Crafting and Creating

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Why, Hello There.

First, I have to say thank you. You’ve stumbled into my little, tiny, cobwebbed corner of the internet and I couldn’t be happier to have you. Really, just pleased as punch. Happy as a clam. As jubilant as a jackrabbit. (I made that last one up, but it’s pretty good, eh?) So…what are you doing here? To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing here, but that’s sort of the fun. There is something so…poignant about the unknown. I like it very much. I created this site to merge three things that I love into one manageable place. Mostly, it’s a place for me to organize these crazy thoughts that drift through my head daily.

My hope for this blog or site or beautiful disaster is that it helps someone. It doesn’t have to change the world, it doesn’t have to make money, it doesn’t have to be popular. I simply hope that even one person sees something within these pages that either inspires them or helps them or a combination of the two.

What are these three things that I love? Well, fear not, for I am about to list them out in convenient fashion.

Writing
Minecraft
My Podcast

Bang. How incredibly convenient and concise. Such a Rockstar move to drop them down in a neat bulleted list like that. Allow me break down these three and what you can expect from each.

Writing

This is the genesis, the alpha love, and the reason that I wanted to begin this whole deal. I love to write. I love taking some abstract bit of an idea that I have and transcribing it onto a previously void page and letting someone else take from it what they will. The entire process is something that fascinates me. It is also the most frustrating thing in this entire world. I have sat here, hunched over, fingers poised, hovering over the keyboard for minutes on end without typing a single word because my mind refuses to work. This, I have done countless times, staring at a page willing my thoughts to crystalize into something intelligible. Sometimes it just doesn’t happen though. It annoys me to the ends of this green earth. I cannot stay away, however. Sometimes, sometimes what flows out of my head and into the keyboard is great and clears space inside my little mind for something new to come rushing in.

I am currently in the process of writing a novel. Such a pretentious thing to say, but in this case it’s true. I have yet, however, to sit in a Starbucks and work on it…so, am I even writing a novel? The process is so incredibly difficult, though, and I wanted this to be a place where I could discuss my failures and my successes and also give a place for others to comment and have some conversations about this wild adventure.

Minecraft

This is a more recent love. It consumes more of my life than it really should, but it is so freeing. After a long day at work I can just boot up the ‘ol Xbox, grab my virtual pickaxe and head on down to the mine in search of the illusive diamond. I’ve been playing this game for nearly 10 years now, right after it launched and with each update and edition it simply gets more and more enjoyable.

That said, Minecraft is now the most popular game (by number of copies sold) in the history of video games and is experiencing a renaissance of sorts. Its popularity has exploded recently, causing all sorts of different people to come flooding into this quirky little block game. Some are coming back after a long hiatus, some weren’t even born yet (let that sink in, you dinosaur), and some are getting into it so that they can connect with their children or even grandchildren.

Of course, there are myriad other reasons why people might choose to find themselves punching a virtual tree for the first time, but the point is that there are a ton of newcomers to this game that I have loved for so long. Here and there across the web are a few nice tools to help the noobs to survive and understand the game, but they are either incredibly cold, as if written by a computer (which…maybe) or they are overly interested in the story they want to tell, often glossing over the how to do things in favor of the, you know, doing of the thing.

I arrogantly, foolishly, aspire to blend these two. I want to create a place that newcomers can get the information on how to enjoy this game and make it fun. Eventually I want to cover topics ranging from the very, very basic, to the hardcore advanced topics. I’d like to have a discussion where people that are new to the game and veterans alike can share in their experiences. I’ll be starting a new world up and posting pictures as I struggle my way though, so that if you’re confused by anything you can ask me questions and I can confuse you further.

My Podcast

I’ve been recording and publishing a little podcast for around 6 months now. I know, I know, it seems like everyone with a mouth is starting a podcast these days. Well, I happen to have a mouth and a microphone. Coincidentally so too does my wife and my good friend. So, we three talk about things both large and small. We already have a Facebook page, an Instagram and a Twitter but sometimes I’ll talk about it on here too. Because now not only do I have a mouth, but also fingers…I can write about it. I didn’t just get fingers, I was, in fact, born with them. All ten. Look, the point is I have a place that I can write about my podcast (which is called Nearly Idiots) so, occasionally, infrequently, I will exercise this ability.

