Keeping It Together While Falling Apart

Dispatch #1

Writing can be a difficult task. Ask anyone who’s ever sat down in front of a blank page or that yawning white Word doc. Sometimes it prompts a blank mind. Great for Zen—not so great for novel-writing.

For some, writing a thousand words is a herculean challenge. For me, it used to be a breeze. I love words—what can I say? I didn’t say they were always quality words, or especially deft, or enthralling. But they came. And over time, the quality improved. (It had to—there was really only one direction to go.)

These days? It’s not so simple.
Wrist arthritis. Cervical impingements. Ice pick headaches. (Yes, that’s a clinical term. Yes, it feels exactly like it sounds: stabby.)

And that’s before I try to sit up and do anything about it. I do most of my writing now from a recliner, angled just right to keep the pain at bay—mostly.

A decade ago, I’d sit down on a Saturday with a plan: 10,000 words. Sometimes I got there. Sometimes life intervened. Back then, the interruptions were familiar ones: twelve-hour workdays. Two kids. A wife who, imagine this, wanted actual human conversation after dinner.

Summers were for childcare. Parks. Bike rides. Footballs, baseballs, Barney. So much Barney. You haven’t earned your stripes as a parent until you’ve endured “I love you, you love me…” on repeat for a full season.

As the kids got older, so did their hobbies—and my coaching duties grew: youth football, basketball, and baseball.
Somewhere in all that chaos, I filled notebooks. Ideas poured in, waiting for the right moment to become novels.

Then came the rescue dog. Leroy Brown.
Yes, that Leroy Brown—the baddest dog in the whole damn town.
He was more than a handful. He was an entire basket of trouble. Now? Still a handful. But also a terribly cute lap dog who sleeps on me while I write. Until, of course, he explodes into madness at the sound of a delivery truck, a bicycle, or—regrettably—the elderly.

(There’s a reason real authors keep cats.)

With my daughter’s encouragement and my wife’s support, I finally did it. I took one of those notebooks and turned it into a novel: Tripping the Light Fantastic.

Next time, I’ll tell you a bit about the story. It’s a space travel adventure, full of heart and tech and questions about what it means to live when everything changes.

For now, thank you for reading.

I’m still writing. Just a little slower these days.
But the stories still want out.

T.L.