SilverPen Silence.

Magical Kingdom Musings.

Lately, I have been doing a lot of thinking (a dangerous pastime, I know). You hear a lot, mostly from cynics, about the greed and money-centric focus of Disney World. And, to be fair; I get it. Every time you exit a ride into a store of themed merchandise, you can see evidence to support their claim.

But, see, here is the thing. Disney is more than just a company trying to sell you. Every company on the planet has to make money. That's a given. They are supporting everyone who works there or for them. They are also in a never ending process of improving etc. As such, they kind of have to make money.

Now, that being said leads me to my point. We all grew up with Disney as a part of our lives. The single core element that has always defined them has been their ability to tap into the fabric and intrensic nature of fantasy. From the fairy tales and fables of folklore to the more modern medium of movies, every child and even adults have always reveled in an opportunity to escape into fantastic worlds. All Disney has done is reintroduce us to our old friend in a new way.

Every aspect of Disney world does a great deal to emphasize this. It is a great credit to the scale and scope of imagination they pour into everything. The focus is inexplicably entrenched in immersion. From things imbedded into the ground beneath your feet to the texture and architecture of the buildings around you. It doesn't take a child's eye to see the wonder.

And, when you introduce a child with special needs into such a setting, all that magic comes alive. We, as adults, have a tendency to get tied up and numb to the magic all around us. But, for a child, especially one with special needs, imagination is such a huge part of their life. Those stories and characters are dear friends. Those places are treasure troves of escape from their daily reality. The second you inject them into the heart of that, it's like lifting the curtains of lavish velvet at a majestic theater stage.

I have always taken solace in my own imagination. I have crafted countless tales, landscapes, worlds and the like. But, even to me, I was struck and taken aback by the sights and sounds - the raw ability to reach out and touch something tangible. The second you see Kermit appear from a building to speak about the revolution or witness Mickey, the classic and iconic image of a gentleman waiving at you gives you pause. And then when he helps your daughter up from her chair... Or when Goofy hugs you and your Wife... Or, seeing Belle curtsey with your daughter and dance for a moment in response to her sudden simple request in the middle of a show... It's a lot to take in and appreciate.

The point is, Disney works so hard to capture that innocent magic of imagination in us all. To witness it is something spectacular. You get what you pay for. But it isn't all about the money. I have experienced it first hand. And it still brings me to tears and has me in awe. If you ever get the chance; go. I never expected to. And it is a memory that I wish I could freeze in time and experience forever.

Blank.

Blank.

Everyone who knows me knows that I have Narcolepsy. It isn’t a secret. I don’t hide it. So, with that comes the standard never-ending sleepiness that is infamously associated with it.

No, seriously – I wake up so mind-numbingly tired that I can barely think at all, let alone of anything other than sleep. It is the curse of the condition. You are never, ever, anything but sleepy.

However, that isn’t the only aspect of the affliction that affects me. There are so many others that most people never realize. For instance; lately, I have been plagued by blank outs.

That’s right; you read that correctly - blank outs. Everyday, most times at least 2-3 times a day at least I suffer from what we have come to call blank outs. I can be reading, watching a movie or even in the middle of a conversation. It doesn’t matter how active I am or how much I may have slept the night before. Regardless, to me the world goes blank. I can complete a task as if on autopilot, keep walking or just collapse.

File Not Found.

No Signal.

The Number You Have Dialed Is No Longer In Service.

There is no gradual slip from consciousness or indication to warn me. It is as if a switch has instantly been flipped and everything is blank, gone. It can last a few seconds to minutes or even hours. When I do manage to come around it is generally with a jolt. It is as if being hit with a burst of adrenaline. I have to look around me and try to rapidly determine what has happened and assess my situation.

Now, this may sound fairly harmless at first glance. I mean, most people have dozed off before, if even just for a moment. But this goes beyond that. I say this because everything goes blank. Your mind goes blank, often your awareness of where you are to even what you were doing. If you’re lucky you can try to piece together what was going on or gather some idea of how long of a lapse of time you are missing.

That is, if you are lucky. I won’t lie; years ago I had an accident as a direct result before I knew I even had such a condition. It took a long time before I ever even understood what had happened. To this day I am extremely careful, especially about driving. In fact, I didn’t even drive at all for around 8-9 years or so.

You may not even be able to truly imagine what it’s like. I suppose you could relate it to working on something on your computer when, for whatever reason, it reboots and you lose everything you were working on. However, I suppose in that instance you might still have an idea of where you were at or what you were doing/going with things. For me it can be a complete void.

This is something that I have to struggle with on a daily basis. Others do too. I can sit down in my chair for a minute in the evening and then in a blink it’s some time later and I have no idea if I sat out meat for supper the next day. I may not know if I finished my daughter’s feeding or what I was meaning to do. It can be frightening. Basically my brain collapses in on itself into a sudden cycle of deep sleep but without going through the proper motions. There is no rhyme or reason. It just happens.

Sometimes, it isn’t just a look on my face or an expression. Sometimes I really am just blank. And I always try to apologize to my Wife. I never mean to go blank. I can’t control it. And I know it is an endless source of frustration for her and my family at times. But I felt it was something worth sharing. Because, Narcolepsy is more than just a comical excessive napping like people see in the movies. It is so much more complex and no two people suffer exactly the same.