If you are interested in listening to irreverent conversations about semi-educational topics, then give us a listen. You can find a link under the Nearly Idiots Experiment page, both at the top and bottom of this very page.

So that’s it. Three things that I love, mixed together in this strange cocktail and served to you. I’m not promising that I won’t go a little rogue from time to time and write about something off the wall but by and large I’ll try to stick to those three topics. If you enjoy any of what you read here, please let me know. For that matter, if you don’t enjoy it, you can let me know as well. I want to get better, I want to become a better writer, Minecraft player, podcast recorder, and person. Thanks for making it all the way down to the bottom of this long introductory entry. I like you.

Day 2

Yesterday I cut my dog’s hair. I’m accustomed to cutting my hair and he needed a trim, how hard could it be, right? Cutting my hair is easy, but then again, I’m not terrified of the buzzing of the clippers. I also understand that I won’t be sliced in half. Ranger, however, is terrified and has no such understanding. It was a struggle, but we got through it, and at the end I was left with a significant pile of hair and an adorable golden. I don’t think Torri would have been thrilled with me trying my hand at dog grooming, and if she were here I might have been stopped.

It was a weird day. I am beyond bored. I started recording an audio version of a book that Torri wrote when she was in high school. She self published and from my own struggles with writing and consistency I am quite impressed that she was able to do that while in high school. When I was in high school I was spending every second not in school with my friend playing basketball or searching for places to play basketball. I’m not sure I knew the definition of the word, focus. Her book is called “Hindsight” by the way, I’m not sure if it’s available anywhere.

After recording a few pages (voice acting and reading is surprisingly difficult by the way) I played a little minecraft, played with the boys and then took a walk, during which we were snowed on. So that was fun.

I find that I’m using this blog as more of a journal, which is fine, but not exactly the direction I saw it going. Like I said, I’m not opposed to it, I enjoy the process of getting my thoughts out there, whether they are read by another person or not. I will say that I did struggle yesterday with missing my wife. Two months seems like an eternity and that eternity seems even longer when you’re trying your absolute best to stay inside and away from other people.

I often wonder how we will describe this time to future generations. I suppose it depends on your view of this virus. If you’re in the “it’s just the flu” camp, I wonder if you will look back and describe a time when everyone overreacted, politicians shut down the economy and we flirted with martial law. I’ve seen the term “martial law” more frequently on my facebook feed lately than I ever have before, I don’t know if people understand exactly what that is, but that’s a topic for another day. On the latest episode of Nearly Idiots (which you should for sure check out btw, just click on the link at the top of this page) I spoke at the end about how if we do what we’re supposed to do that it will seem as if we overreacted because the numbers will be so small. But that’s the point right?

If you’re in the “stay inside and away from everyone” camp, as I am, will we tell our children that it was a time of creativity and self-discovery? Of loneliness and isolation? Will we say that the time we spent with our families was time well spent or will we have grown to resent them? I’m alone, locked in a house where I’m constantly reminded that I am, indeed, alone. I don’t want to sound as though I’m complaining, of course I’d rather my wife be here, but I’m fine being alone with my thoughts and my hobbies. I see this time as a time to work on my crafts, to hone skills that have been dulled by choices. To do the things that I believe can influence and maybe even help someone out of a tough time by giving them a laugh or sparking a thought.

With that said, I’m off to pick up dog piles in the backyard.

A Beginning

Day 1

Last night, while flanked by two very needy (and hairy) dogs, I watched Heavyweights. You know the one if you’re of a certain age and didn’t have a childhood that was objectively terrible. It’s a Disney comedy from 1995 that would never get made today. It starred Ben Stiller’s hair and fit torso, and occasionally his acting would make an appearance. I hear you saying to yourself…”why?”, to which I respond with…that’s a fair question. The only real response I have is that it was too late to start the extended edition of The Hobbit.

