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  • Save (More Than) One Life

    Style note: As always, the author intentionally misspells the pronoun i by writing it in lowercase

    In the 41st week of 2025 AD (early October) i went to Europe. More specifically, i went on a dual humanitarian mission focused on helping the people of Ukraine.

    The first and most important part was being an escort for a great-grandmother to honor her fallen US Marine son who died near the Russo-Ukrainian War frontlines. The second part was to help people with hemophilia, von Willebrand Disease (vWD), and other bleeding disorders.

    How’d I Get Even Get Into Ukraine? And Why?

    The grandmother i was escorting is a coworker of mine, Sochi. Her son, USMC Ian Tortorici, was killed on 27th June, 2023. He was on a short leave and having dinner at RIA Pizza along with some other 80 people when an Iskander SRMB (short-range ballistic missile) hit the parlor, killing 13 people, including award winning author Victoria Amelina and Ian. An Iskander is the spiritual successor to the infamous Scud missile. A weapon of that magnitude targeting civilians is an all too common characteristic of Putin’s literal use of overkill.

    In the coming sad days, Sochi heard from Ian’s Ukrainian fiancé, Nadiya, that there were several memorials for her son in Ukraine. Sochi told me that she would like to visit them one day. That got the cogs in my brain moving. I understand all too well that the Russo-Ukrainian War is the “Freedom Front” being fought on the world’s stage. I wanted to help. And, if i’m completely honest, i wanted some adventure as well. I’m, one, a male and, two, without children. In my eyes, that makes my life expendable, so going to an active warzone was an easier choice for me than for others.

    But how would i get there?

    Well, whenever i travel, i try to do two things. One, check out the local sports’ scene and, two, try and see how things are with the local bleeding disorders community.

    People think i’m ambitious. I guess. More than not, i’m just stubborn. Like, really stubborn. If i want something, i nearly always get it. It’s not because i’m good at everything, that’s for sure, but i get good at several disciplines and i nearly always get the diverse things i want. How? By asking and trying and eventually failing. But then i repeat the process. Do it enough, you’ll get what you want. Even if it is after the 100th time.

    So i sent a mass email to anyone and everyone i could find online in Ukraine that worked in hemophilia. Doctors. Treatment Centers. Bloggers. You name it. I reached out to 23 people. I got 22 denials. Fortunately, i received one response. And that’s all you need. Sergiy Shemet, a board member for the Ukrainian Association for Haemophilia and Haemostasis ‘Factor D’, UAHARD, reached out to me.

    I immediately addressed the elephant in the room. I told Sergiy and Nina (another volunteer with hemophilia) that i understood the skepticism about me reaching out. Russians are the worldwide experts at digital espionage. Every person that reaches out to help those that are fighting for our western freedom are more like than not spies for the enemy, pretending to be someone who they are not. I knew that the burden of proof was on me to show that i was not a bad faith actor. I shared my limited personal social media accounts and shared pictures. We talked and they began to trust me, although with heavy doubt, as they rightly should. The turning point in our relationship was when Sochi got involved. There was no denying that her son had been killed. His fiancé in Ukraine could vouch for him and for herself. Once the hemophilia group i had been talking to started talking to Nadiya, everything started to fall into place. Once the Ukrainians started talking to other Ukrainians, they started to understand that i was legit.

    As for the why, it’s pretty simple. Nearly 100 years ago a madman invaded Eastern Europe with his eyes on ruling the world, with his ultimate goal of destroying America. Today, a madman has begun his invasion of Europe through the east with the same goals. Less than a year ago, all students in Russia started to begin their classes with the phrase, “Death to the West and death to America.” That is the reality to this very day. We all watch movies like Saving Private Ryan and tell ourselves that we would have supported the side of the Allies. Every reason and justification that we had to fight in the European Front of the Second World War is the same reason today to fight in today’s European Front of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Since i have eyes and more than one brain cell, supporting the good guys and wanting the bad guys to lose is an easy choice. For me, at least.

    Save More Than One Life

    This brings me to the amazing work of many partners, but i would like to highlight one in particular.

    But before that, a brief note on our main mission, honoring Ian and other fallen innocents.

