Cold Iron, Feverish Writer

Sooo, now that the chaos of Cold Iron’s book release is over, my body decided “hey, wouldn’t this be a super awesome happy jolly fun time to get sick?” Of course, it didn’t tell me this until I was mid-date with Katie, so she’s probably sick too.

At least my summer position in the job coaching program is over. I have 2 weeks of summer before school starts once again.

I hope that the cold doesn’t last that long. Despite being the size of a small bear, I am in poor health and many of my colds turn into bronchitis or pneumonia. Just something to be concerned with.


Oh, i should make a graphics ad for Cold Iron. This book is really freakin good, and I usually hate the things that I write 😛

guinea pig card


Cabin Fever in the Springtime

Because of my recent medical troubles, I’ve been stuck at home. It’s killing me. Usually I love to be at home. I do my writing and editing here. It’s comfortable. My easy chair fits my ass perfectly. I have all the coffee I could want. Yet, it’s still killing me.

Normally I go out in the morning, either to the gym or too the park. I also walk dogs and do some obedience training at the local shelter, or just pick up trash along the road (I have a grabber, I don’t use my hands). But I can’t do that until I find out what is wrong with my heart. The doctor doesn’t want me doing anything strenuous, especially in the heat. Did I mention that something is killing me.

My heart has been acting all wonky. It starts out fine, but by early afternoon, my heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it in my fingertips. My blood pressure shoots up (usually 140/90, with a rapid pulse). I don’t know what’s going on. It’s like having a panic attack without the panic.

panic attack futurama

I have a fear of death. I think most people do. My fear comes from worrying that I will die before I finish all of my stories, though I know that I inevitably will. With every story I write, a new one brews in my head. A day will come where I die without that story finished. It’s terrifying. Like all writers, I am an egomaniac. I feel that I have something important to say, even though I realize that my words are no more important than anyone else’s. Yet I keep typing away, and that fear of death before completion haunts me.

I like to think that my heart, my metaphorical heart, is good. But the real one isn’t. I was morbidly obese for many years. I’m on a ton of medicines, and more medicines to fight those side effects, leading to more side effects, etc. And I am not happy. I am not calm. I am nothing more than a morbid bit of flesh, and when I die, I will leave behind a few stories, a grave stone, and a pine box.

Being homebound isn’t just killing me, it’s making me think about death against my will. I want to be outside. I want to help at the shelter. I want to pick up trash. I want to do my service to the community, to repay all that they do for me. It seems that the universe has other plans.

There’s a Yiddish proverb: Der mentsh trakht un Got lakht. Man plans and God laughs. Maybe a better quote is from Robert Burns. The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, / Gang aft agley. That’s exactly how I feel. I am the man. I am the house. A house mouse.

doge in space card redux

I’m Sick (and other things to kvetch about)

I hate being sick, but I love complaining about being sick. I know, I’m just reinforcing the stereotype that men are big babies when they’re sick. I don’t care, please make me some soup.


Christmas at Katie’s parents’ place went well. I think the tipping point was that their dog didn’t freak out on me. She didn’t even bark, and she’s a beagle. Usually the dog barks so much at strangers (or even people she knows) that they have to send her to doggie jail (upstairs). I guess she sensed my inner awesomocity. Not that she let me touch her or anything, but she did take a treat from me. I’ll call it a victory.

She’s also super cute. I love beagles.


Christmas is still a novelty for me, even though I’ve spent it with friends and girlfriends before. Jewish Christmas is what I’m used to, but ham and cookies are much better than Chinese food and movies…I can have Chinese anytime, and probably will today, because I’m siiiiiiiiiick (like that call back? Blog structure is structurey).


I somehow made it to my writers’ critique group. I missed the last session, and since I’m one of the pillars of the group, I felt that I had to go. We’re going through some major changed and have added a bunch of people. I’m concerned that we bit off more than we can chew (or slurp as a soup…did I mention that I’m sick) but it’s going well so far. We turned away a couple of people because they wanted to bring in screenplays instead of prose. There’s no way that we can handle screenplays (or poetry, for that matter). They didn’t realize that it’s a completely separate medium. I do think that our writers should read a couple of screenplays though. They have a lot of trouble with scenes.

I’m a little arrogant when it comes to this group. Except for a one or maybe two, I’m miles ahead of them. I’ve taken on more of a mentor/adviser role. I just don’t get the feedback I need. Everyone just tells me that my stories are great. It’s frustrating. I want people to hate it, so I can make it better

I hope that I get better for New Years. Did I mention that I’m sick? Because I’m sick.

*cough, cough, sneeze.*

Hey, awesome people: The Watchmage of Old New York is 99 cents on Amazon Kindle, but only until New Years! Take advantage of the deal and find your new favorite book. You won’t be disappointed.