Torri is gone. I suppose I should have led with that. She hasn’t left me, the romance hasn’t run dry nor has another, slightly more handsome suitor come to woo her. Unless, I suppose you can call the United States Air Force a suitor, in which case…I suppose that is the case. That said, she’ll be back in a few months, once she completes Officer Training School, then she’ll come home and we’ll all leave for the (insert famous thing here) of Ohio.

My aim writing this is to accomplish three things. First, I enjoy writing and do it far too infrequently. Secondly, I miss her and the act of writing my day to day comings and goings in regards to being the one back home coordinating and packing is cathartic. Finally, I believe that it will be fun to chronicall this time since it’s very unique and be able to look back on it at some point down the line in our lives.

I’m going to try to write everyday, which is something I often say to myself but haven’t really committed to for any real length of time. Torri is gone for right around two months. They say that if you are able to do something consistently for a period of three weeks, it becomes a habit. If that is indeed true, then I will soar past that threshold in no time flat.

Earlier I mentioned how unique our time is at the moment. I am sequestered to my house — whoa. We literally just had an earthquake. That was wild. I’m sitting here in our craft room (my painting room) and a deep rumbling started. At first I thought nothing of it, it’s been windy today, I thought maybe just a gust was rushing over the house. Then it kept rumbling. Then blinds and lights began to shake and bang around. Out the window, where I’ve been watching our two dogs in the back yard, they stood confused. Our golden retriever, Ranger, started spinning around barking, which was hilarious to watch. Man, that was a little bit unsettling. I’ve never experienced an earthquake before.

A little bit of time has passed since I wrote the previous paragraph and it turns out it was a 6.5 magnitude earthquake a few hours northeast of here. Crazy!

Back on target, as this is the first day that I’m alone without Torri, I wanted to write while my feelings and emotions are still fresh, a thing that I’ve only really begun to do. Our situation is a bit different than the traditional military married couple in that it seems when someone hears one of us is in the military it’s usually assumed that it’s me. I’m about 6 feet tall, medium build and I suppose I could pass for someone in the service, but, well I’m not. We’ve gotten a kick out of that. I’m sure that it annoys Torri but I’m sure that she’ll never tell me that it does. Are there any other people out there in a similar situation?

I suppose the responsible thing to do now would be to walk the property and make sure there are no signs of damage from the earthquake, I’m quite certain there aren’t, but isn’t that something that sounds vaguely like something an adult would do?

McCall Winter Carnival; a Trip

Depending on where you live in Idaho, winter can be tough. For me, someone who calls Boise home, winter is usually a grey, somewhat soggy affair. We may have the occasional snowfall, but by and large it’s more of an inconvenience than something to worry about. That said, most other parts of the state aren’t as lucky. If you live in a part of Idaho that gets a bunch of snow you could complain about it, sequester yourself indoors with a hot chocolate and a movie you’ve seen too many times, or you could make the most of it. Over the weekend my wife, her good friend and I travelled to McCall, Idaho, a city that certainly makes the most of winter.

The McCall Winter Carnival is a celebration of all things winter, according to the official tourism website. The carnival takes its inspiration from the Payette Lake Winter Games which were first held in 1924. However, the official carnival wouldn’t start until about 40 years later and today brings in nearly 60,000 people for the event. For reference, the population of McCall, as of 2017 was 3,351 people and it is roughly 2 hours north of Boise.

The event runs for 10 days, though most of the events, such as dog sledding, a BSU Hockey Alumni game, and live music happen on the weekends. There is also, inexplicably a Mardi Gras themed parade. A quick search on Google Maps shows that Idaho is, in fact, not at all geographically near New Orleans, a city renowned for Mardi Gras. Try as I might, I couldn’t find any information on why exactly there is a Mardi Gras parade tossed into the middle of this carnival. For those wondering, New Orleans celebrates Mardi Gras on Feb. 25^th this year, so you still have time to decorate your masks. Don’t mess this up, people.