Everyday I can only hope that there are fewer blank spaces in my day.  

Dreaming In Darkness.

Dreaming In Darkness.

Here is a basic question for you and don’t worry it is an easy one. Where do we dream? The answer, fundamentally, is that we dream in darkness.

Think about that for a moment. When you close your eyes, the world effectively goes black to you. On a base level, our minds are cut off from one of our primary senses and we surrender it over to its own devices as we began to shut down our body’s systems to allow everything to rest/recuperate.

And on some level, it is in that ethereal plane of void and shadow that some of our most vivid and bright moments are born. We call them dreams, but in truth they can be anything from unconscious fragments of thought, memories to unresolved fears and worries. My point is that is where some powerful parts of ourselves are born.

I know something about this, because if anyone is qualified to talk about such a subject; I am. Over the course of my life I have done so much sleeping. And not in the way you might expect.

As many people familiar with me are aware I suffer from two neurological conditions known as Narcolepsy and Cataplexy. Directly because of this I had to go for years before we had an accurate diagnosis or appropriate treatment. I’ve spent weeks and even months in a perpetual state of sleep.

While in any of these events, I could sometimes hear things around me and at others was lost to dreams. It is said, by both experts and those who suffer the shackles of sleep or plagued by the demons of dream (both are expressions I have used to inject some degree of humor into the discussion of my condition) that those with this problem tend to experience far more vivid and intense dreams.

While others might only dream while in the confines of their beds, we can involuntarily fluctuate in and out of REM sleep just walking around. We have no control over when we choose to drift off to sleep, let alone when we will awaken. Long story short, I can go from wide awake to deep sleep as rapidly as a light switch can be flipped.

I mention all of this as a matter of perspective. Two days ago, my son collapsed in the check out aisle at a local grocery store. Within moments I was packing him out to our vehicle. We had believed he suffered from a form of seizure and had been treating him accordingly. So, after the designated time had passed and his situation remained unchanged, we administered his emergency medication and called an ambulance.

By that evening my son couldn’t stay awake and it was decided to transport him and my Wife 4 hours by ambulance to a children’s hospital. The next day tests were being done and he spent the majority of the day asleep and unresponsive. In time, a neurologist reviewed his data and stated that this was not a seizure that he was suffering from.

All manner of thoughts and questions now flood through my thoughts. But at the core is the fact that, these doctors have admitted that they believe my son might share my affliction. This point leaves me conflicted.

It is terrifying beyond description to be frozen inside your body and unable to react. It is also a nightmare to awaken in a fright unaware of where you are or what is going on, especially if you suffer from paralysis via cataplexy or the like. To know that my child now might be experiencing the same thing pains me. And yet, it is a foe I already know…

In addition to this whole ordeal, our oldest son was airlifted last night as well to the same hospital with my Mother escorting him. There has been some debate regarding the authenticity of his symptoms but regardless they have to take it seriously when a child, even a 16 year old one, complains of numbness, tingling and loss of use of his legs or lower back.

In the meantime, I am confined to my home, trying to care for my two daughters and coordinate things from here as best I can. In many ways I feel as if I am trapped inside some terrible dream and unable to affect any impact on the real world.

Failure Failed.

People fail. They can fail in so many different spectacular ways. Some are even talented enough to be able to fail both when trying not to do so and when not even attempting to do anything.

When it comes to failure I tend to be somewhat of an expert. I fail to notice the most obvious signs that something would be unwise to say or do. I fail to remember the things I shouldn’t forget. I even manage to fail when trying only to provide assistance on the most basic of tasks.

To surmise; I am a master at failing.

But, at the end of the day, when everything is said and done one thing remains; the knowledge that one cannot fail forever. There is the perpetual hope, the faith and determination that despite the overwhelming amount of failure in your life that not everything is doomed to failure.

I guess it is safe to say that it is possible to fail at failing. You have to get things right once in awhile. All you have to do is persevere. 

Hypothetical Holidays.

Recent events have left me looking back on life and reviewing things somewhat. For instance, my birthday came and went this last November and not a single soul in my household noticed. Not one word was uttered to me aside from a flood of well wishes from friends and family online etc. for days. Now, to be fair and honest we had a lot going on - chiefly among them my son being taken by ambulance for seizures.

As a point of full disclosure, I did assure my Wife that the matter was not a big deal. There was a lot of things going on and I wasn't about to go full on diva to make them all about me. I am not that conceited or that important, even in my own estimation. But it still did hurt.

But all this did get me to thinking on a lot of other holidays. It brought to mind Christmas gatherings, Birthdays; you name it. One thing a lot of them had in common was disappointment. Now I am not bemoaning a lack of gifts or that anything I ever received wasn't appreciated. I have always been happy to receive anything but over the years have come to avoid opportunities for others to give them.

I realize this will sound bad no matter how I say it, so, let me just try to get this bit out of the way. People have never seemed to take the time to really get to know me. It is not a biased view or opinion - it is a fact. This includes family, friends, pretty much everyone (with a few precious exemptions who know who they are).

People would always expect me to be exploding with joy that their gift was some prized jewel. Yet it wouldn't have any real appeal or value to me. I could care less about the money involved. What mattered to me was the heart of the gift, the intent. I can recall some of the most cherished gifts ever given to me and they all held importance in my heart because of who gave them, their meaning or some other arbitrary aspect. The point being; I could be happy with a free give away token or the ball out of an old-fashioned computer mouse. I am far from what you could describe as high-maintenance.

