The following Ad was NOT made using AI. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, including buying and learning new software and using my old faithful Photoshop CS6.

I am so excited! Our neighborhood had a yard sale, and I participated. I decided to put a display of my books out. And somebody stole one of my books!

The Entire Tree 🤍 (mostly) good thoughts, a poetry collection available on the Zon as ebook, paperback, and hardcover free to read with Kindle Unlimited 📚

There are some really great resources on X. Some have blogs or websites that cover writing topics.

I Will Not Pass This Way Again There is nothing like preparing for a yard sale to put your life in perspective. Boxes and boxes of Halloween and Christmas decorations, unused for several years. Should I save this, should I get rid of that? Am I going to use that eventually? What are the chances? I found several inventions I had forgotten completely about. A table with a drill attached, making a router. I got a router as a Christmas gift years ago. A lifetime of acquisitions, the reality of health and energy.

My apologies to people trying to make a living writing, but I find posts like this mean more to me than 100 sales of my book.

When my sister-in-law passed away a few years ago, we inherited her collection of storage boxes. Put them in the shed. Got tired of not being able to store other things, so getting ready for a yard sale tomorrow. Dug out all the rubber boxes... anyone want a box?

I just read an article in which scientists concluded that humans have a propensity to go left. No, this does not explain all the liberals. It is a physical characteristic that, 9 times out of 10, when two people walking in opposite directions meet, each tends to move to the left. It is described as a preference toward moving counterclockwise. When I figure out what this has to do with writing, I will let you know.

I think one of my very favorite videos of all time on the internet is the Celtic Women singing You Raise Me Up.

Walking my dogs this morning, I looked at the giant, pale-orange dome of the sunrise and thought about how I look forward to the pictures and comments here on X. There is so much garbage on the internet; it is refreshing to read about personal experiences and enjoy the magnificent photos. As we used to say in the programming game, "garbage in, garbage out," and I think what you are exposed to tends to seep into your soul. This site is a refreshing respite - Thank You!

We take pride in standing tall, but sometimes we need to lean, and it is best to find someone else who needs support. Then both will be better off.

Has anyone ever felt like they were in a DM conversation with AI (please pardon the acronyms)? The posts start out with a generic discussion of your book style (which you provided in a previous post) and then ends with a detailed question(s) about your thoughts. It is really too much text for someone to be typing to just ‘you.’ If you don’t respond right away, there is a Hello? I wonder what the purpose would be. I have had DM’s from editor services or cover designers, but they usually get right to the point. Is this some pay-for-service that gets you chatting with AI before the real person steps in with the sales pitch? Is it just some pathetic adult living in their parents' basement playing with AI? Am I being paranoid, and these are real people?

Cooping: A form of election fraud where gangs kidnapped people, drugged or beat them, dressed them in disguises, and forced them to vote multiple times. So this went on in Edgar Allen Poe's time as well...

Angel's Tears 3 am sit on the backyard swing Always so peaceful This morning it was raining Very, very light - almost not The air so fresh, it was an experience Not just a smell, something deeper You didn't inhale it; you closed your eyes and existed in it But the best part was the raindrops because they weren't just raindrops they were so light, it was like small bits of sparks - not painful, but soothing and joyful like Angel's Tears

I got my foot caught in the Algorithm and had to ask AI for help. AI DM'd me and suggested an emoji. The emoji just LOL, then ghosted me. I finally followed the breadcrumbs out, but my profile will never be the same.

For those of you who think I am a 'nice guy', this is proof that there is another side... letter I sent to my tax accountant: I held off on this until I was certain the overpayment had appeared in my bank account and that this was not some type of fraud. Attached are the documents associated with this claim. I was notified by the IRS via letter that there was an overpayment of $$$$$, after a penalty of $$$$$ on my 2025 tax year filing. I want to speak to the person who prepared my taxes. I will be expecting a phone call with a date and time to meet, at which time I will expect to discuss (1) how such a mistake could be made, (2) who will pay the penalty, and (3) what you intend to do about the $$$$ I was charged to have my taxes done incorrectly.

What happens to the anger that we do not express? Does it dissipate, like moisture from clothes drying on a line? Is it turned inward and turns to something like bitterness? Does it come out as anger but aimed in another direction? Does it eat away at your soul until you are nothing but a shell? Asking for a story character friend

Good morning folks and folketts (I stumped spell check with that one, and AI is going berserk with squiggly underlines). At 2:30 in the morning, I am thinking of a scene in a book I am writing where the main character is furious with another major character. I am going to rewrite it. I did not do justice to fury. I didn't realize you could taste anger. It has a sort of acidic/bitter taste.

My daughter's sprinkler zone wasn't working, so I went over to her house to do one of those one- to two-hour jobs. If you guessed I was there all day, you would be right. And I am exhausted! I was never meant to be a plumber OR get this old. I should have been a writer instead. Moral: If you want to be a writer - keep after it (and don't become a plumber).

I had heard the term before, but never really ‘rolled it around in my head.’ Growing up on a farm, I spent a lot of time by myself. Since there was generally nobody to discuss whether I should or should not do something, the discussion was generally one-sided. “Should I grab this rope and swing out over the corral? I’ll do it.” If there had been someone else there, they could have said, “You could slip from the rope and find yourself up to your neck in cow manure.” But there was nobody else, so I discovered how to get out of a pile of cow manure up to my neck. Eventually, I learned to roll it around in my brain – the start of living in my head. I was taken out of 1st grade because all those little kids talking at once scared me. I spent the first few weeks sitting on the fire escape platform. I have never talked much, but listened a lot. Took things in. Rolled it around in my mind. And now, I find myself living more and more in my head. Sometimes it gets rather noise in there.

Sanity is overrated