writer

February 5, 2025

Solo Cruise Retrospective

It is super humorous to me how I begin each of my posts (as of late) like I’m a fucking Carrie Bradshaw. Like some mega corporation is paying me to write about my adventures, pretending it’s not just me putting out my own fucking “brand.” (God that’s ridiculous: brand.) Each of these posts I start off as professional as I can, as if my editors want pizazz and intrigue to hook my readers. Like I have any…

I get about two paragraphs in and I feel so inauthentic. I don’t like how I sound or how I will be perceived. Then I delete whatever bullshit I typed out and drop this bizarre facade I don and then write how I truly feel; how it exists in my head.

Maybe this is just my technique? I need to broom out the cobwebs before I can get to my real “shine.”

Despite my prior post “waking up panicked,” the cruise was fantastic. I made some very fast friends (who I lovingly referred to as my Homo Homies) the first night on the ship at the LGBTQ meet-up/mixer. They accompanied me on my misadventures and I on theirs. I did lose my shit in one of the ports because I had reached my limit in regards to noise and being bothered. What I learned is I am not a “Vacation Port Town” person. I wish I could be like my cruise companion Christian. He gave zero fucks. His casual existence was so refreshing. He just went with the flow. As much as I tried, I have a point of being “over” whatever we may have been in the midst of doing.

I told my brother when I got home that I was at least proud of myself for knowing this and removing myself before my new pals got to see the ugly side of me; the spoiled only child that WILL throw a fit when he’s had enough. I like to think that is growth. Unfortunately for those who have been permanently adopted into my inner circle, I do not offer that luxury. They get me at my ugliest. Sorry, gals.

I would absolutely do another solo cruise. It was fun being by myself. I didn’t have to worry about anyone else. Just me. My own fun. Not like I don’t already do that. I seem to surround myself with those who cater to my every whim. It’s weird. Without them I didn’t have the worry/anxiety that I get that they’re just agreeing with me because they don’t want to upset me or give me what I want. Y’know, to avoid seeing the side only they get the “pleasure” of witnessing?

My only real regret was not recognizing my “friendly personality.” I genuinely thought I wasn’t going to make any friends, so I signed up for my favorite writing competition. As a result… I ended up stressed about competing and completing my assignment. I shouldn’t have, but I can never say no to the chance of flexing my skills. I love writing. (Clearly… ) What I don’t love is that this wasn’t my best. It was done for the sake of “getting it done.” Which means that it didn’t get the attention it deserved. If I place in the Top 15 it’ll be a fucking miracle.

One of the port towns I want to go back to is Puerto Vallarta. I’d love to spend a week there in the “gayborhood.” However… with the way shit is going I might not be able to. God… I hate this fucking place.

July 23, 2024

Read It To Me Once More…

There is no way to deny that I am a vain person. When I guest hosted this facebook “show” I would love to watch the entire episode, focusing primarily on me and my reactions. There was nothing I enjoyed more than watching myself. Or so my husband would joke.

This past weekend I competed in the second challenge of the “2024 Flash Fiction” competition. My assignment this go around was: genre – Thriller (that’s a first for me), setting – a black tie event, and item – wet suit. Initially when I read the specifics of my group… I was at a loss. I had never written a “thriller” before and… In reality they kind of handed us our stories on a silver platter. Well, there will be a lot of spy stories in the vein of James Bond. At least, that’s what came to my mind first.

In the morning, after receiving the assignment, my mind exploded with a fireworks show of ideas. Ones in which I genuinely debated submitting them to the competition for fear that someone would steal them. Which is a silly thing to think. Of course they are. There are no original thoughts left to think. Every story has been told. All that matters is style and content details. Someone can have a brilliant idea for a story, but if they lack the chops to do it then their narrative will be secondary.