    In the Ukrainian capital of Kyiv, there is a monument called The Maiden. Outside The Maiden is an organic memorial. Literally thousands upon thousands of flags and photographs of the fallen. We visited Ian’s makeshift memorial there. We also visited his church where he prayed and worshiped since he converted to the Ukrainian Church and there’s a picture of him along with the other hundreds of dead parishioners. Finally, we visited his memorial at the WW2 Museum. Not only did we honor Ian, we also attended the American funeral of Kyzyl Bowden, a 22-year-old American Army infantryman. I can write a book about the sights and experiences of bravery and courage we witnessed. Needless to say, it was an honor to honor and respect those who are still fighting and dying in World War Two. That war may have ended for Americans, but not for others.

    The second reason i was there was to help the bleeding disorders community. We weren’t sure how to help. Visit hospitals? Visit associations? Finally, we settled on meeting with Sergiy and Nina and they introducing me to my fellow blood brothers and sisters. But that wasn’t all. Sochi and i brought along a ton of factor to donate to the people of Ukraine. This was done through the amazing work from the equally amazing women at Save One Life.

    Save One Life provided so much factor that, my carryon was nothing but factor and my toothbrush. Seriously. The factor was then distributed to three different families in three different regions of Ukraine. One such factor delivery was sent to a young man who was recovering from surgery. Had it not been for the generous donation from Save One Life, that young man may not have been here with us today. I have no words.

    To clarify one thing, Save One Life has official partners around the world. Right now, Ukraine is not one of them. It’s not that Save One Life does not want to help (obviously) but it’s more of a paperwork, logistical thing. The folks in Ukraine understood this as well. There would be no (for now) supporting of individual children, no continued visits and factor support in the upcoming future. And that’s fine. In fact, that just proves how amazing Save One Life is.

    Save One Life could have easily said, “Ukraine is not an official partner at this time. So we cannot help.” Totally acceptable and understandable. Instead, Save One Life did help and tremendously so. The pessimist might think, what good is one shipment of factor? The honest person would see the truth. Save One Life literally helped change and better the financial situation of a nation under invasion for at least three months if not more. Think about that. Save One Life’s donation helped ease the massive burden of helping those with life threatening illnesses. Their donation helped defray medical costs across an entire nation’s medical system. Their donation helped Ukrainian medical staff focus more attention to the wounded.

    In short, Save One Life has saved several lives and helped ease the burden of those under attack in Ukraine. They didn’t just help, they helped change the world into a better place. I can only wish to have that type of impact one day. It was tectonic.

    I close by saying thank-you to Save One Life, but that feels terribly inadequate. There just isn’t enough words in the English language to truly explain the Earth shaking good work that Save One Life does for the bleeding disorders community. These little black marks are just a poor man’s attempt to shed a light of greatness that the great women at Save One Life have done and continue to do.

    Thank-you is not enough, but trust me, the people of Europe under siege do appreciate the colossal affect that Save One Life does day in and day out.

  • Day 17 – Quick Pop-In

    Welp, as you can see by my inconsistent posting is because i have not been consistent with my writing. As of this writing i am at 13,595 new words. Kris is at… (Tony checks his email) Egads! 35,994 words. Safe to say i will not be catching up or staying with her which is fine.

    The things that stopped me were and are:

    1. “Celebrating.” While i finished a super-cool story because of this challenge and also had another half-finished story in the wings, i thought, “No prob. Not keeping up with Kris. Why not take a day off?” Big mistake. All momentum went fart sound.
    2. “Project Block.” As you well know, there is no such thing as writer’s block but Project Block. Since i’m writing into the dark these days ala Stephen King (e.g. no outline) i tend to freeze in fear. Just ’cause i’ve published a few books doesn’t mean the O.G. of original fears don’t come up: I Don’t Know What To Write! Of course the answer is easy. Write the next sentence. And the next. Easy to say, hard to do.
    3. “Work/Health.” Not sure if it’s because i took two different vaccines over two weeks or what, but i fell into a depressive funk last week. Work was actually great! I don’t like getting hit with a stick and work has been very nice with my lack of energy and my sensitivity towards being unappreciated. It had nothing to do with that. I was just swamped with work. I was working or napping. That’s it.

    So, this is where i was and am.

