Off-Trail Hiking For The Win

Note — I got pretty damned behind in posting this week, so I’m going to write a couple of posts today to try and make up for that.  Below is the first one I threw together quickly…the second I am going to put some more time & thought into and set it to post either tomorrow or the day after…

I had every intention of being a good boy today, I really did.

I was going to stick to the trail, I said.  I was going to hike responsibly and — yes, mom — safely.

I’ve been a bad example, I’ve been told, for the younger staff up here.  They hear about my solo, off-trail hiking, they hear the stories and see some of the pictures, and decide to try it for themselves.  They decide to try it, I probably should add, without proper equipment or experience…

Okay, so that last part really is the recipe for disaster.  Shit, I guess there just may be some truth to the words that I’m a bad example (in more ways than just this!).

Fine, I promised, I would be good and responsible…

That “goodness” lasted for almost five whole minutes!

Then I looked back on the trail and saw a family following me, barely thirty yards behind.  Grr.  I even tried to walk some more, to increase my pace, only to have my ears ruined by the clamor of that family’s handful of bear-bells making their godawful racket.


A left turn, then, and I set off along, and up, the slope of the surrounding hills.  I mean, c’mon…when I have my weekly “I hate humans hike,” the last thing I need around me is, well, freaking humans!

There is a challenge to the kind of hiking I do, by the way.  Err, a challenge besides the danger and risk.  That challenge lies in just how easy it is to get so caught up in the beauty and sweep of where you are that you lose track of where you planned to go.

Err…umm…I suppose that particular challenge could apply to life itself; it sure as hell does to mine.

Ahh, hell, who am I kidding…that’s part of the damned attraction!

It’s time for a few pictures, I guess, if only to show that I’m not some crack-smoking-fool, doing stupid things for stupid reasons.  Nope, when I go off-trail, it’s for this:

Run Away!

What do you do when you’ve lied so much, when you’ve pretended so much, that you have no way out?

What do you do when you know it’s all wrong, but you’ve sold everyone you know on just how right it all is?

You run away.runaway

When I left Yellowstone a couple of years ago, it wasn’t particularly what I wanted.  I did it for family reasons.  I did it because I “had to.”  Now, I don’t regret coming back for my family — I love my family more than anything else in this world, and I would do anything for any of them.


But, it wasn’t what I wanted.

I’ve been miserable for the last year-and-a-half.  As evidence, I don’t have anything to offer other than this: I lost my words.

Oh, I could put together a blog post or two, but I couldn’t really write.  I couldn’t sit down and put together a scene that meant something.  Shit, I couldn’t even make myself uncomfortable with my own writing…so how the hell was I going to make my readers uncomfortable?!

Don’t get me wrong, I love Colorado.  I love the Rockies…I love the area, I love the people, I love my friends, I love…

Yeah, great…I love everything.  I fucking love everything.  I just can’t write here.  I have too much history in NoCo, too many ties, to set out and start in on the new story/viewpoint/perspective that I want and need to…

Honestly, I hate stagnating more than just about anything in the universe, but if I stayed around NoCo that is exactly what I would get.


So, I’m leaving.  Again.

4181Yep, you guessed it: I’m heading up to Yellowstone again.  I mean, crap, what could possibly be better to get the creative juices flowing than dodging angry wolves and horny bears?!

Wait…what?  My family, you ask?

They think I’m nuts already, so it’s not like I’m going against type…

One of the things we hint around in writing is inertia: our protagonist’s inertia, our story’s inertia, our own inertia…  No matter what the source, that inertia is something we have to overcome in our story.  Whether it is the inciting incident we put in Act 1, or the tragic death of a loved-one we save for Act III, we (as writers) have to break our story’s inertia.


It ain’t just our stories that have inertia.  Sometimes — often times, to be honest — we have to break our own inertia, too.

For me, that breaking involves new adventures and far horizons…hell, in the next year or two I will very likely be making the same complain, but offering instead a year or two living in Dubrovnik or Krakow or Sorrento…

Welcome to my life.


**Musical Interlude:  this song came from a good friend of mine — one of my beta readers — as her unsolicited take on Oz — on both his history and his outlook on life.  That this song also works for me is all you have to know about just how much of myself there really is in Oz…

The Where Matters

I’ve been thinking lately about writing.  Not about the how, nor even about the why, but about the where.  The where matters.  Well, to me, at least, it matters.  It matters a great deal.