What I am trying to get at is that so many people don't think before they gift. And if they do think it is only some generic assumption that really only serves as a 'what will be convenient for me.' Instead it should be about deciding what might be meaningful to the recipient.

You don't even have to give someone a gift. Honest. But, and I can only speak for myself, when you receive a gift it is possible to appreciate the gesture, be grateful, and yet still feel guilty that you can't give the giver the big reaction they are expecting.

I don't know if this is therapy or curiosity or what but I'd like to try a little experiment. Let's see how well you know me with a little hypothetical holiday gift giving (this might be the best gift you can give and it is free). The rules are simple; money is not an issue, nor is availability. All you need do is offer up what you think might be a welcome gift and I'll see if I can reciprocate. Then we can compare notes to see if we both would have enjoyed it or not.

And go...

Drifting Anchors.

For each of us, we have our anchors; those very things that ground us and keep us focused. For me it has always been a deep seated routine and habitual nature. However, as a counter balance to this I have also always been driven by a knack for being consumed by a passion to the point of what I confess could be called obsession. It has been a strength and a weakness.

What makes me good at some of the things I do is this very ability to immerse myself in a project and so long as I have something like it to direct my efforts everything goes well for me. The problem therein though lays with my very nature. It is when I lose that project or activity that I can direct my time and attention on that I fall apart.

As an example; I have often fallen into a routine in my mornings where I spend a portion of my time working on a story or some other activity. Inevitably though, I finish the story off or something in my life happens that completely destroys my habitual pattern. It can be anything from an unfortunate surge in my daily deluge of drowsiness due to my Narcolepsy to my children falling ill. It doesn't much matter what the reason is; all that matters is the fact that once my pattern is disturbed it can be hard for me to recover.

This may be interpreted by some as an excuse or just a lack of commitment. I mean, let's face it; if someone said they couldn't complete a simple task because they were interrupted that would be some pretty weak tea. I am not saying by any means that if I have to step away from working on something that I am forced to completely forgo any efforts to complete it. Far from it.

What I am saying is this; if I begin working on a story or project and fall into a daily routine/pattern of spending x amount of time on it, completing a set degree of progress or doing a specific part of it at a regular interval then if something disrupts me I may not exactly be able to get myself back on track easily. There have been times where I had a completed piece of work before me, but as I was trying to revise/refine it something occurred that prevented me from resuming my regular routine. By the time I was able to whatever factors that had me in the appropriate creative environment were gone.

Imagine being in the mood for Italian food but all you can spare the time for is a street vendor hot dog or supermarket check-out candy bar. You can always eat it and go on but it doesn't necessarily satisfy you. For me it can be like that if the various circumstances behind the scene place me in the mindset for a science fiction tale when I had been working on something fantasy based. I may still be able to produce something but without that drive it never turns out quite the same.

I've said it before; a writer can always write something - even if it is just something about a cheese sandwich. A repair man can also patch up a problematic part. It doesn't mean that it is a perfect fix. Sometimes it is just something that will work and get you by.

Myself, I am a husband and Father of four children. My youngest son struggles with a generalized anxiety disorder as well as obsessive compulsive tendencies and my youngest daughter has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Even without considering their own problems, my health or the innate issues of four children interacting in a small house etc it should be obvious to grasp how easily life can disrupt your schedule.

Over the last few years I have had to have surgeries on my wrist, my neck and lost all feeling from the shoulder down in my right arm along with a good measure of function from it. And I am right handed. This hasn't exactly helped my productivity, I'm afraid.

However, with that said I have been working on a story I began some time back recently. Trying to jump back into it and get myself back into a routine to occupy my mind. Even with extensive notes or previous work to guide me it isn't without difficulty to drop back into a story in the middle and try to move forward without problems.

While working on this story I was contacted regarding another old story, or I should say an initial part of one. Albeit vague, interest was expressed in the potential continuation of the tale. A topic of which I can admit (like most of my stories) that there may exist more written about or at the very least some detailed notes covering the direction of things.

Even when things throw me off track that doesn't mean I have completely drifted free from my anchor. I may not be able to return to every story or project and for those that I do it may take some time. But I don't generally just start something without intending to finish it. I need something to direct my passion, I rely on a routine I can focus myself on. Sometimes I get blown off course and I have to engage in alternate tasks until I can find my way back.

I doubt I will ever be able to quit being anything other than what I am. To anyone else out there governed by a similar nature I can only wish that your own anchors, regardless of how much you may find yourself drifting away from them, remain tethered enough that you never lose them.

Stay anchored, stay driven and do what you love. Life will always be there to rock the boat.

The Lunar Lady.

The Lunar Lady.

It has been often said throughout the ages that a woman shares much in common with the moon. It is both a poetic metaphor as much as it is a fundamental truth, in my opinion. They both can shine brightly even in the darkest of settings – seemingly reflecting illumination we might not otherwise know was there. Likewise they are also capable of mysterious beauty; a force powerful enough to drive us towards exploration, inspiring passion, poetry and so much more.