At the behest of my BF I wrote a draft that day (a first for me) and then spent the drive, the following day, to Santa Barbara (to visit my niece) editing my submission. This was a first for me. Usually I wait until the hour before the deadline to bang a story out. I work well under pressure, is what I always say. And what I have since discovered is that particular character flaw is a symptom of ADHD. Fun!

While I edited my piece I discovered this feature available in the iOS Microsoft Word App. An A.I. will read it to you, like an audio book. I was hesitant at first. I thought the idea was silly. Why would I need to do something like that? Well, let me tell you, I fell in love with this feature. Hearing my own words back to me, gave me chills. And of course my first thought was “Damn, I’m a good writer.”

I joke with my BF that I got a boner from hearing my own story. Which… is true from a certain point of view. It was just a mental/emotional one.

The following day I dove head first into listening to the A.I. read my novel. Again… Chills. It had a beautiful pace and rhythm to it. What’s even more amazing is when a sentence didn’t quite work, I could stop, revise, and then have it read it to me again with the change. Phenomenal.

I’m sure I’m late to this party. Most of the time I shy away from these features because I feel like it detracts from own “skills.” However, what I found is that hearing my story from another person changed everything in terms of my future editing process.

My one complaint… The audio of the woman narrator versus the male… very telling. The woman was audibly smiling. The man sounded like a balding 45 year old with a gut and jowls.

July 7, 2023

Reflections of a Journey

I was a really weird kid growing up. I’ve been “myself” for as long as I can remember, marching to the beat of my own (off-beat) drummer. I was one to say “Thank you!” when a kid called me weird, with his eyebrows forming a single line of disbelief. Sure my response made me an odd-ball to my peers but then (and now) I rather have been weird than try and “fit in.”

One of my more obscure and bizarre characteristics was that I also craved “a struggle.” I distinctly remember watching “Angels in the Outfield” and being annoyed that I had two loving parents who were there for me. I wanted to be Joseph Gordon Levitt’s character, a foster kid who “wanted” a loving family, instead of actually having one. So, when I say I was weird, this is mainly where that statement roots.

From a young age I liked drama. I wanted a real story to tell and the one I was “living” wasn’t very “exciting.” I imagine that is why I became a writer. If I couldn’t have the drama I would cast myself as the lead and punish myself through the written word. Forcing myself through bizarre obstacles wherein I come out triumphant on the other side.

During high school I had longed for some “drama” because I felt as if life had grown too mundane for me, and then it turned topsy-turvy. I lost my circle of friends, I jumped out of the closet, and found a whole new group of companions. It was a strange time. The thought I had had at the settle of everything was “be careful what you wish for…”

In my early 30’s I felt as though my life had once again gotten stale. I had gotten stuck in a rut with my job, my relationship, and my emotions. Once again I longed for some sort of excitement or… Drama.

As I love to do, I once again reinforced the fact that I never, ever learn from my past mistakes.

In a whirlwind of events I lost my dad, my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and then my husband was diagnosed with a terminal illness. All in the span of a year. Oh, and the world was plunged into chaos with a pandemic. So life has been interesting since 2019.

I wrote all of that to say today marks the 1 year anniversary of my mother’s passing.

The first thing my husband said to me, after I got the news she had left this reality, “You’re an orphan now.”

It’s a strange realization. You never think of someone in their (mid) 30’s being an orphan. Yet once you no longer have your parents that’s exactly what you are.

I look back on those feelings of wanting to be “an orphan” and cringe. Why would anyone want that? Just for the sake of drama? That’s insane. Really… unhinged.

Yet if I break it down I think I wanted a struggle, a hero’s journey so to speak. Something that would be my “call to action” to bring me out of my complacency and put me on the path to becoming a “hero.”

When the call finally came, I was and am a very reluctant, flawed hero. Every bit of these past three years was thrust upon me and I want nothing to do with it. But being the valiant protagonist I accepted my fate, begrudgingly. It’s my desire to be the knight in white that keeps me going. Even on the days that I am so exhausted I just want to disappear from this world.

