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Resolutionpalooza: Day 3

January 4, 2026

I spent an inordinately long time searching for a theme picture for today’s “Resolutionpalooza” post. Most of them were really bony, awkward feet, and the others were photos of shirtless dudes measuring their bulging bellies.

I’m sparing you both. This is a post about losing weight.

One of the most detrimental combinations known to man is snacking and not moving. After the pandemic, this became my life…even after the world opened back up.

It wasn’t long before I was piling on weight, and I felt helpless to make it stop.

Since 2022, I’ve piled on about 100+ pounds, and I’ve basically removed any leash on what I eat — with the exception of meat. I haven’t had real meat since 2013, and I think I’d be sick if I started eating it again.

However, it includes chips and cookies and non-dairy ice cream, pizza and fast food and M&Ms and chocolate of all sorts, popcorn and candy and gallons of Coke Zero. I eat like I’m 12 years old.

This year, I’m determined to kick this habit. It’s going to be difficult, but I know I’m capable of doing it, and this year I’m focused on making that happen.

You would think I would’ve tackled this sooner. In December 2024, I received my 10th cardiac stent, which should’ve included some kind of prize. Also, it should’ve included a Comedy Roast where comedians make fun of me for being an idiot with a heart condition who still eats like a frat boy.

Alas, I have to sit with myself, be kind to myself and help me remember what it felt like to weigh more than 100 lbs. less than I do now. I walked all over the place without fear of my feet hurting or being out of breath. I was able to exercise, and stand for long periods of time. I was able to cook and clean without getting winded immediately. My clothes — most of which I really liked — used to fit me.

Today, I’m 6’5″ tall and 335 lbs. I’m uncomfortable in my clothes. I wear oversized shirts that barely cover my belly. I’m constantly tugging at my pants to keep them up. The minute I enter a room, I’m searching for a place to sit.

I don’t want to get old before I get old. I’ll turn 54 this year, and it’s the year before (statistically) a lot of men start dropping dead of heart attacks and strokes. I don’t want to be a casualty.

I can’t rely on meds and supplements alone to fix my heart issues. Diet, exercise, mindset, grind…it’s all part of adding a few more years to the calendar.

I know I can do the things I set my mind to. And this year, I’m focused on being healthy again.

I still have a lot of things I want to do. And, if I can hang on, there are several exciting new meds on the horizon that literally get rid of arterial plaque.

I wouldn’t want to miss that.
Resolutionpalooza: Day 2

January 4, 2026

Back in 2012, when I started my current job, I had a 30-minute commute to work. I would leave the house around 7:15 or so, catching the first rays of the sun.

Stillmore Road, which took me from Stillmore, Georgia, to Highway 46 in Metter, is largely unremarkable. It’s a lot of houses, trailers, woods, a few ponds here and there. But to catch it in the morning light? It was otherworldly.

The above photo is a picture I took with my phone during one of my morning commutes.

I don’t know when I got out of the habit of taking photos, but I miss it, and I’m determined to be intentional about it again…not because I want to be a renowned photographer, but because the act of stopping and admiring and creating was therapeutic. It made me tap into that intuitive part of myself — something I find myself doing less and less.

I have some friends at work that take one second of video every day of the year, and then they combine it all into one video that gives them a video record of where they were, what they were doing and who they were with. I love that, but I don’t know that I’m persistent enough to pull it off — that and it’s already the third day of the year, so I’m behind the 8-ball. I don’t know…I could give that a whirl.

I know I want to take photos again. I want to have something that makes me look at the world around me, and in order to look at the world around me, I have to go out into the world around me. That means leaving the house. That means interacting with others. That means getting out of my funk.

Creativity makes me happy. I love looking at all the old photos I have on Instagram. I remember the moments where I pulled over on the side of the road, risking absurd looks from my neighbors and passersby — once even having someone from Crider (a chicken canning plant) ask me what I was doing because I was taking pictures near the facility.

The point is I want to be creative — actively creative. Taking photos, enjoying the beauty of nature or architecture or people or art, gives me joy. And the joy that comes from that fuels me to be more and to do more.