The winters may not be rough down in the Treasure Valley where Boise lays, but it’s a different story when you start talking about McCall and the higher elevations (McCall is right around 5,000 ft). I was a little nervous about the drive considering the roads wind around the Payette River through the mountains. It rained nearly the entire trip, but fortunately for us that was all that it did, at least until we reached McCall. That’s not to say that we didn’t see snow. It was piled high on the sides of the road, clinging to the mountainsides, and stacked atop the exposed boulders that help make Idaho one of the best places for whitewater rafting and kayaking in the country. There were large open fields where the snow stretched, untouched, until it ended at the base of a towering mountain. Idaho is frequently stunning.

Once we entered into the city the rain turned to snow as if by some divine proclamation that the carnival be experienced in all of its snowy splendor. It was crowded. But when you’re a town of 3,000 and you grow to roughly 20 times that size over the course of 10 days, that is to be expected. We ended up parking decently close to the Payette Lake, which provides a huge draw to tourism during the summer months and went to search for a place to eat. Unknown to us, primarily because the city was simply covered in snow, we parked in the parking lot of Toll Station Pizza. My wife and her friend shared a pizza (half Hawaiian, half BBQ chicken) and I had a burger. It was reminiscent of lodge food, the type of simple meal that tastes like absolute perfection after a long day on the slopes or out in the snow. Also, pineapple does go on pizza. Fight me.

Once full, we went searching for what we’d come for; the sculptures. Yes, I may have failed to mention that the carnival has a snow sculpture competition in which massive monuments are erected depicting scenes from movies or whatever the creator wishes. We saw sculptures from Frozen, Dumbo, Pokémon, Beauty and the Beast, as well as ones simply showing local animals like bears. The craftmanship is amazing and if I’m honest is the only reason why we decided to make the trip. That and the fact that my wife is addicted to adventure.

This one is from a few years ago, but the sculptures are indeed wild year after year.

There were kids sledding down an embankment towards the frozen lake, presumably hiding a monster similar to Loch Ness, called Sharlie aka Slimy Slim aka The Twilight Dragon of Payette Lake. We saw no indications of this monster, however, but we also didn’t see any proof that there wasn’t a monster either. Cut to future blog posts of me falling through the ice, shouting for Sharlie to save me with a GoPro strapped to my chest and forehead.

Krista, our friend, and my adorable wife all bundled up for the wonderland.
Kids sliding down towards, but hopefully not into, Lake Payette.
Somewhere beneath those frozen waters swims Sharlie…allegedly.

If you plan to make the drive, which you absolutely should because, once again, Idaho is majestic, I recommend tossing in a few cheap sleds. Sure, there were kids sledding, but there was plenty of room for big kids to take a turn as well. I also highly suggest taking a stroll though downtown McCall and stopping in a few shops and browsing the distinctly Idaho-centric wares. If you’re a skier of snowboarder there are shops aplenty that will cater to your slope-minded attitude. If you get a little thirsty, wink-wink, the Yacht Club has happy hour starting at noon on the weekends and the view of the frozen lake is awesome.

This was inside a coffee shop named Fog Lifter Cafe near downtown as we refueled before driving back to the valley. There is a book inside where you can write where you’re coming from and a little about your trip. They have excellent peppermint hot chocolate.

If you are feeling a little peckish and in need of some quick and easy food without wanting to sit down, there are tons of food trucks lining the sidewalk by the lake. The whole event has a county fair type feeling to it, with vendors hawking clothes and trinkets. Overall, whether you just want to see the sights, or stay a few nights in a rental cabin, McCall is a great place to experience winter in Idaho. And, if you happen to see Sharlie through a break in the ice, take a picture for me, it will really save me some time and potential hypothermia.

Howl

This is a story that I wrote a while back. Every now and then I’ll take a quick walk through the dusty aisles of my computer’s library and pick out something that I wrote in the past and compare it to my writing now. It’s particularly helpful if I’m stuck or just need to get my mind going in another direction. It’s fun and it’s something that I enjoy and fuels my desire to write, to add to my library if for no other reason than to help my future self. Let me know what you think and thanks for stopping by!