The moon has always held a special place in my heart for me. There is a subtle magic that resonates through it as it undoubtedly has been doing so since first any eyes were ever laid on it. However, even as wondrous as it is to behold the moon isn’t always around. It waxes and wanes, disappearing in cycles only to return in time.

That final aspect is one that now my youngest daughter has in common with said celestial body. At any given time in a day she may be as pleasant and beautiful as a bright full moon in the fall. And yet, just as the moon changes it’s phase so will she – removing her radiant personality from us.

My daughter is only five years old.

She was recently diagnosed with affective bipolar disorder.

I’m still struggling to come to terms with it, I think we all are. But as we look back, the pieces were all there, fitting together little by little. The only catch was that there was no way to see the bigger picture of what was happening back then. It took time for everything to become clear.

At first there were little outbursts; temperamental fits, defiance and the like that a parent expects to see in a young child. Those incidents gradually grew to become the kinds of things a concerned teacher or frustrated bus driver calls you about. Everything reached a climax recently that culminated in a series of calls home from the principal, required isolation and even restraint.

Terror now grips my chest at the thought that every time she steps out our door that I have no way of knowing what the world will hold for her that day. Will someone take advantage of her? Will it be a good day? Will she hurt someone or herself? As a father I fear even more for her now knowing not only can I not always protect her but that she may not always be able to protect herself.

In time I know that things will change. That is, after all the nature of things; to be ever changing. We have already started her on some medications to help her and therapy as well. I will always be her father. I’ll always love her and be there to support her no matter what. But, to me, she will forever be my little lunar lady. Every time she fades from view a piece of me will fade with her, eager for her return.

The road ahead will be rocky and not without challenges to be faced, of that I am certain. However, I am also certain that with love and support we’ll make it. Perhaps with such early treatment it’ll help her in the long run. Either way she will never have to face it alone.

The Reality Of Ridiculous.

The Reality of Ridiculous.

Have you ever felt ridiculous? Ever had someone point out that you looked ridiculous? Perhaps you have, yourself told someone else that an idea they proposed was ‘simply ridiculous?’

We’ve all heard the word in use in our daily lives at some point or another. Everyone on the planet by virtue of living among our fellow examples of humanity and/or members of society has experienced feeling or being made to feel ridiculous. Many of us have less than favorable memories stashed away in our mental vaults that we’d rather pretend didn’t exist that involve that very word as a center piece.

What does the word even mean though? If you look it up in a dictionary it might say something like: ‘deserving or inviting derision or mockery; absurd.’ I suppose on a technical level that is an appropriate explanation of the term itself. But, to me, the real true meaning of it is something a little different. In my opinion ridiculous is more along the lines of meaning any identifiable or noticeable difference perceived as being separate from conforming to the greater general majority.

I’ve had more than my share of first hand experiences with the word ridiculous over the course of my life. I won’t lie about it, for a long time I let people make me feel ridiculous on a regular basis. For example as a child I had a pair of denim overalls the spitting image of some my father wore every day to work. I would put them on and help him with things around the house/yard/garden. For me I took pride in my overalls, they made me feel good about myself.

Then one day I wore them to school oblivious to how other kids may perceive them or react. I quickly discovered that I had just painted myself as a prime target for ridicule. Regardless of the fact that our school was a small rural district among a collective of small rural districts that made up – you guessed it; a rural county. The majority of students all had grown up on a farm, around a farm or completely immersed in farm culture. But that didn’t matter; I was the one kid who showed up one day wearing something completely different than anything else the other kids were wearing. So they made me feel ridiculous, and I in my ignorance let them.

Years later on in my education, somewhere near the end of elementary and perhaps the early days of junior high I recall attending my first school dance. It didn’t leave me with a lasting desire to make a long tradition of repeating. Once more I was oblivious with regard to my attire and showed up in dress pants, shirt, complete with tie and vest. My first clue was when my cousin arrived at my house in infinitely more casual clothes.

When we reached the dance itself I found myself instantly engulfed in ridicule and feeling the full brunt of what that can impart onto you. To make matters worse I had no concept of how to dance or any comfortable facsimile thereof. Some friends of mine convinced me of trying to make use of some physical comedy gags I had improvised like waddling in place like a penguin and calling it ‘penguin dancing’ as well as sticking one foot spaced far in front of the other almost in a straight line and rocking back and forth like a rocking horse.

Ever heard the phrase most often used to try and console someone after they have reached new heights of ridiculous; they’re laughing with you instead of at you? I heard that one a lot – almost in a chorus stereo format style even. You can honestly tell a difference even as a kid between good spirited humor and people making a mockery of you. The entire rest of the night I spent being a repository for people’s pity or more pointed proclamations of being ridiculous.

As I grew up I eventually discovered the truth of the matter; that feeling ridiculous is something that solely rests with you. Some other kid once tried to mock me by pointing out that my T-shirt didn’t match a flannel shirt I was wearing over it. In fact, they (as I recall) tried to claim that I had to be color blind. Truthfully, I am not color-blind at all but I do happily concede to being color-stupid. I can tell one color apart from another without much trouble, but when it comes to instinctively knowing what two colors compliment and what ones clash I am woefully ignorant. Which I must point out doesn’t really matter much to me.