This year, I want to create. I want to be inspired. I want to observe. I want to record.
Resolutionpalooza: Day 1

January 2, 2026

This time of year, I feel like the pundits and self-help gurus do a gajillion think pieces on why you shouldn’t make resolutions in the new year.

But they usually replace “resolutions” with something that’s basically resolutions, but somehow technically different…not resolutions but realizations…not resolutions but attainable goals…not resolutions but systems…etc. etc.

I’m just realizing that if I’m going to do anything this year worth doing, I need to have a list of what I want to do and why I want to do it. I’m a big believer in the “why” of it all. If your why isn’t strong enough, if you can’t imagine a better future, if you can’t picture how a life change will make things remarkably different, you won’t stick with it.

And for me, I need something to aim at. So, I’ll take ’em one thing at a time, one time a day. For one, it’ll give me something to write each day. For another, writing out my “why” will help me understand its importance.

The first thing I want to do this year — MUST do, even — is get off my phone. My screen time this unfinished week is an average of 5 hours, 12 minutes PER DAY. That’s obscene. That’s time I can’t get back. On Tuesday, Dec. 30, I was on my phone for SEVEN HOURS in ONE DAY. That’s a full day’s work. I spent it staring at my screen.

I cannot imagine the number of neurons I killed in that session, can’t imagine how much dumber I came away from that dopamine-fueled haze.

Each year, I set a goal to read 30 books or more. I’ve been doing it since 2014. I can only think of one or two years where I aimed for less, but inevitably, I went above and beyond, sometimes reading more than 40 books for the year.

To be a writer, you have to be a reader. No two ways about it.

This year? I read 18 books. And out of those 18 books, 6 were comic books. I only read 12 novel-length books.

I know I’ve been apathetic. I haven’t been as engaged as I was in the past. I used to enjoy learning, used to love getting engrossed in stories. Now I’m thinking about stories…on Instagram…or reels…or YouTube shorts. I’m a short-form content junky — restless and frenetic.

And if I’m not diving down the rabbit hole of content, I’m playing games. I play Sudoku and this Wood Block Puzzle thing, and every morning, I play Wordle and Bandle. I tell myself it’s to keep my brain sharp, and to an extent, it does. However, it’s more and more hours on my phone, and I’d like to get to where I’m on it maybe an hour or two max per day.

I have a lot of work to get there.

I was thinking about Bo Burnham’s mini-tirade on social media recently. I watched it again today. He’s always been so prescient about social media and its infestation in our lives. This video is three minutes long. It’s worth your time.

Don’t get me wrong…not everything I watch is pointless. I interact with content that is inspiring, encouraging, informative and challenging. But I also see a ton of AI slop, reaction videos, dumb, recycled jokes from content creators, all trying to copy one another, useless violence, political debates, division and general chaos.

I want to be able to focus again — to block out the world and immerse myself in a story, whether fiction or not, that teaches me empathy and makes me look at the world differently.

I want that for myself this year, and it starts with less time affixed to a screen.

Photo by Ian Schneider on Unsplash
Happy Big Ear — Er, New Year

January 2, 2026

It’s officially 2026, and I don’t feel any different.

Not that I thought I would, but I thought I might at least have a little motivation to kick the year off right — a little gusto or something. I have a habit of setting myself up like this, though. I have high expectations and then let myself down.

I’m trying to create small wins for myself. This post being one of them. My hope is that momentum builds upon momentum — tiny habits become larger ones.

New Year’s Eve we watched the ball drop in New York, counted down with the proverbial millions, wished each other Happy New Year and then decided to watch one of the most bonkers holiday specials ever conceived.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen “Rudolph’s Shiny New Year,” but it’s a must-watch. Apparently, in Rudolph’s world, each year has a physical manifestation in Father Time. He starts the year as a baby and ends it as an old man carrying a sickle. My working theory about this particular detail is that when it’s time for the new Baby New Year, he puts the hood of his cloak over his head, it turns black and he becomes Death.

Anyways…the new Baby New Year has disappeared. Apparently, he has huge ears (pictured above), and people tend to laugh at them, which, of course, hurts his feelings and makes him run off yet again.