    Also, i haven’t been sending my blog updates as emails ’cause these are not regular “marketing” emails but more like exaggerated social media posts. I’ma say screw it and just send these along with an email notice. If it’s too much, i figure you can just unsubscribe.

  • What Will Be Your Legacy?

    What Will Be Your Legacy?

    I get a lot of slack for being too serious or not having enough fun. I readily admit that I have a stick up my butt the size of full grown oak tree but there are several reasons for that. One reason I can be such a prude is, legacy.

    We are all leaving behind a legacy that was never possible before. With the advent of the Internet, we are now leaving a trail that will forever follow us, even after we’re gone. In 2,000 years your bones will be dust but that image of you drinking a beer will live on. And is that how you want to be remembered? Is that the legacy you want to leave here on earth?

    “Here lies John Doe. He liked arguing with people on screens. He spent most of his life looking at his phone. His preferred attire were shorts since he enjoyed exposing his legs for the world to see.”

    Or,

    “Here lies Jane Doe. She liked complaining about everything, talking about what she’d like to do and never actually doing it.”

    Life is so short, so fast that, as soon as your born, your’e just counting down the days till your death. I don’t mean to come off as a nihilist, but just honest about the limited time we have on this earth and what we can accomplish in that short time. My truth is, we live on this earth for a short time to prove we are worthy to live in the next life for an eternity, but that’s another story for another day. What we are talking about here is, what we are leaving behind, on this earth, once we’re gone.

    Before, humankind didn’t need to worry too much about this. Either you were a king or a pauper and the former would live in the eternal hall of fame that we call history. But not so anymore. Now, everyone, from the leaders of the world to those that clean their toilets will have some type of legacy left behind, a record, that shows what that person did with their lives, forever.

    Given that we now have this huge, daunting, pressure of legacy that is now on all of us, you would think that mankind would do a better job of reaching for their goals, but sadly, we are not.

    I think that it will take about a century or two for people to appreciate the legacies that we are now leaving behind. In a few decades we will all be dead. And at these funerals will be scenes of us holding beer bongs and wearing fake mustaches at weddings. Maybe there will even be a 15-minute slide show to showcase all the food and drinks you consumed that you thought were so important to share.

    That’s the legacy we are leaving.

    What about children? Yes, that’s how we pass on our genetic legacy but it has nothing to do with what we have actually done. If your proudest moment of accomplishment comes from the fact that you got drunk and horny and forgot the condoms a few times, I’m sorry, but that’s not really climbing Mount Everest.

    And while your genes may live on in your children and their children’s children and so on, your memory will be all but forgotten to everyone who knew you since they will all be dead too. All your future decedents will search up who their great-great-grandparent was and see someone who enjoyed taking pictures of their feet while on vacation.

    There is so much more to you than that, to all of us. It’s scary, I know, but we have to try. Even if you don’t succeed in reaching your dreams, at least you will be better remembered as someone who tried than someone who just went through life, coasting on whatever path was made for you.

    That’s why, for me, my writing has become so important.

    For the last two to three years I have rarely gone out. Few parties and nightclubs. I mean, sure, I have gone to them and will continue to go to them, but I’m there for a half hour, tops. It feels like such an empty waste of time. I have spent the last few years writing a novel, particularly, on weekends when I have more time. While it might seem crazy to be “working” on the weekends, it’s actually been fun…for the most part. Trust me, there have been more days of me doubting myself and wanting to stop than those few, special days when I feel “flow” and the words just come out and I feel like a complete human being. Fleeting, but worth it.

    My book might sell five copies. I am terrified that it will be horrible, something that my friends and family can throw in my face for the rest of my life. “You worked on this garbage? You do have a legacy all right Tony. It’s called crap.”

    But that’s just my inner-critic, my Daily Dragon, doing what it does best. I may not leave a legacy of great work or art, even though that is my dream. My legacy might very well just be that I tried. But that’s good enough for me. More than most can say.

    I tried.

  • We’ve Been Wrong The Whole Time

    Handi-Man-Living-Color-Wayans-h1

    This week, the National Hemophilia Foundation is having their annual meeting in Dallas Texas. This wonderful meeting is America’s premier bleeding disorder yearly reunion. And it got me thinking about two themes that I have been told nearly all my life as a person living with hemophilia. Those two things are, one, that people with hemophilia are not handicapped or disabled and that, two, people with hemophilia are an inspiration to others. Both are, mostly, false. I say mostly because, the advancements in hemophilia have left the younger generation free from major joint damage. But besides that, many of us are disabled and handicap and all of us are no one to look up to.