A gentle nudging on my arm prodded waking. “Babe…babe…did you hear that?” I mumbled a reply into the pillow. “It sounded like one of the dogs just howled or something.” I glanced at the blurry red numbers on the table. It was the middle of the night, but part of my mind managed to register that something was off. Dogs howl, but not our dogs. I lay there in the darkness for what seemed a long time before willing my leaden body up and out of bed. She had fallen right back to sleep. I didn’t bother with clothes, content that I would be returning to bed after a quick glance around and my boxers weren’t going to be judged by the dogs.

I also didn’t bother with the light; my eyes were adjusted well enough to the darkness and there was a bright moon peeking through the blinds. I had to concentrate on the stairs so as not to trip dumbly over my groggy steps. Again, the feeling of wrongness pervaded the still air. Usually, upon my arrival downstairs I was greeted by a thumping of tails from somewhere in the darkness, most likely in the direction of the couch. The room was silent, utterly devoid of sound.

My senses began sparking back to life as I reached the bottom. I went to the couch and found nothing, no dogs. Then I checked the next likely place, the hardwood near the front door. Again, nothing. Puzzled, I let out a soft whistle. The dogs know to come running when they hear that particular signal and in the absolute quietness of the house, my whistle may as well have been a siren. A gentle whimper sounded from the den, opposite the front door, about as far from me as it could have been. Now I was awake. I quickly moved towards the den and the whimpering intensified. Both of the dogs were huddled at the back of the room, beneath the arm of the couch in the corner.

“Hey boys, what are you guys doing?” I said as softly as I could, my mind racing. “It’s okay.” I reached for them and found them trembling wildly. The strong scent of urine pervaded the den. “Guys, what the hell is going o-” The howl froze me. It bounced against the walls, louder than anything I’ve ever heard, threatening to burst my eardrums. I clasped my hands against my ears and hit the floor, adding my own screams to the noise. I was distantly aware of the dogs scrambling around the back of the couch and out of the den. The howl ended as suddenly as it began, the silence once again deafening. I lay there for a time, my body recovering before sitting bolt upright and sprinting upstairs. There were still no lights on, but my vision had improved in my adrenaline-fueled state. I burst into the room to find a bizarre scene. Only made the more bizarre because it was if nothing were wrong. There she lay, sleeping, the dogs curled up on their beds. I rushed to her side, shaking her awake, “Are you okay? Did you hear it?”

“Hear what babe, is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“After you woke me I went downstairs to see which dog had howled and just to check on everything and then there was this noise, this super loud howl!” I was frantic, how had she not heard that?

“I never woke you.”

“Yes, you did. You told me you heard a howl.”

“Babe, no, I haven’t woken up besides right now, what time is it anyway? You’re scaring me.” I was sweating despite the chill in my bones. “What did you hear?”

But I couldn’t answer, the howl flooded the room, drowning out every thought. As I looked at her, to hold her and make sure she was okay I noticed that she was saying something, her mouth moving but the howl silenced the words. I was screaming again, trying to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. It was clear to me that she wasn’t hearing anything. As the sound stopped I wretched and vomited. Once more the dogs had fled, urine now soaking the beds.

“Babe! Are you okay? You’re burning up! Where did the dogs go?”

I ran back downstairs, my body feeling strong despite vomiting. As the howl subsided I was able to think of only one thing; the front door. The way the dogs fled from it and the fact that during the last howl I was distantly aware of scratching, drew me towards it like a moth to a flame. A light came on upstairs as I hit the ground floor, having jumped the last five steps. Grasping the handle, I flung the front door wide, greeted by the January air.

It was snowing again. Like everyday this week, I had shoveled the walk but now it was covered by at least 2 inches of fresh snow. Imprinted in that snow were four of the strangest and largest paw prints that I had ever seen. They formed a perfect rectangle, the beast that had made them must have been enormous. I marveled at their size and perfection and even as I looked the snow falling began to fill them.