So, Santa sends Rudolph on a mission to find him with a “real Clock Soldier,” which is apparently a big deal in Rudolph-world. I won’t go plot line by plot line, but Rudolph has to go through the time archipelago, a series of islands that are specific years in time, to find the baby. Along the way, he meets a caveman, this big camel/clock, a whale/clock and a knight (voiced on steroids by Frank Gorshin) and is chased by a giant bird called “Eon,” who wants to make sure the baby never gets to Father Time’s castle because his time is apparently up this year.

It’s every bit as surreal as it sounds, but it’s one of our favorite animated holiday specials.

Earlier this week, I saw “It’s a Wonderful Life,” another attempt to hang on to Christmas spirit long after it was over. I’ve been thinking about that movie ever since. It’s about a man who learns to be grateful for his life.

I love the part where he’s just come back to Bedford Falls after experiencing what it’s like to have never been born, and upon realizing that his mouth is bleeding again (like it was before we was whisked to an alternate dimension), he starts shouting, “My mouth’s bleedin’ Bert! My mouth’s bleedin’!” His unbridled excitement about it is contagious, and it gets me every time.

I was thinking about gratefulness as I watched that goofy Rudolph movie with my kids…thinking about how grateful I am to be alive…to have a good job…to have a roof over my head, food to eat, cars that work…and the fact that I have use of my legs and arms and brain and all. So many people have none of that.

I’ll tell you truthfully, my four faithful readers, I don’t feel whole these days. I feel like something broke in me, and I’m not sure what it is or what will repair it. But I’m grateful for another day, another year.

I’m grateful for another opportunity to figure it out and learn how to move on.
A Journey by Any Other Name…

December 30, 2025

“The important thing is not where you were or where you are but where you want to get.” — Dave Mahoney

Do I know who Dave Mahoney is? No. He could be one of several people, including a former CEO during the Nixon years, a former football coach or a misunderstanding of Dave AND Mahoney, who’ve run a successful radio show for a number of years.

Doesn’t matter, though. This is a post about “the journey.”

I kind of hate the idea of “the journey” because it’s so cliché. It’s a journey that leads you down rocky paths, and sometimes you reach the top of the mountain, but you have to go through the valley to get to the next peak, etc. etc. ad nauseum ad infinitum.

Point is I’m starting over.

In 2013, after getting my fifth or sixth cardiac stent — I forget which (I have 10 now) — I was “scared straight,” and decided to follow a strict vegan diet according to research by Caldwell Esselstyn. I followed this diet fairly strictly for the next 10 years. I probably allowed myself more sugar than I should’ve, but I was eating plants — nothing processed, nothing I wasn’t making in a kitchen with raw ingredients.

When I started my weight loss journey in 2013, I weighed about 350 lbs. I lost 130 lbs. in just over a year just by nutrition alone…and the occasional walk. I hovered around 235 lbs for the next eight or nine years, and when I started exercising regularly, I rarely visited the hospital again.

After the pandemic, however, the wheels came off…slowly at first, but then all at once. Today, I’m 335 lbs — still under my heaviest weight, but still quite heavy. And I’m not focusing on the heaviness just because I don’t like the way I look. My Body Mass Index (BMI) is 41, which is “Extremely Obese.” With my risk factors and my genes, I’m in danger health-wise. There’s no other way to look at it.

And so here I am again, starting over.

While writing on a blog probably seems completely unrelated to nutrition, it does have a lot to do with my mindset. To be a writer, I have to write — not everything all at once, but post by post, graf by graf, word by word. Eventually, I’ll look back on a complete body of work, but today, I’m that toddler in the picture, looking at all the steps in front of me.

I’m trying to remember that Mahoney quote today — whoever that guy is. It’s not important where I’ve been or where I am right now, it’s where I’m headed.

Cliché or not, I’m on a journey. This is still the beginning.

Photo by Jukan Tateisi on Unsplash
Sucking vs. Skipping

December 29, 2025

I promise I’m going to explain this headline in a minute, but first…

I wasn’t ready for how quickly Christmas passed this year.

I worked a good chunk of Christmas Eve and hadn’t wrapped my brain around the holidays. Before I knew it, I was wrapping presents, making sure they were set around the tree, going to bed, and waking up Christmas morning.

It felt like whiplash, and just like that, the day was over.