In retaliation and armed with my burgeoning understanding I started making it a point to wear mismatched color schemes of the same sort – often resorting to the most obvious pairings I had available. I would put on a bright blue shirt and then throw on a vibrant red flannel with it. In the face of any attempt to make me feel ridiculous I would simply smile and reply with comments along the lines of ‘I like how I look,’ or ‘what does it matter if I don’t match,’ etc.

Over the years as I grew up I found more and more that no body could make me feel ridiculous unless I allowed them to. I also started to see more and more the unmistakable association between what everyone else expected of you based on conformity and those they directed ridicule towards. Even as an adult it continued – and I don’t foresee it is something that will ever completely vanish from society.

That doesn’t mean that we should keep propagating it. That doesn’t mean we need to live in ignorance of how we allow it to affect us. It is our choice alone to permit it to make us feel bad or deny it any power over us.

I worked a job at local manufacturing plant for years holding a respectable job operating machines that were responsible for providing every other aspect of the production process with the raw materials they needed to build about everything they made. It wasn’t easy, it was long hours working from just before midnight to just after noon constantly moving and trying to pay attention to hundreds of moving strands of fiberglass and dozens on spools of woven fiberglass matte cloth as it was being pulled into a heated metal die, coated in thick sticky resin and coming out as a solid beam on the opposite end. It didn’t take much to have the process come to a crashing halt leaving some horrible messes on par with a gooey Gordian knot still heated to triple digits and an entire plant of other people depending on the flow of the materials we made to enable them to keep working.

The very first day I showed up for that job, I did so wearing a comfortable pair of old overalls. Worked in them every night too and didn’t give a hoot what anyone else thought or said on the matter. Although it is a little difficult to make a grown man feel ridiculous no matter what he is wearing if you watch him run over to a river of moving fiberglass mattes and strands of fiberglass string to start sewing thing together while it is still moving to keep it from crashing.

Point of the matter is that if you spend your days letting everyone make you feel ridiculous then you’ll never give yourself the time to show those same people that it doesn’t matter if you don’t dress the same or act the same. Just be yourself, be comfortable with who you are and don’t ever feel guilty about finding out who that person is (or is going to be). You can even be ridiculous if you want to be – but never let anyone make you feel that way.

Because if you ever stop and take the time to sound that word out it tells you all you need to know about anyone who tries to make you think you are being it

Re – [explicative deleted] – you – us; they’re trying to reinforce the difference between you and the rest of ‘us.’ And in the process all they are reinforcing is that they are the omitted component of that word themselves. Why don’t we all make an honest attempt to pay a little less attention to what others are saying is ridiculous and a little more on who we are as individuals. There is plenty more value in people that we can prize as precious without pointing out where we think they don’t fit in.

The Rewards Of Reboot.

How much do you know about something as simple as a transistor? What about a neuron? The two things are more similar than you might realize. In fact, our brains share a comparable quality to an electronic device is some aspects. Let's consider this for a moment, shall we?

A transistor is a basic device that that in its most primitive form only allows things to flow through it in one direction. Depending on how it is implemented it can act as a switch or as an amplifier of sorts. Taken together in large groups transistors are actually what make up the memory component an electronic device uses to store all the things it needs to remember.

Starting to sound familiar? Without trying to teach you an entire class on the subject, let's just establish that it is in transistors that all those ones and zeroes exist as either off or on. It is the most basic building block of any electronic device we have ever devised.

So, how does that compare to neurons then? Neurons are the biological equivalent of the transistor. Within our minds, billions of neurons mimic the way billions of transistors work in a device. Signals are transmitted through them, things are stored and the overall collective result is a complex array of neural activity that we call intelligent thought or memory.

And just like in an electronic device something has to keep cycling through all those tiny transistor-like things to keep them all alive and active. If you turn the power off from an array of transistors they can 'forget' any information that they had stored inside them. Take the memory inside your computer for instance or the radio in your car. Disconnect the battery or unplug it from the wall and anything that was stored there is gone.

Now, that doesn't mean that other forms of storage doesn't exist to keep up with things that are needed for long term retention. If we go to sleep we do not forget our names or how to walk. Just like every time we turn our car off it doesn't forget what time was on the clock. That stuff stays stored ( in the car's case that bit is true as long as the battery isn't drained).

But let's say for instance there is some damage to transistors or our neurons for instance. Perhaps something get's loaded into them in the wrong order or, due to a hiccup isn't stored at all. What could happen then? There are any number of resulting effects that could come from it. It could be from us having a stroke that damages a segment of our neurons. We might have something 'misfire' so to speak. Whatever the cause it can leave us - much like an electronic piece of technology to become best described as malfunctioning.

So what do we do?

The answer is so simple that we generally overlook it. We reboot.

When we shut a machine down, we empty it of all those temporary stored values. We dump out every transistor of any electric current flowing in it and let it all return to its base state. As it comes back on it is them reloaded with the right values to begin anew. If anything was mixed up before it has by the very process of rebooting become reset.

Every single night when we close our eyes and go to sleep we give our brains that very chance of doing the same thing. It can in essence reboot itself, resetting a whole array of abnormal neurons, resting overworked areas and allowing things to renew itself. Too tired to remember clearly? Get some rest. Everything feeling foggy as you try to concentrate or think about something? Perhaps some sleep is in order.

