So, I took my entire novel and broke it from one word document into 31 and agreed to work on one chapter at a time.

I was still nervous from my previous attempt and decided to vent my fears on my personal blog. That was when a person I had never met offered up a token of advice I had never thought of; she said to print out each chapter and edit them on paper.

At the time I thought this woman's suggestion was preposterous. I didn't see how printing it out would make any difference than reading it on a computer screen. Editing is editing regardless. Although, I was desperate and didn't see the harm In giving it a try. Besides, it fit in with that memory of mine.

On the first day I blew through the first chapter and made some great notes and corrections. On the second I input them and transferred the file into a folder titled "Final." Since that time I have finished 8 chapters and couldn't be prouder or more exhilarated to continue on. It felt as though I had found that kid in that moment.

Now, I am forcing myself to remain focused on this task and not on my query letter synopsis.

I hope to have another update soon sharing even more about my progress.

My advice to you (whomever you may be) print the damn thing out to edit. It DOES make a world of difference.

Up From the Murky Depths

It's difficult to become a writer. It's even worse to get past your own demons. I know I've written about this many times before but it is a problem that plagues me every single day. In the moments that I feel strong and the darkness has crept back into the murky hallows of my thoughts I feel invincible. I know that when I get home I will sit my butt down in my chair and I will write. My fingers will fly over the keys giving birth to my words. Yet it is in the moment that I sit down that the creatures of fear and insecurity smell the fresh creativity and they come slithering from their holes and consume everything in their sights until I am left hallow and can barely bring myself to even look at my manuscript. (They just might eat that too... you never know.)

Patton Oswalt has this bit about this movie he saw called "Death Bed" and his own journey of screen writing. It's a hilarious piece of writing and if you're easily offended I'd tread lightly with his other pieces but this one is pretty tame. It mainly is his imagined story of the guy that wrote and sold the idea for "Death Bed: the Bed that Eats People," and how the author had never any doubt in his mind that it was good. Or, as Patton so eloquently puts it, even worse had his moments of doubt and pushed through them to finish the script to the horrible film.

As I struggle through this I am amazed anything ever gets published. Truly. If I ever come into contact with someone who has truly taken the time to edit their work, sent it to an agent, and had it commercially published, I want to shake their hand where I will then inevitably fall to their feet, clutching onto their legs, while I cry. My main goal to hopefully absorb their supernatural powers. If that plan fails, then I would ask them what they did. I've read a few books. All of it is the same. "Ignore your inner critic." You've met critics, right? They're loud, obnoxious, opinionated, douches; and the only way to ever silence them is to hit them with a car. So, unless I want to write a book in the vein of "orange is the new black" that isn't the route I particularly want to take.

I feel like I need to be more specific. Where track on my creativity train seems to end is when it comes to editing ravine. The men that were supposed to build a bridge failed to complete it across the expanse and now whatever attempts are made causes the train to derail and plummet to the rocky terrain below. I can't be critical with my own work. I could when I was kid, for some reason, but as an adult I'm way more fragile than I ever was as a high school student. I remember sitting at my computer for hours after inputting my written notes into WordPad and then going through cutting, rearranging, rewording, each one of my chapters without shedding a tear. It was just something that had to get done. It was just part of the process. No one ever told me, I just knew. It's only after I read books and put all the pressure on myself that I I'm scared to even try.

I wish I could go back and talk to my childhood self. It never occurred to me, until just now, that no one (other than my school teachers I guess) how to edit. It was just something I did. It was a process I picked up entirely on my own and I would remain at my desk for hours doing it. Now when I pick up the story that I edited from that time it's really quite good. The tone, the structure, the pacing. Everything. The story captured my attention that even I, who knew where the story went, wanted to keep reading. I had forgotten so many of the little things I had done.

Musings of a 10 year plan

So, I’m flighty. I know it and am owning it. I flit from one thing to the next always hoping to find where it is I belong. I don’t understand why I couldn’t have done this when I was a teenager and not in my twenties but… life lesson learned, time wasted, moving on. My main goal will always be the same. No matter what new dream I concoct it will always remain “get published.” Even when I buckle down and then spaz out because I become increasingly overwhelmed I still maintain that hope of one day publishing one of my novels. That’s how I know it is what I want to do. Now, I may want it more so now than later but I am discovering the art itself has a mind and a clock of its own. And I may want it done at one point but it will inevitably be done when it’s done. And as embarrassing as all of my “breakdowns” have been they haven’t been for nothing. I have discovered/realized that a few pieces in my moments of madness weren’t working or were missing entirely that became abundantly clear.

My most recent meltdown has lead me to a hiatus until march, whereupon I will return to my manuscript with vigor and a fresh eye. I know I put too much pressure on myself and expect 100% perfection the first go around. And that’s not how writing works. It’s editing, editing, editing, editing, editing, editing, and editing. Editing. And I’m a lazy son of a bitch. I don’t want to do that so I want it to be perfect from the word go which boils my brain and causes me to crash, hard. Thus I have to take long sabbaticals just to get my ducks in order. At this rate I’ll get my book done in 20 years. That just doesn’t work for me. As petty as it sounds (and a bit arrogant), I want to enjoy the fruits of my labor. I have plans with my writing career and I have other stories to tell.

Thus, I’ve started to develop a ten year plan in my head. I’ve never really done one before. Sure in my sophomore year of high school they asked me to do one but that one was just to turn in so I could get the credit. It wasn’t thought out at all. I basically just threw words at a page. Now I want to do a proper one. So beyond my ultimate goal, and a more realistic, solid (dare-I-say ‘achievable’) goal is to move to and live in London. It’s something I’ve always wanted and still want. My trip last year only solidified that desire even more. So, how do I get there? I need to work backwards. I do like to write. It’s relaxing, especially when I’m not doing it on company time trying to keep an ear out for my boss coming around the corner. (Is that an admission of guilt?) So what are ways to earn an actual income doing that? Journalism. Okay, how do you get into that? I did some quick research of job listings and most jobs require an applicant to either be in the process of getting a bachelors in journalism or a post graduate. Balls. I have next to no higher education. It’s that lazy thing again. So that leads me to the next lower step. Education. Thus, a ten year plan and not five.

It’s been so long since I’ve been in school. I’ve taken the odd class here and there at the local Junior College but nothing noteworthy. And one of my classes was, according to my teacher, beneath me, but she would shower me in compliments and had such a personality that I stayed in her class. But I never did any homework and failed it with a big fat F. As much fun as she was, I DO NOT want to re-take Basic English. Yes. I took Basic. English. It was during my “get back to basics” phase. I don’t know what the hell I was smoking. I was in a delirium is all I can say. But while I was taking this class I was also doing Creative Writing and got an A. So… go figure. One would assume one would cancel out the other but that’s not how it works, thus my dilemma. Luckily, there is a wonderful little loophole that if I switch to a different JC, and don’t transfer any prior credits, I can start with a clean slate. So that’s what I’m going to do, as a way to ditch the shortcomings of old Josh.

How I look at it, Journalism benefits me personally with my own personal goals, it also looks good on a resume that I have a college education, and it gets me into writing. I don’t really see a downside, other than I’m starting this as I’m pushing 30. God, I hate me. Always late to the party, aren’t you, Josh?