0C2242BA-2FCF-4416-8D51-B4F3762EAE78Now, look, I’ve talked before about my…uhh…questionable writing habits.  Talked especially about the fact that I write best and most in coffee houses and taprooms.  I am, I should probably add, a creature of habit.  While I can — and do! — walk into any coffee place, brewery or bar and start banging away on my keyboard, I very much tend to go to the same places, at the same times, and do the same things when I write.  

I’m pretty damned sure I’m not alone in having friends and acquaintances come up to me and say, “Writing must be so cool!  You can sit at home and work whenever and however you want!”

Umm…no.  Not even freaking close.

If I stay at home and try to write, both I and my story are fucked.  Oh, I can sit down and start trying to work…but, well, home is not for work.  Home is for distractions.  Whether I end up with the cleanest shelves in Colorado, or a record-breaking winning streak in Football Manager, Screen Shot 2019-02-13 at 9.51.16 AMI will pretty much end the day with anything and everything but actual…you know…writing.

And, no, I do not need you to tell me that I’m weird.  I can do that just fine on my own, thank you very much.


I wish to hell I could write at home.  Life would be much simpler if I could stay at home and work. Unfortunately, even if I somehow could manage to resist the lure of Formula 409 and my current Reading FC save, whatever words I manage to turn out are…flat.  Lifeless.  Boring.*

*None of those things, in case you were wondering, are good when describing written stories…

Okay, look, I do admit that writing just steps away from a limitless supply of beer does help in the creative process — ahem — but that is not, believe it or not, the reason why I love taprooms.  Nope.  It’s counterintuitive as hell, but I need the noise and chaos and distraction that comes with a busy place.  More than that, I need the energy that comes with all that…I need the life.  

Even when I lock myself away behind my earbuds and far-too-loud music, I need that taproom, and all the people in it.

IMG_0728Living up in the mountains, then, is a mistake for me.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love the quiet, and being surrounded by the Rockies, but…

…but it ain’t helpin’ me to write.

It is, in fact, hurting me.

A lot.

Hell, I can barely bang out 600-word blog posts at this point, let alone plan and write a 125,000-word novel…

Drinking beer and writing in the midst of dozens — hundreds, even — of folks is one thing…but when you do the same thing at home alone?img_0032

Err, yeah — All Aboard indeed…

So my question and challenge and thought to all the other writers out there is this: where do you work?  What crazy, unexpected, weird place helps you to really write?

The Bear Got Me

Sooo…I reread my post from Monday.

I reread it, and decided I should probably expand/explain…or at least give a glimpse into how I create (screw up) posts.

Now, I’ve talked before — many times — about the fact that, when an idea comes to you, you don’t try to “save” it, you don’t try to remember it, you don’t assume you can build on it “later,” you write it…you write it right then.  Right-freaking-then.

I don’t care how good you are, I don’t care how hard you try, you will not remember that idea you thought (hoped?) could be “saved.”  Monday’s post is a good example of that; over the weekend, I came up with a couple of different ideas for the coming week.  Those ideas were related, yes, but they very much needed to be separate posts.


Well…I screwed up.  I didn’t follow my own advice.  I didn’t write them.  Nope, not me!  I’m good enough, I can ignore my own advice!  Of course I tried to “save” them.

So when, on Monday morning, I finally sat down to turn out a piece for that day, those two ideas weren’t there anymore.  Nope.  Instead, those two separate, individual ideas had got together, drank a bottle of tequila, and spawned the muddled mess that became Monday’s post.


I wish I could say that failing was a one-off — or that it was rare, at least — but I can’t.  Of all the common-sense and effective “rules” I try to follow in my little corner of the writing-universe, “you write it, right then” is the one I screw up the most.  It is also the screw-up I pay-for the most — pay in regret, and in lost opportunities.

But that’s how you learn, people will tell you.  You learn from your mistakes.

Shit, I’ve said that often enough to others…said it so often, I don’t really hear the words anymore.  All too often, those mistakes that are supposed to teach…they don’t.  They do nothing but accuse.  They are that relative that looks at you, even after years apart, and says before even a hello, “Let yourself go a bit, have you?”

I wanted to write a piece, over the weekend, about work and life, about how the “workday” is becoming a thing of the past, a thing surrendered to the gods of “productivity” and “commitment.”  Even as I thought about that, however, another post came to me, this one about our personal enslavement to our screens.  Everyday, seemingly, new stories and studies come out illustrating just how damaging is our addiction to our screens.  Crap, even the freaking Pope is talking about social media and screen-time…

Two pieces, each with something to say.  Two pieces that I (pretty unsuccessfully) shoehorned into one.  


Some days the bear really does get you…