For me I have a unique outlook on which to grant me perspective. Sometimes my own internal transistors get all twisted up - often by the very act of sleeping. Its as if instead of storing the right values things get shorted out. In time even my mind can sort it all back out but often enough the best thing for me to do is to simply allow myself to reboot. We take so much for granted about the magical marvels our bodies are capable of - much like we do technology.

Next time there is trouble give rebooting a try and then enjoy its rewards. Just try and appreciate some of what is going on behind the scenes to make those wonders work for you.

An Introduction Of Sorts.

My name is Matthew. I like to write/tell stories. I'm a husband and father of four. Every day I battle the sinister shackles of sleep and its demons of dream.

Sound strange enough? Do I have your attention, or at the very least your curiosity? I'll settle for your passing glance to be honest.

My point here is a rather mundane and simple one; to establish some idea of who I am to those just discovering me. And for those who have known me for awhile this can serve as a refresher course. There may be a test on this in the near future.

My initial introduction is a fairly boiled down base of the myriad of aspects I suppose one might use to describe me. But they are all true - even the waging the war for being awake. As surreal as it sounds I spend the majority of my day dealing with the monumental effort of remaining conscious. In that attempt I have my share of victories and defeats. I never quite know if I've drifted into a waking dream or if that tingling feeling in my left side is a chill or the fact that I am in the process of becoming paralyzed.

Around 2009 I was diagnosed with Narcolepsy with Cataplexy. Over the time since then I have had to come to grips with some uncomfortable concessions. For one, my day always begins with a cup of coffee and 40mg of Ritalin. Around four hours later I rinse and repeat. What that means is I take the medically allowed maximum of a commonly recognized stimulant just to give me a fighting chance of not being a zombie.

In case you need to further punctuate that little point, consider this: I can take as much Ritalin in one dose that some people take over an entire day. And right after, rather easily I must add, I can quite honestly take a nap. Let that sink in for a minute.

Added to that constantly nagging pull of drowsiness I have to accept that my left side can go limp at any time. I've used a cane so much with my right over the last few years to support myself while dragging my left leg when I have trouble that I believe I have passed my wrists serviceable limits. I just had Carpal Tunnel Release surgery on it the past November (on my birthday in fact - poetic irony anyone?).

Now I don't drive anymore. I don't work anymore. I very very rarely do much of anything alone either.

But don't get me wrong; I do have a life.

I enjoy reading (or writing) a good story or book. I walk my kids down for the bus every day and get them off the bus. I check the mail, my wife and I go to the store - there are lots of ways for me to spend my time. Even if there are times things manage to get the best of me, I try not to let depression win.

It isn't easy, I won't lie. But I have a wonderful wife to support me and a family the likes of which would make saints jealous.

So if your ever curious where these stories come from, they come from an imagination that never stops. It comes from dreams that aren't content to remain to the nocturnal hours. They are born of a brain that must be kept busy. So I keep it busy and if I am really lucky I get to make someone else smile.

I do it for the happy.

Making people happy makes me happy.

Are you happy?

If so I'm happy.

Tea Thinking.

Tea Thinking

I’d like to illustrate a very simple point, one that I think too many of us overlook or outright ignore. To be blunt; every single human being on planet earth thinks differently from their counterparts. Each person has some method of doing an action, even something trivial during the course of their day that sets them apart from the next. Does that mean that the way in which they go about a task is better or worse than someone else? Is the way they think about a topic any more profound than the next stranger they meet?

No.

In fact, there is a reason the word individual is used so often to describe someone. Because, let’s face the facts here; we are all individuals. Period. Let me demonstrate what I mean by way of a very basic example. The following is how I make tea:

Tea Making Procedure -

First, I take out a small pan and turn on some hot water in the faucet. I rinse it out with hot water by swishing it about before pouring it out and refilling the pan. With my pan now about ¾ of the way full of hot water I place it on an eye and set the heat on high to let it start to boil.

While that is heating up I get me three tea bags out and remove them carefully from their wrappers. Placing them into a neat stack I collect their strings and lift the bundle by their tags. Holding those tags I begin to flick the bags themselves into a spin, allowing the strings to entwine until they form one tight strand almost like a braid. I then proceed to take the twisted length of string and tie a quick knot somewhere near its middle before sitting it atop the tea bag wrappers.

Once the pan has come to a good strong boil I hang the tea bags over it by grasping their tags and dip them in. Dragging them in a few circuits I circle them about allowing them to sink in and then wrap the trailing string around the pan’s handle. At this point I generally reduce my heat as well down to around medium or just bellow.

I allow the tea to continue to boil for the next 3 minutes, and take the time to place two cups of sugar into the bottom of a gallon pitcher along with a long handled spoon. Once those 3 minutes are up I remove the pan from the heat (making sure to turn it off mind you, safety first) and allow it to steep for about 5 minutes.

After those 5 minutes are up I then unwrap my tea bag’s tie off and lift them just over the top of the liquid. By this point my twisted bundle typically begins to start to spin while the swollen sacks drip dark fluid. Patiently I wait for the steady drip to slow until it becomes almost non-existent before I remove the tea bags and relocate them into the trash can.

The still quasi-hot liquid is then poured ever so carefully into the pitcher where it is stirred to mix with the sugar. Cold water is added to the pan and dumped into the pitcher before I place the pitcher directly beneath the faucet or continue to ferry water with the pan. In fairly short order the pitcher is filled and the stirring slows to a stop, leaving the only remaining necessities being a lid and storage in the fridge.