    Looking at the first distinction, the handicapped or disabled label, people are quick to say that we are not. While we can all agree that being disabled or handicapped is not a goal or something anyone should aspire to, for those of us that do have mobility issues, we should not feel shamed or feel less than the next person just because we have mobility issues.

    It took me a long time to realize that and I still fall into the trap every once in a while. It took me forever to get a handicap license plate. Why? Because I was too proud. Because being disabled was “bad.” Well, I am handicapped. I am disabled. I am a cripple. And you know what? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. It just is what it is.

    On the other side, the bleeding disorder community also promotes a culture of victim hood, as if our pains and troubles make us someone to look up to. It’s a funny balance to hear too since, while people are trying to pass the first belief (you’re not handicapped / disabled) they also try to juggle the second which is, that we’re some type of heroes for what we are dealing with. Which of course, according to view one, is nothing.

    These two beliefs have been propagated to our community from a place of well meaning. It makes people disabled with hemophilia deny their disability (making one not feel bad) while making us out as role models (so we can feel good about ourselves). While they mean well they, to me, do more harm then good.

    It makes a person with hemophilia feel proud of having a bleeding disorder and there is no greater wrong on earth than pride.

    This “you’re not disabled / you’re a hero” is actually creating people who are disabled and anti-heroes ironically enough by living a sedentary life without any goals. After all, why should anyone aspire to anything if they’re already perfect? Not only is nothing wrong with you, you’re also someone people should look up to.

    I hear people trying to balance these two views with a myriad of excuses. It’s a delicate balancing act of bull feces that has been ingrained into our heads.

    So what are we then?

    For some they are disabled. For others, they are not. Regardless if you are or aren’t, that doesn’t make you bad. It just makes you either disabled or not. No biggie.

    So then are we heroes? Heck to the no. First responders like police, fire, and paramedics, those people are heroes. People in the military, those people are heroes. We’re just people who walk funny and have owies.

    I guess what I’m trying to say is, at the end, we are all the same. People who are physically more healthy than me can be more unhealthy in their emotional, financial, spiritual, or emotional health than me. The old saying that we all have our cross to bear is true. Just because someone might be at a disadvantage to the eyes, doesn’t mean that that person’s life isn’t easier than the so called “healthy one.”

    When people mope and complain about their physical ills, they’re more times than not just looking for sympathy. Since everyone is battling their own demons of equal weight this person does get the empathy they want all though not in the form they want it. It comes off as pathetic.

    So to all my blood brothers and sisters out there reading this, quit feeling bad for yourself and, more importantly, stop feeling proud of yourself. You haven’t done anything yet. And that’s a good thing.

    That means that we still have a lot more to do with our lives.

    That means there is so much more to life than just having hemophilia.

    That means that we accept that we have our setback, sure, but so does everyone else. And that setback is nothing to be ashamed of.

    That means that maybe one day we will be someone that people look up to through our own work, not to what just happened to happen to us.

  • Our Collective Suicide

    Narcissus (Caravaggio)
    Narcissus (Caravaggio)

    According to the Ovid, Narcissus was a young hunter who put himself first before everyone else. Enamored with himself and him alone, Narcissus led a vain life filled with doing nothing but loving himself and only doing what he wanted first.

    Then one day Echo saw him and fell in love. Echo started following Narcissus. She loved him so much, she would even repeat everything he said. When Narcissus learned of Echo, he chastised her. He didn’t want anyone to bother him and interrupt him from loving himself. Heartbroken, Echo ran away, forever hiding in the small holes of caves.

    Nemesis was furious when she found out about this. Nemesis was the spirit who would humble those who affronted the gods.

    Nemesis decided to have Narcissus look at a pond. The pond was as smooth as glass and that’s when Narcissus saw himself for the first time. He didn’t know that he was looking at himself, he just thought he saw something beautiful. Realizing that he could never see anything more beautiful, he drowned himself.

    And that’s what we are doing to ourselves. We are slowly killing ourselves one selfie at a time. We may be physically alive but our souls are dead.