Since then, I’ve been resisting in my own pointless way. My wife and I have been watching Christmas movies as recently as last night. Honestly, I’ll probably continue this holiday movie marathon until we’re forced to take down the tree.

In the meantime, though, I’d like to be ready for the New Year. Hence, the revival of this blog and its re-inaugural post.

Truth be told, I don’t feel like I’ve been ready for the New Year in quite a long time. After the pandemic, I began shutting down in a way I never imagined, and the effects lingered long after the world opened up again. In fact, I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve been inside a grocery store this year.

So, while I’m watching Christmas movies, hanging on to the holidays as tightly as possible, I’m also thinking about this New Year and what I’d like it to be.

Albert Einstein said that in order to have a happy life, you have to tie it to goals instead of people or things. I can’t remember the last goal I made for myself, and the farther from any goals I get, the less and less meaning I feel like I have in my life.

Which brings me here.

Writing is a way for me to process the world, to understand what I’m thinking, and to fulfill an intrinsic goal that is fundamentally a part of who I am. If I’m not writing, I’m thinking about how I’m not writing.

But it’s not just about writing, it’s about controlling a little corner of my world. Here, in this little corner, I’ve exercised my authority. I’ve overcome apathy. I’ve cared and curated and expressed in this place where AI isn’t welcome.

It’s just me and my brain and HTML/CSS.

I’ve been dialing back on the social media lately. I was losing giant globs of time in reels, doomscrolling and brain rot. However, once in a while, I’ve come across some really good information, which leads us to our headline.

In an interview with some self-help influencer (I forget whom), Sharran Srivastaa (whom I’ve never heard of before or since) said the following.

“It’s okay to suck, but it’s not okay to skip. I go to the gym. I only do five minutes of elliptical. I’m out. I sucked, but I’m not skipping. So I’m reading a book and saying I’m going to read 10 pages a night. Maybe I’ll read one page that night. It’s okay to suck, but it’s not okay to skip. Because when you start skipping, it’s really easy to fall off. “

In my estimation, I haven’t spent enough time making sure this post doesn’t suck. But I didn’t skip. I’d like to make that a habit — not because I want to be an influencer or make this place into a moneymaker, but just because it’s good for my soul.

It means I’m being intentional. It means I’m pursuing a goal. It means — even in a small way — I’m living on purpose.

Merry Freakin’ Christmas to those who continue to celebrate.

Photo by Unseen Studio on Unsplash
How I Learned to Ditch the Dad Rock and Use Punk-Rock as My Palliative

November 28, 2021

They’ve named a genre of music after guys like me. They call it “dad rock.”

I can’t decide if I should feel insulted. Maybe Fleet Foxes should feel insulted? I don’t know.

They call it that presumably because it’s tame, easy on the ears, a palliative narcotic for oldsters like me…so’s I don’t get too excited, I guess…blood pressure and all.

Dad rock assumes I like my music like any parent would like their children to be — peaceable, quiet, obedient, clean and tidy, etc. It doesn’t need me to “get it.” It doesn’t give me eye rolls if I don’t share its point of view. Upon further consideration, it is exactly like my kids if they were heavily medicated.

I remember being at a very adult, very “dad rock” kind of party a few years ago, when my friends and I discussed our mellowing musical tastes. “I just can’t stand that loud, aggressive stuff anymore,” said I. “If I’m going to bathe in nostalgia, I’m hunting bath bombs like ’80s-era Smiths, R.E.M. and U2. If I want a splash of something more contemporary, give me Real Estate, Wilco, The War on Drugs or Phosphorescent.” This is what I said. In public.

And don’t get me wrong, I love all those bands. But something has happened.

Lately I’ve been craving feedback. Scrawling guitars, screaming vocalists that sound like they gargle nails. I want Soundgarden, with their sludgy metal riffs. I want Mudhoney, wth Mark Arm’s screech, screaming “F**k You” to just about anybody. I want caterwauling smart alecks like Pavement to mock the scenesters. I want new bands like METZ to play fast and loud and pound my ears into dust.

What on earth makes a largely docile quadragenarian like me suddenly crave that kind of noise? It’s something I’ve been thinking about and trying to articulate for months.