Upstairs she was talking frantically to someone, most likely a paramedic or the police. I stepped into the snow and felt nothing but relief. I was never aware of being feverish, but the snow cooled me in a way that was exhilarating. My body longed for me to simply lay down, to roll around in the purest of blankets but my curiosity wouldn’t yet allow it. The snow also brought clarity. There were four paw prints…but there were only four paw prints. I was now 15 feet from the front door, which light now spilled out of, casting the front yard in a warm glow. The prints were now nearly covered. A shift in the light caused me to spin, she was there, silhouetted in the frame. Her calls were muffled by the now crashing snowflakes. It was if I could hear whatever I concentrated on. I sprang towards the door, covering the distance easily, sending her falling backwards in surprise. I noticed the door was covered in deep gouges as I passed to help her up.

She was speaking again, but the words didn’t make sense. It was if I had water in my ears. I shook my head, grunting in annoyance, there was a distant harrumph of compliance and her words rang though the air.

“I said shoot him! He’s here! Please!”

A buzzing like a gnat sounded from the doorway and I turned towards it, confusion flooding my consciousness. There was a brief spike of pain in my chest and I looked down to find a large dart. I spun again to where she had been laying, to find her up and pointing a strange weapon at my chest.

She fired.

A second dart now resided in my strangely hairy chest. Her words found my ears as I sank to my knees, suddenly she was in front of me, holding me. “I’m sorry, I thought we had more time.” She kissed me. I tried to speak but found myself unable to move. “Your eyes make me feel so bad every time. So full of love, so scared. I do love you, you know? Please know that.” She stood.

I slumped to the floor on my shoulder, my arms falling within my field of vision. Or, at least, I reasoned that they were my arms, they were longer than I remember, punctuating in dangerous looking claws. Before I could consider anything, darkness crept into the corners of my vision, moving further and further towards the center. I felt the tear escape my eye. What was happening?

She was there again, caressing my cheek and nudging my shoulder. The darkness became absolute and there was no sound.

A gentle nudging on my arm prodded waking. “Babe…babe…did you hear that?”.

A Trip to a Ghost Town

Silver City, Idaho

Weekends are for doing the things that you push from the hectic confines of Monday-Friday. Mowing the lawn, fixing that sink, grocery shopping are all things better relegated to the ever-present hope that weekends provide. They serve as a place to store the things we’d rather not think about right now, much less do. For me however, the weekend has always been a beacon of hope, a place where my dreams of a nice, relaxing day of doing nothing might be realized. I love the weekend.

I am, however, a newly minted member of the “husband club” and have found that my weekends of doing nothing may have gone the way of the dodo. The skeletal remains placed on a shelf somewhere in a museum beside childhood memories and my ability to eat an entire bag of barbeque potato chips with no increase to my waistline. Now, I don’t mind giving up my weekends to hang out with my wife, she works long hours and I’m usually either working, at school, or playing a sport. She has a way of taking a shared day off and turning it into a day of mystery and intrigue with five little words; “Let’s go on an adventure!”

What these words usually mean is, “let’s drive somewhere far away that we know nothing about and just see what happens.” I love my wife, dearly, and her adventurous spirit is infectious. So, this last weekend we went on an adventure. The season being what it is (October and thus Halloween for 31 days) we drove just over 2 hours to visit an abandoned mining town described tantalizingly as a “ghost town”. Silver City, Idaho is as remote a town as I can imagine. It is about 40 miles away and yet the journey took over 2 hours of continuous driving. That, my friends, is an average of 20mph and about 25 of those miles were spent driving at highway speeds, meaning the other half…well let’s just say we weren’t breaking any speed records.

This is Charlie, I adopted him 7 years ago and while he is the absolute sweetest mutt around, he is also horrendous at posing for pictures. But, we’re ready for this ghost town!

It was a dirt road, which, hey it’s the mountains of Idaho, and is to be expected. However, this road was extremely rough and amazingly twisted. If you plan on making the trip there is a sign parked at the turnoff to get on to this road that recommends a vehicle with high clearance and that is a necessity. I drive a little commuter car that, had we not decided to bring our two 80-pound dogs we might have opted to take instead of my wife’s large F-150 to save on gas. We wouldn’t have made it to silver city in my car. We might still be somewhere along that road today, high-centered on some rock a toddler would have trouble climbing but eventually summit. In fact, the road is such a hazard that it is closed from November to May, accessible only via snowmobile and ATV. People actively choose to live on the other side of this road, I believe, as there weren’t any visible signs of Silver City being some type of prison or internment camp. I mean, I get fed up with people and society as much as the next guy, but I cannot imagine sequestering myself to the remote reaches of the Owyhee mountains. To each their own.