I hope I was the hero for my mom. Everyday I question whether or not my every choice was the right one. Even now, they feel wrong. I feel like I somehow failed my “quest.” But how did I expect it to end? There is no escaping the clutches of Alzheimer’s.

April 8, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 12 – Just Around the Riverbend

So, if you weren’t aware by now, I am a homosexual. If me mentioning my husband and my boyfriend wasn’t enough to let you in on the secret, I thought I would drop in my next track. It also pulls double duty and reveals my immature nature and love of anything Disney. (However, they’re kind of on my shit list at the moment for obvious reasons.)

When this movie came out it made just as much, if not more so, of an impact on my life like Beauty and the Beast had a few years prior. All summer I listened to this tape (yes, tape) over and over again, re-enacting scenes and singing it at the top of my lungs. How my parents did not know I was gay is truly beyond me. I guess hopeful, Christian longing for your son to have a wife and kids, I suppose. (But side note: kudos to my parents for being so supporting and accepting of who I was as a “straight” man and not forcing toxic masculinity upon me.)

This song was a particular favorite of mine. I imagine it spoke to my need for something new and exciting, and the longing for something more, even though it may be scary not knowing “what’s around the riverbend.”

This ballad has been on my mind a lot lately primarily because: 1) it’s a banger and 2) the summer that this movie was released into my open “obsession slot” I went up to stay for a week with my grandmother in the house her and my grandfather had built in the woods. I would wander all through the woods and up the dirt road, listening to this tape and singing. You would have thought that after she and I watched a mountain lion walk up the dirt road, in front of her house, I would have stopped doing that, but no. The show must go on. Even if you may be the meal for an apex feline predator.

It is truly in the middle of nowhere and it’s about 3-4 hours from any of my family, so getting up there to do maintenance is non-existent. As far as I am aware, it is sitting vacant, rotting away. Which is unfortunate. My grandmother loved, loved, loved this house. She truly did not want to concede that she could not live there anymore, because of her age, but she understood the risk of living so far from anything. She ended up coming to live with us, with the caveat that my mother and father would take her up there for a visit from time to time. We hardly did that unfortunately.

From time to time my thoughts become obsessed with “the cabin.” I’ll dream of it in some sort of danger, like an encroaching roadway or housing development. I don’t quite know what these dreams mean, but they genuinely cause me a lot of distress. I dreamt of it a few nights ago and it has been on my mind since. I think because I dread of the state of it. It wasn’t in the best of shape the last time I saw it, some ten years ago.

It’s amazing how something that played such a huge role in your life can just be left in the past. My grandmother would be devastated to know it hasn’t been used in some time. At least, as far as I know. It’s not someplace you can just pop in for a visit. If you go, the first day is mainly cleaning/maintenance. That’s if you can get to it. The winding, hilly dirt road isn’t very friendly if you don’t have a truck or SUV. This last fact has kept me away because I don’t really have any means to get back there, and I am sure as hell not going to put my Toyota hybrid at risk for some sentimental excursion.

Another memory just popped into my head, but this was also the summer that I definitively decided I wanted to be a writer. This was between my 3rd and 4th grade years, which means I had just read “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” and fell in love with the written word. I was enthralled with the ability a story had to say one thing but mean something entirely different. I have tried since then to imitate C.S. Lewis’s care-free writing style, but I lack the finesse and polish.

I remember making the grand pronouncement to my grandmother and she was so supportive. She listened to or read EVERYTHING I gave her. I will never forget her support. She was everything to me.

In between singing aloud astride a mountain, my pencil scribbled away in a Lisa Frank spiral notebook about a prince named Kool who comes across a young man, alone in the woods, suffering from amnesia. Kool decides to name him Speed and the two go on wild adventures together. Symbolism for me finding my true identity?! Find out on the next mindless drone of the continuing adventures of a middle-aged faguette!