Growing up, pretty much every adult in my vicinity would tell me not to listen to certain kinds of music. “Oh, don’t listen to Prince,” they said. “He’s filthy.” “Don’t listen to Run DMC. They say curse words.” “Don’t listen to KISS! Don’t you know it stands for Knights in Satan’s Service?!” Ad nauseum, ad infinitum.

The accepted idea seems to be that if you hear the music, it would make you feel a certain way. But that hasn’t been my experience. What I’ve found in myself — and why shouldn’t I assume that everyone thinks the same way? — is that when I feel a certain way, I go looking for the music that gives voice to that.

Not to gloat or anything, but turns out my theory is backed by science.

Australian psychologists Leah Sherman, Ph.D., and Genevieve A. Dingle, Ph.D., published a 2015 study entitled “Extreme metal music and anger processing.”

In the study, Sherman and Dingle tested extreme music listeners ages 18-34. They subjected them to “anger induction,” which consisted of a substantial interview where they were asked to describe an event that led to extreme anger for them.

Once they were sufficiently and measurably perturbed, they were given their personal playlist, which consisted of bands like Rage Against the Machine, Meshuggah, Slipknot, Metallica and Judas Priest to help them relax.

“This study found that extreme music fans listen to music when angry to match their anger, and to feel more active and inspired,” read the conclusion. “They also listen to music to regulate sadness and to enhance positive emotions. The results refute the notion that extreme music causes anger but further research is required to replicate these findings in naturalistic social contexts, and to investigate the potential contributions of individual listener variables on this relationship between extreme music listening and anger processing.”

So, basically what I said, right?

Which brings me to a quick bit that just might trigger those of you who might be particularly tribal these days.

I don’t think it’s a hot take to say that America is officially off her meds right now. I mean, it seriously feels like we’re playing “Dial A Disaster,” and every single spoke on the wheel is catastrophic or insane. I feel it. My kids feel it. My coworkers feel it. There’s just an indefinable, overwhelming malaise that just seeps its way into everything lately.

It’s depressing, but it also makes me angry. I feel like this angst and tension is self-inflicted, and I feel helpless to make it stop. We can’t talk about real issues mainly because we can’t talk about politics…and we’ve literally made everything political. So we all walk around avoiding the subject — any subject — in public, and save all the vitriol and anger for Facebook and Twitter.

This is the way we live right now. It feels so crazy.

And so, when I get in the car and want to hear music on Pandora, I don’t listen to the R.E.M. station, or the Tribe Called Quest station, or The Meters station, I go straight to Mudhoney…which serves up delectable doses of Helmet and Nirvana and L7 and Sonic Youth. And my soul feels this wave of delight and relief.

It wasn’t long ago that we were blaming bands like Linkin Park, Marilyn Manson and Judas Priest for all kinds of villainy. But I’ll bet you the feelings were there before the music was.

That being said, I honestly look forward to the day that I go hunting for the dad rock again.

May we return to the Steely Dan days…and soon.

Photo credit: Natalie Parham at Unsplash
Four Lessons for Creatives from The Beatles

November 28, 2021

Seems like some people are split on “Get Back,” the six-hour documentary on The Beatles.

However, it doesn’t matter if you found it boring or fascinating. Whether you watched all six hours or barely made it past the first episode, I’m here to tell you it’s a masterclass on the creative process.

If you aren’t a Beatles fan, you might need a little context. Most of the songs the lads are fiddling with on “Get Back” were recorded specifically for the album “Let It Be,” but you get to hear nuggets of songs that ended up on the seminal “Abbey Road” album as well.

I would recommend taking some time to listen to those albums in their entirety before sitting down to watch the documentary. It’s important to get a sense of how complete and beautiful many of those songs are before you see these musicians picking and plonking their way through the melodies.

And while I loved to see the myths of the band’s demise dispelled — particularly the notion that it was all Yoko’s fault — the absolute best part of this documentary is what we can learn about the creative process from these master musicians.

I don’t know about you, but I struggle with process as a writer. I’m either avoiding it, struggling to get words on the page, or just moving at a snail’s pace because I’m second-guessing every sentence (which is why I’ve rewritten this post twice already).

No matter if you create music or write or create content, here are some priceless takeaways from these six hours of Beatles footage.