Now, I can honestly admit that my tea making technique is not the one on the side of the box. Nor is it the precise method my mother taught me regarding how to make it. I could explain away every reason behind some of my various steps (like the twisting and spinning of the strings to prevent hunting around for individual strands or how it helps me spin out the bags afterwards) but then I could be at this all day I am afraid.

There are countless other ways to make tea; possibly you’d find new ones being developed every day. And, for the record, my way doesn’t make my tea any better than another’s. You could even argue that my tea making technique has virtually zero impact on the end result. But for me it makes sense, it works and it is how I always do it. If I watch someone else I puzzle over their own process. I won’t deny I may occasionally offer advice or mention how I do it differently.

But despite how you do it, or the way you think about such things the truth is tea is still made. We all have our ways, our methods and each one of us looks at things differently. You may plan out your story one way or start a project in a manner alternative to another. But we all end up with some result. My way might work well for me but not for you, doesn’t make it better or worse – just different.

Kind of like how we all are.

Ask The Questions You Don’t Know The Answers To.

Ask The Questions You Don’t Know The Answers To.

As cliche as it must sound, I have to confess I always start out any potential story by working it out by writing my thoughts down. And, as unhealthy as it may also appear, a big part of that involves placing myself into two separate parts of a conversation on the matter. Yes, that’s right; the literary equivalent to talking to myself.

Allow me to elaborate (you’re free to think of me whatever you like later). Questions are a valuable tool when you’re trying to plot out your stories… plot. I try to question myself at every possible point that I can before I ever even begin writing. Hence the internal interrogation so to speak I mentioned before. But the most important questions you can ask yourself are the ones you don’t already know the answer to.

Let’s say for example you already know that you are going to write a super fun adventure romp about a courageous young knight hoping to earn fame and riches. So asking yourself what motivates him might be futile, since you already know he seeks glory and gold. But what if you asked yourself something like just how far the young hero is prepared to go in order to reach his goal? How much would he sacrifice for that renown? How much would he pay for a pile of treasure? And, in the end would it even really be worth it to them?

One of the best things I have found in my experience to do is to always ask yourself every question you can. Ask why the hero is even involved, ask what makes the bad guy so bad, and even ask where everything is going to go from where you are at. The important thing is that you are asking every question you can. Especially if it is one you don’t know the answer to.

Everybody at some time or another that writes a story finds they are missing some detail in their work. Maybe they overlooked the fact that they never fleshed out where the hero came from, or what the name of some other character was. No matter what it was we all stumble into these kinds of things. But perhaps by questioning things as we go we can help eliminate some of these potential thorns.

Now my method of talking it out with myself might not be the most productive application for everyone. I’ll freely admit that, for you it might work better to use this technique in a different way. But however you make use of it; it cannot hurt you to ask yourself questions while you write. Try to put yourself on the other side of the desk, look at it from both angles. If you’re going to have a hammer swinging savior ask yourself why they wield the weapon. Try to reason out an answer to any element of the plot you can.

Finally I’ll leave you with an excerpt from some of my own pre-story notes to further highlight my point by example:

From a potential future story tentatively titled ‘Time Enough for Trouble.”

Time Enough for Trouble

Teaser;

Samuel Stormcrow is a man with a certain predisposition for always finding trouble wherever he goes. And as a wandering nomad with no place to call home that often doesn’t help him when it comes to making friends. But when he finds himself being escorted into a orbital star port under the false claim of charges he is unable to resist waiting around to see just what trouble is about to come calling. One should always make time for a little trouble – otherwise you miss out on all the fun.

Who is the main character?

Samuel Stormcrow – wandering wildcard and often regarded as an ill-omen everywhere he turns up. A lean built, witty wanderer who has an unnatural talent for being very good at surviving. Samuel is quite capable of thinking on his feet, and infamous for being followed by trouble. However, Samuel never runs from a problem and in fact looks on trouble as something fun. To him each bizarre encounter is another entertaining tale to tell later on down the road. He has been bouncing around from port to port since he was little – the only thing that feels like home is the familiar feel of hustling travelers and the like.

To describe Samuel; let’s say he is a lean waifish young man with ruffled coal black hair and eyes that shimmer like pools of frosted pond water. He is somewhat of a carefree witty happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Samuel enjoys a good bit of fun and abhors boredom above all. While he isn’t one typically known to be the aggressor in a fight he doesn’t back down from one either. In fact he often provokes such confrontations both unintentionally and sometimes on purpose. Samuel isn’t known for carrying a weapon per se, but he is infamous for his knack of making use of his surroundings to improvise implements of use. He is a vast repertoire of random knowledge, useless facts, and meaningless stories including irritating anecdotes. In short – he is a wandering man with a talented tongue, razor sharp wit, and extensive experiences with which to draw on. His only real fault, if you can call it such, is an unlikely coincidence for showing up prior to unfortunate events.