    Our vanity is making us love ourselves so much that we are now destroying our relationships with others. We would rather love the false idea of ourselves than creating new connections. We are so self centered and self involved, we are now pushing away those that would better us.

    Water gives life. It can also destroy. Our smart phones can help us get to a gas station, but they can also make us yearn for approval.

    Narcissus had water. We have technology. At the end, our admiration of that same reflection will be the demise of many.

  • I Fell in Love in Paris

    Eiffel Tower in the background. Photo by the author.
    Eiffel Tower in the background. Photo by the author.

    I fell in love in Paris. Cliche, yes, but also very true.

    A few years ago I had the opportunity to visit France for a World Federation of Hemophilia conference they were having there. Every two years, the WFH holds an international congress, and that year it fell in Paris.

    I didn’t know what to expect from Paris or the meeting. The latter was a bit disappointing, not because the WFH does a poor job of putting together a meeting, far from it. Their congress is probably one of the best in the world that provides some of the most useful information out there. And that’s what the problem for me was. I’m just a layman and this was designed for medical professionals. Which it should be. The greatest and smartest minds in the world of bleeding disorders get together and share their ideas.

    The good takeaway from the meeting was the several activities they had. I had the opportunity to meet some amazing people from around the world involved with hemophilia. So even though the congress wasn’t directed towards someone like me, I still had the chance to reap the amazing reward of meeting folks from all corners of the world.

    Is this where I met my love in Paris? No. I met her in the streets of Paris.

    I met her at the Louvre.

    I met her next to the river Seine.

    Don’t worry, this isn’t some analogy for falling in love with a city or a place. I genuinely fell in love with a woman there. I’ll explain.

    Back home, in Phoenix, I was seeing this girl. We had a lot in common yet were as different as night and day. We loved to read and think. Our conversations flowed because it was like talking to someone you’ve know your whole life who knows you better than you. Yet our differences were pronounced too. Not just our ethnicities, she was white, but she was very feminine where I could be brash. We were the perfect mix of commonalities and differences. There was only one problem. Me.

    I took her for granted. Something I have done previously with other women. I knew I had her so I didn’t try to have her.

    When I was in Paris, I met amazing people, women too. But my mind kept going back to Phoenix, going back to her.

    I thought about how only she would appreciate the sights and sounds that I was witnessing. Sure, everyone loves the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa, but she would’ve loved the history and all the backend stuff that only bookish people like us would be interested in. And that’s when I realized, in Paris, away from her, that I loved her.

    When I returned home I waited a few days, trying to play it cool. I sent her a message and it took awhile for her to get back to me. After a day or so, she got back to me and told me we needed to talk.

    We couldn’t see each other anymore, she informed me.

    You see, I was the other man. She was dating a wonderful guy. Seriously, everything I heard about the guy just showed me how great he was. Her and I just met and hit it off too well.

    But she finally told me that she had come to grips with the fact that what she was doing was wrong. That the guy she was officially seeing was great. She didn’t say it was easy, but I’m sure it wasn’t that hard either.

    I understood. Should I have fought for her? I don’t know, I still don’t. I never was or planned to be a home wrecker. It was just that this woman and I happened to meet at the wrong time, that’s really it.

    I could have had her when I was in Phoenix, before I left, but I decided not to. When I came home and was ready to take her, she was gone.

    I fell in love in Paris. Too bad I didn’t earlier.

  • On Franco-American Relations

    Voeux 2015

    This morning I awoke to the nicest news from France, only to then hear some of the worse and it made me reflect on the state of Franco-American relations.

    I woke up this morning and did my morning prayers. I woke up a little late and had a doctor’s appointment so I was in a little rush. I had enough time though to open my phone and check my e-mail.

    There I saw the most lovely message from my friends in France, Dorothée and Mayeul Fournier. They were wishing me a Happy New Year. It felt great to get that note from France and to know that I was in their thoughts. I was smiling.

    But no sooner had I began to smile, that that happiness turned to shock and sadness. I then checked social media and saw responses towards Islamic terrorism. I wasn’t sure what was going on but I knew something wasn’t good. After a few more moments I soon learned about the horrific massacre on France’s media.