First drafts ALWAYS suck. Always.

In Part 1, we learn the group has the better part of two weeks to come up with songs for a live album that will also be a television special, presumably to be played in Libya. No pressure, right?

They jump straight away to sharing songs with one another. Paul shares the core of “I’ve Got A Feeling,” as well as “Two of Us.” John shares some ideas for “Don’t Let Me Down.” At times they’re just playing and shouting chords at each other. John is just kind of testing melodies and harmonies or making up words. The rest of the band is just kind of strumming through. Ringo is playing a straight beat just to get a feel for where the changes are. In short, it’s trash. They sound like amateurs.

This is where people on Twitter have said things like, “this is so boring,” and “who would want to watch people doing this?”

Just stick around, Karen. They figure it out. But first, they have to just get a sense of what it is. And to do that, they have to just get it down, trash and all.

So do you. Get it on paper. Record it on your phone. Do what you have to to get the nucleus of the idea, and accept that it’s going to suck.

Don’t forget to PLAY.

As I watched footage of the most legendary band in history, I was struck by how much they would just aimlessly jam. John or Paul would just launch into a song like “Blue Suede Shoes,” and everyone would join in. They’d start singing it in Scottish accents. John and Paul did a full take of “Two of Us” clenching their teeth like ventriloquists and not moving their mouths.

It seemed like absolute chaos at times. But in that play, they were learning to trust each other, tighten up as a band, get a different perspective on melodies or harmonies.

As creatives, we can often approach our work as drudgery, especially if we’re stuck or don’t know where to go next. Authors, play a “What if?” game with your characters, and come up with wild ways you could advance the story. Songwriters, try your song as a rap, or play the entire song on a kazoo.

Play around, let your mind run wild, and see what you come up with.

Turn off your INNER EDITOR!

In six hours of footage, I can’t recall one time that anyone said, “That’s not a good idea for a song.” In Part 3, Ringo is playing around on the piano with the melody for “Octopus Garden,” one of his sillier contributions to “Abbey Road.” George hears him messing around and immediately picks up his guitar to start making suggestions about how the melody could go.

He doesn’t discourage him. He doesn’t say, “This sounds like a kiddie song!” He just jumps in.

All of them have turned their editors off in the early sessions. They’re feeling their way through songs, and they know that editing isn’t needed yet.

One of my biggest weaknesses as a writer is that I can be a horrible perfectionist, which keeps me from writing at all. Killing that editor is a must if we’re going to make creative work.

Don’t be afraid of FEEDBACK

One of the highlights of “Get Back” is to watch as keyboard player Billy Preston visited Apple Studios to see his friend George Harrison. They ask him to jam with them on a couple of songs, and his input changes everything. He jams on “Get Back” and adds piano flourishes that take the song light-years beyond what it was. As he plays, you can see The Beatles’ faces light up and literally watch their enthusiasm ignite.

Sometimes, as creatives, we’re too precious about our work. We’re afraid of collaborating or getting feedback because we’re afraid someone won’t like what we’ve done, or maybe we’re afraid of changing the work.

Being open to feedback, having other eyes and ideas on our work could be the thing to make it truly great.

Whether you’re a Beatles fan or not (and why aren’t you?), the documentary is absolutely worth the watch. It’s beautiful and sad and instructive and life-affirming.

And it made me want to break out the laptop and start getting words on paper.

I hope it does the same for you.
Write what you know…OR do this…

November 22, 2021

I just started reading the Writer’s Digest Guide to Magazine Article Writing by Kerrie Flanagan. I’m barely into the book, but I read a sentence that stopped me in my tracks and I can’t stop thinking about it.

First of all, a little background. I’ve been a writer for years. Well, for years I was a non-writing writer. And then I was a sporadically writing writer. And now I’m a writer who writes for his day job and also writes a little on the side but wants to write a lot MORE on the side.