With regards to his name; Samuel is very protective of his name – being Samuel. He considers it quite rude and almost an insult to be referred to as Sam, Sammy etc instead of his given name. His name is the only thing he was given as a child that wasn’t taken from him. He grew up orphaned and shuffling around, his name being etched on the inside of his jacket. Samuel has no knowledge of his family, birthplace or past beyond his earliest memories. The moniker of Stormcrow was bestowed upon him in his youth as a nickname because everyone constantly claimed he preceded their own ill fortune. It was, unfortunately a name that simply stuck with him so he eventually opted to adopt it. Why fight fate when you could embrace it and enjoy the ride? He looks on the name with a sense of ironic pride, since it provides him a feeling of identity. Samuel has kept the etched name patch from his childhood jacket and transferred it to every jacket he has ever worn since.

Does he carry even a single keepsake or scrap of belongings? Perhaps aside from his comfortable yet somewhat resilient clothing he carries with him an old rather rough for wear chronometer. An aged mechanical model that provides him a rudimentary means to keep time, calculate his position etc. To others it is probably considered scrap, but to him it is a cherished treasure that he prizes. He carries little or no money, preferring to get by through fortune, circumstance and skill. He relies on whatever is around him to make use of and survives mainly through ingenuity or resolve.

What does Samuel do for money? Well, for starters; he hasn’t managed to endure his life on the road this long without picking up a wealth of tricks and wayward wisdom. When he has a need typically he engages in whatever means he has to. Whether that is him peddling tales or poetry for a hot mug, tricking traveling tradesmen out of a few coins, all the way down to patching a modest merchants malfunctioning motor.

What motivates Samuel to wander like he does? Consider the fact that he has never known a home other than the road. Then add in the element of his ever-following misfortune – which inevitably casts a lingering shadow of doubt on one Samuel Stormcrow. Together you have a recipe for a never-ending supply of cold welcomes and rude rushes to emphasize Samuel hurriedly move along.

But what brings him to his current stop; being the setting of the story? Perhaps during his last visit somewhere a report was made that named him as a wanted individual in a crime/investigation. Even though the matter was settled, due to the nature of events that transpired the report was never updated. That being the case, he is picked up by a bounty hunter and escorted back to the nearest outpost with a stationed official to claim his reward.

Each question I asked myself allowed me to shape some answer to further form a foundation for the story. Your mileage may vary but for me I find talking it out with myself by writing my thoughts down to be quite valuable. Hope it helps you, and if you want to share your own thoughts on the matter – or any of your own tricks feel free to comment. Everyone has something to share or teach that can help others improve. What helps you?

The Delight of a Dozen.

Twelve years ago, in a sleepy little church and with but a handful of treasured loved ones near two idealistic romantic youths said those fateful words that bound them with a sacred oath.

For twelve long years we have weathered winters together, and strolled hand in hand through summer suns. Over a dozen passing sets of seasons we have watched fall drape the land about us in a kaleidoscope of color, only to look on as spring sewed greenery anew. It has been a long road and one not without its own difficulties. However, I must confess it seems at times to have passed us by in a mere blink of the eye.

I'd not dare trade a single day of my time being married to my maiden fare for anything under the sun or moon. Nor have I ever truly regretted saying those cherished words. In deepest and solemn truth I do unequivocally exclaim that I look forward to the next dozen years and more with excited glee.

Twelve years ago on October 27th I vowed that 'with this ring, I thee wed.'

It is only fitting that on the anniversary of that day I can still proudly proclaim; that with this ring I remain, and forever shall.

Eternally and faithfully devoted to my loving wife Teal Rae Johnson Gill. May I be blessed to have you at my side for a few dozen more.

  

When The Repair Man Needs Repair.

It's 10:54 p.m., and I'm sitting burdened by a series of puzzling thoughts. For one; what do you do when it is the repair man who is in fact the very thing in need of repair?

Two days ago I managed to see an orthopedic specialist regarding my right hand/wrist. Long story short there was an ever so pleasant injection into said wrist to try to determine if any relief could be had and the potential necessity of surgery. Now, here I sat two days later with marked improvement from the constant numbness and tingling but still struggling with some pain, not to mention reduced function.

The problem is that I find myself looking up at a spinning coin, on one face is the expected fear and worry ever present, and on the other a shinning glimmer of hope. I can even hear the familiar Twing of it on the air as it has been cast aloft. But my problem is the uncomfortable uncertainty.

I stepped outside today to take a look at our van, its our only vehicle and recently it decided that its power steering pump just didn't want to work. Now, granted this could be a irritating nuisance in itself, but it also serves as a key component of the braking system. No steering, no braking. I've managed to get it to straighten back out before, but back then I had two working hands. I say that because today I had to shamefully admit that something I have done a million times, a woefully basic task was beyond me. I couldn't remove a fuse with my right hand to check it. The hand just wouldn't work right, it shook violently, refused to grip or hold - I just couldn't do it. I found myself awash in a mixture of fury and torrential tormenting terror. My left arm couldn't manage the needed angle to reach well enough either.

Which brought me back to thinking. I look to my right hand and I see a technician with tools to hand and the knowledge to make use of them, but lacking the ability to combine those two aspects. A scribe unable to scribble. And then I look upon my left and I see possibility.

So whether surgery restores me or simply allows me a lesser degree of function than before I have to keep my eye on the coin of chance. Even if surgery isn't an option and something else is, I have to keep faith that I'll adapt - I'll survive. I've weathered many a storm from birth, and something tells me there will be many more to come. It isn't the events that determine the course of our lives, it is where we decide to tread from those events that define us.