    This post is not to talk about our shared threat, Islamic extremism, but to touch more on the friendship between our two countries.

    How Many Americans View the French

    Americans, unless we know it or not, are taught, subtlety, to hate the French. This may come as a shock to my French friends, but not my American ones.

    I truly and honestly believe that it comes from a defensive reaction. Americans think that the French don’t like us so we in turn don’t like them. It’s like an act of preemptive hate. Ridiculous.

    Now there have been some strains with our first ally, no doubt about it. During the 2003 Invasion of Iraq, France was one of the loudest voices against military action in Iraq. I, and many other Americans, were furious that our so called ally, would halt us from stopping what many considered a clear and present danger to the United States and her allies.

    I remember telling people that, if I ever travelled to Europe and had to do a layover in France, I would ask for a wheelchair so that I could get transferred across the airport so my feet wouldn’t touch French soil. Yeah, I hated France that much.

    And it wasn’t hard either. At the end of the day the blame falls solely on my shoulders for being so naive but it didn’t help that I was brought up in a culture where disliking the French was part and parcel with watching baseball.

    How Many French View Americans

    Then, a few years ago, I had the opportunity to travel to France for the first time. I had gotten over my anger and was genuinely looking forward to it. I was there for humanitarian reasons as the World Hemophilia Conference was being held in Paris that summer and was on my way to Macedonia, where I was helping their Hemophilia community.

    I remember my first day on the Champs-Élysées, strolling and looking at the sights (the girls) when I started noticing something strange. I started seeing tons of people in pro-American clothing. Mostly takes on the American flag, but still, there was a large number of French people wearing American themed outfits. I was stunned. By the end of the day I counted at least five French people wearing US themed garb.

    The next day I hit the Champs-Élysées again, this time, with a more open eye. I was sure that all the French people wearing USA stuff must’ve been a fluke, some type of strange chance that I just happened to be upon. And sure enough by the time I had lunch at my favorite French restaurant, Quick (it’s there McDonald’s), I had only counted three. The world seemed right again.

    Then, like clockwork, I saw more French people in USA clothing. In the next hour or so, I counted up to seven people! I couldn’t take it anymore and I saw a French girl standing outside a clothing shop wearing American flag shorts. I had to ask what the deal was.

    “We fucking love America,” was her response. Consequently, she also designed the shorts herself.

    I quickly learned that the French not only like Americans, but they loved us. And when I thought about how most of my countrymen hate the French, I felt horrible.

    But Aren’t the French Rude?

    Yes and no. I tell people this; how would you like it if people came up to you and spoke gibberish expecting you to understand them? You wouldn’t like it either, in fact, it would probably make you angry to the point that you may come off rude yourself. Armed with my limited French, I could say things like, “Excuse me, I don’t speak French. Sorry. Do you understand English or Spanish?” One-hundred percent of the time I would get a happy response, friendly smile, and help that almost became embarrassing. When I would ask a French person for directions they would literally walk with you for a bit to make sure you would’t get lost. I haven’t felt that sort of welcome in any other country. The reason they were so nice? I tried a little, that’s it. I spoke enough of their language that they then became receptive towards me. They weren’t rude because I wasn’t rude.

    Which brings me to another point. A friend of mine pointed out that one time, in Paris, it took them forever to get serviced until they had to call the waiter over. At first I was understanding but then later realized his unintentional mistake.

    Would you like it if some stranger came into your house, didn’t say a word, and just started grabbing food from your fridge? No, of course you wouldn’t but that’s nearly the same thing as walking into a restaurant in France and not announcing yourself with a hello. Walking in and taking a seat without being shown is the near equivalent.

    How were they dressed? Was it the “American suit” of a t-shirt and baseball hat? Americans have some of the worse hygiene in the world, visually. We stink up places with our sweatpants, shorts, and t-shirts.

    In short, the French and Parisians can be rude, just like any other culture. We just have to remember that we can be the ones that are being rude and not actually knowing it.

    Franco-American Friendship

    Americans like to remind the French and the English that they wouldn’t be under German control right now if it wasn’t for America, but Americans also tend to forget that without the French, we would still be kneeling to an English crown. Next to George Washington, the most important man in creating a free United States of America is Lafayette, a Frenchman.