I’m a nonfiction addict, too. I gravitate to writers like John McPhee, who held me rapt for more than 700 pages on the subject of geography in his Annals of the Former World; Gay Talese, whose ability to parse even the smallest of details just astounds me; Chuck Klosterman, a pop culture addict like myself who can wax philosophical about anything, including heavy metal music; Lester Bangs, whose music criticism leaps off the page, slaps you around and leaves you wanting more; J.R. Moehringer, whose ability to tell a true story is absolutely devastating; William Finnegan, whose book Barbarian Days just hypnotized me and pulled me into an appreciation for the art and craft of surfing I’d never considered before.

These are just a few of the people I want to emulate. I want to be like them. I want to write like them. John McPhee alone has written books about a tennis game, about transportation, about Bill Bradley, about oranges. The man could write about insurance and I’d read every word.

I guess what I’m saying is that I want to be able to write like these people, but when I sit down to the blank page, when I think about a subject that would command my attention for the years it would require to write a book — something I’ve dreamed of doing for years — I clam up. “I don’t know what to write about,” I think to myself.

And then the sage advice comes to mind, known and repeated by anyone who’s ever even glanced at a writing book or searched for writing help on YouTube — “write what you know.”

But then I started reading this book. And here’s what Flanagan says…

“There’s advice floating around that says, write what you know, but that should be expanded to write what you want to know.”

It seems so simple, but it absolutely blew my mind.

When I think about what I want to write about, I feel like I should be an expert on what I’m writing, that I should be an authority before I put fingers to keys.

But with Flanagan’s advice, I can just chase my curiosity — something that again sounds rudimentary, but I never considered.

And I am curious. One of the things I love about working for a university is that I’m constantly writing stories about things I’ve never heard of before.

I’ve written stories about algal turf scrubbers. I’ve written stories about nanofibers that can deliver cancer medications to specific areas of the body. I’ve written about interesting people who’ve succeeded in their lives, and I’ve written about people who had to experience abject failure before they found their path.

Following my curiosity is something I love to do. It’s why I read as widely as I do. It’s why I love journalism and the journalists who create these riveting stories. And I want it to become the thing that drives me to realize the writing life I’m after.

So if you’ve ever been stuck like I am, take this great advice. Don’t just write what you know. Write what you WANT to know and see where it takes you.
Does great writing do this to you?

August 7, 2020

A late night Twitter gush from yours truly…

I’m struggling to articulate what I’m feeling tonight. I feel like I’m drunk. Do you ever feel that way about great writing?

I haven’t even read anything life-changing. I mean, it’s the introduction to “The Best American Sp orts Writing 2013” by J.R. Moehringer. I doubt he intended it to be the pinnacle of his writing career.

But I don’t know. I honestly started to skip it. I mean, why read the introduction, right? “Eh, do it anyway,” I thought. “Give the guy a shot.” Or maybe it was just the OCD in me that says, “Have you REALLY read the entire book if you haven’t read the intro?”

But I was drawn in with a story, excited by the rhythm and the choice of the words, enchanted by the ideas. Good writing…it just leads you…like a lover that gently takes your hand and walks you into a pecan grove.

I don’t know why I’m waxing poetic about an introduction. I guess I just realize how fragile and special a thing it is to write well. It’s a talent — scratch that. It’s a hard-won CRAFT that doesn’t get the respect it deserves.

And in this age of snippets and sound bites and content vomit — when even the leader of the world can barely string sentences together — good writing is just RAPTURE.

Maybe that’s what I’m feeling. Rapture. When you see the craft of something and you acknowledge it and you truly BEHOLD it and it makes you want to run grab your notebook and do the same thing.

Or, in this case, take to Twitter and gush the praises of @JRMoehringer a writer you never read before tonight (but I have a copy of “Open” that I will certainly read soon) in an anthology you picked up for 50 cents at Goodwill.

Just the joy of this book — this FIND — this little treasure randomly plucked from a shelf in Statesboro, Georgia, of all places, and the joy of the words and the thoughtfulness behind them…I know! I sound drunk!

But it’s like that sometimes when I read. And I guess I wish everyone could experience that with me. Because language is powerful. It can change you. It can make you laugh or make you see yourself differently. It can alter history.

And isn’t that just the coolest?!

Don’t mind me. Now that everyone is staring I’ll just go back to reading my book.

First drafts ALWAYS suck. Always.

Don’t forget to PLAY.

Turn off your INNER EDITOR!

Don’t be afraid of FEEDBACK