    Yet here we are, 2015, and Americans feel closer to our first enemy, the British, than our first friend, the French. Meanwhile anti-Americanism sentiment is higher in Britain than it is in France. We have it so backward here.

    What Should We Do?

    Americans should do two things. One, remember our history and, two, have the same love and concern that the French have for us.

    I’ll close with this final thought. I have only cheered on two national soccer teams in person in my life, the US and France. It doesn’t make me less of an American because I support the French, if anything, it makes more of one.

    Allez les Bleus!

    Stade de France

  • The Writing Myth

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    So this is like my fourth or fifth post on the craft of writing, but this is the one that I’ve been itching to write about. The myth of writing.

    First, what is craft? I keep saying that word and if you’re a new writer, you’ll be hearing a lot of it too. Craft simply means the art and creation of writing. There is a ton of stuff that goes into creative writing. You have to learn how to master as much as you can, all these different skill sets to get better at the entire act of writing fiction. I’m not sure there will ever be an all around great writer, but your job is to not be bad at a lot of the aspects but trying to be good or at least better than average on all the different aspects of writing.

    You can be good at description but stink like a gym sock when it comes to dialogue. Your grammar might suck. You can’t really spell that good. You don’t understand the basics of story structure. You don’t know how to create suspense. You don’t know how to organize your ideas. The list goes on and on, and all these things make up what people call the craft of writing. (By the way, I can be pretty bad at all of them.) Our job as writers is to get better at all these different aspects of writing. Which brings me to the subject of this post, the writing myth.

    There has been a long debate as to what is commercial fiction and what is literary fiction. I think there isn’t one. It’s just that there are some book snobs and then there are not.

    For most of my life, I bought into the writing myth too. I thought like most people, great writers were just born with it, having a great book inside of them just waiting to come out and then one day – BAM – while their hair has grayed they sit down for the next two to six years in a cabin or somewhere in Africa and then out comes nothing but pure genius.  That’s not how it works.

    Writing, is like any art. You need to practice and do a lot of it. That’s it. You can talk about painting and playing a guitar all day. You can read about painting and playing a guitar all day. Heck, you can dream about that painting and song all day too, but at the end of the day, the only thing that will get you closer to painting that painting and playing that song is to, wait for it, start painting and playing. Crazy, I know.

    Sure, there are flukes, freaks of nature, but they are not the norm, they are the exception. There are examples of folks who wrote their first book and it was genius, but for the rest of us, most of the time, to learn something, you have to practice the skill over and over.

    That’s why it irks me about literary snobs. There’s the rightful saying that those that can’t, teach, but I also think that there should be something along the lines of, those who can’t create art, critique.

    Take some of the best writing that has come out in the past few years. Like Stephen King’s 11-22-63 and John Grisham’s Sycamore Row. Had these two books come from a new writer, they’d be getting awards and acclamations up the wazoo, but instead, since these men have created previous works that – gasp – appealed to large sections of the public and have also written some clunkers, these books are to be just recognized but not applauded for the great pieces that they are. Hot tip people, that’s not how it works, that’s not how anything in life works. No one just grabs a guitar or a paintbrush one day and knocks out a Rembrandt or a Stairway to Heaven. What it takes is a lot trial and error, mostly error.

    As of right now, I have three works in different parts of disarray. A novel and two short stories, both for my eyes only. Every time I look at them, I am so unhappy because as a person and a writer, I keep changing and growing. Things I was once proud of I now hang my head in shame about. Why? Because it’s a process, that’s why. And if you want to get good at this writing thing, you need to swing your bat and strike out more than you get hits.

    So when it comes to your writing, don’t expect to write your Magnum Opus the first time out. It does, but rarely, happen. Instead, just do what nearly all successful writers do. Suck a lot. First in private, then in public. Eventually, you’ll stop sucking and something good will come out. As for those who will then hold your first or early works against you for your entire writing career, it doesn’t matter. They were too scared to suck and played it safe anyway. Don’t let their envy be a reason for you not reaching your success.

  • I am a Writer

    IMG_2760One of the first things you need to do is change your attitude. You need to stop thinking of yourself as someone who may write, to someone who does write. Again, I can hear your excuse making mind (more on that weasel in later posts) doing what he does best, make excuses. “But I haven’t written anything yet! How am I a writer? I’m still reading your stupid blog posts!” First, thank you for reading my stupid blog posts. It’s nice to know someone is. Second, you can’t get to where you want to go unless you start acting like it.

    It’s sort of like someone who is successful at losing weight. Where most people say to themselves, “I’m overweight by a hundred pounds,” and that thinking gets them nowhere, you need to think like those that do lose the weight instead. Most of there minds think, “Okay. I’m a fit person. Starting today and now, I am an exercising, health food eating freak. It’s just who I am. These extra 100 pounds? No problem, I’ll just do what I do and it will come off eventually, because I’m healthy.”

    And that’s what you need to do to. Not lose a hundred pounds because you look wonderful. Trust me. I’m an Internet blog post from the past. What I mean is, you need to start thinking and acting like a writer.

    Now, I’m not saying you run into your boss’s room and quit your job and announce to the world that you’re gonna write the next Harry Potter, once you buy some pens first. You can even keep it to yourself. But the most important thing is, look at yourself as a writer. Treat yourself as a writer. Act like a writer. Eventually, you’ll become a writer.

    This mindset does several things. Of course the first thing folks think about is the confidence it gives you. That’ not bad. But what really matters is how you look at the world, and in turn, yourself. You start reading books on the craft of writing or watch an interview of your favorite author. Only this time, you’re not a fan but his or her equal. It’s a mental game changer.

    When you start reading books like a writer, or watch movies and television like a writer, or just walk around thinking your a writer, you will become that writer faster than someone who was full of doubt.

    Now, this doesn’t mean you should just daydream and do nothing. On the contrary. You need to get into the habit of writing above all things. (If you haven’t noticed yet, I’ll be saying those words over and over again, habit and writing.) There is nothing more important than actually writing something, anything. It is better than writing nothing at all. However, this slight change in thinking, this paradigm shift, will make your sitting that much more important.

    Guess what I suggest you do know? That’s right, write.

    No, seriously. Stop reading this.

    You’re still reading this and not writing. Why are you reading this?

  • Where to Start

    IMG_2761On my last post, I ended with saying that aspiring writers need to get into the habit of writing. Okay, so you turned off the Internet, opened up an empty document, or grabbed a pen an paper, and you just sat there, frozen. I thought this writing thing would be easier?

    Writing isn’t easy, but it isn’t hard either. Like most things, getting started is the hardest part. So what should you do when you’re stuck at the blank screen?

    Journal

    Just write about your day. What’s on your thoughts or your mind. Anything at all. The important thing is to just write for the sake of writing. Once you do this, you are 180 degrees from where you were; someone who was dreaming about writing, to actually writing. I can already hear your objections through the magic of space and time, “What does me talking about my laundry have to do with my space western zombie story?” Everything. Again, I cannot stress how important the act of actually writing is.

    Is you, sitting around, writing about how the room you’re in looks actually part of the novel you have in your mind. Yes! Especially if you’ve never really written before. We are talking about not writing, as much as getting into the habit of writing.

    Look at it this way. If you spend a week not writing, after that week is done, you would have finished exactly no writing. But if you wrote everyday, just for five minutes, you will more than likely write at least one sentence about your WIP (work in progress) which is 100% more than the first example.

    Journal About Your WIP

    Write about your story. You don’t have to write your story, but it wouldn’t hurt. Just start by talking to yourself. It could look something like this:

    okay. here i am. i was reading this webpage by this dumb guy named tony hernandez and dude was sayin that i just need to write and that anything is better than nothing. well here i am! nothing. see, he is stupid. I should have listened to everyone who gave him a bad review. But he also said to write about my story. I’m not even sure what it is! i mean, there’s a cowboy and he’s in space. but why is he a cowboy in space? I guess he’s like a sherif or something. Yeah! that’s it. he’s the sheriff of a planet, or a star system. Whatever. and then, a zombie apocalypse brakes out on a spaceship and he needs to check it out.

    And so on and so on. Seriously. Just write. If journaling doesn’t start it, then talk to yourself about the story. What scene is it? Where are you stuck? What do you want your story to be about? Sometimes, you’ll have a scene in your head. Write it! Just write anything. And then, do it again later. Either that day, but at least the next.