It also should be noted just how cold it was there; 25 degrees (F) with a nice, persistently strong wind. There was snow. It was 75 degrees (again, F) a week ago, my body isn’t ready to relinquish its grip on summer just yet. However, upon arrival I spied (from the comforts of our truck with seat warmers) people scattered around as if the air wasn’t actively playing defense against a gloriously sunny day.

Also, the careful reader will have surely noticed that I just mentioned that there were people in this supposed ghost-town. In fact, there are signs upon entering the town, on the one road that leads in, that mentions that all the buildings are privately owned and requests that visitors not disturb. I came fully prepared for some sort of spook battle, wherein I’m beating back the hordes of damned, undead creatures as I scream at my wife to floor it as I return to the truck clutching a trinket I pilfered from an underground ritual site. What I got was about twenty-five minutes of driving slowly, very slowly, through a town being watched with narrow eyes by locals as we listened to Tim McGraw radio on Sirius FM, occasionally remarking things like, “Oh, that’s a cool building” or “watch out for that rock.”, while eating gummy peach rings. A road trip staple as far as I’m concerned.

We did eventually get out of the truck on a hill that overlooked the city proper. Atop this hill sat a church that was named “Lady of Tears” or some other haunting 1800’s name. The church apparently continues to be of service to the community which is a neat thing and has a very gothic and, again, haunting appearance. It should be noted that there were no stairs leading to this church, instead there was simply a railing that ran up a rocky hillside. Maybe this is some sort of test to weed out those who aren’t dedicated enough to attend mass, or perhaps more likely, there were steps that we didn’t see. We don’t know, and it’s very likely that we will never know, we simply don’t have the technology to say for sure.

The view from on top of the hill. If you are to look closely you might see some fires dotted around, and some locals judging the bejeezus out of us.

There was a store in the “middle” of town that looked interesting but was closed. The buildings in the town were old and had an appealing quality about them and given the opportunity to walk around town without fear of being stabbed or kidnapped, I would have enjoyed looking at them more closely. There is also a graveyard which was a real draw for my wife. Somehow, and I’m not entirely sure how, people have come to love looking at places where other people are buried. The gravestones can’t be new or it’s weird, but you give those dead people a good century to lie in that ground and people will flock to it and remark on how old the dates are. People love old things, and even more so if they are also mildly unsettling. Hell, Larry King has been cashing in on this theory for centuries. Boom, Larry.

However, my wife was to be denied her strange cemetery gazing by, yet another abomination disguised as a road. There was simply no way that her large truck was getting anywhere near the mossy, demon infested grounds. So, reluctantly, we turned once more back towards home and the bumpy road that led there.

I don’t mean for this to sound as though I was dragged along on this adventure, I quite enjoyed it. Seeing parts of the country that I’ve never seen before is a huge draw for me, and I love looking at old buildings and wondering about the history behind them. Usually my mind goes to a place that wonders whether anyone has died in them, which…what is wrong with me? Also, the time we chose to go, mid-October, is one of the prettiest times to travel through the forests of Idaho. The trees were absolutely brilliant. Traveling anywhere with my wife, who has been my adventure partner now for four and a half years, is something that I’ll never get tired of. We laugh, we talk about the future, and spend time together.

The views are also spectacular. You gain a fair amount of elevation in your drive and the vistas that are attained in that pursuit are a reward all their own. There are rock formations that remind you of the wild west, and carpets of vast evergreens that lay at the feet of a distant, snow-capped peak. It’s a showcase of just how beautiful, and under-appreciated, Idaho can be.

I would advise anyone to take a trip up (over? down?) to Silver City if for no other reason than to say that you’ve been. If you’re brave enough, consider going on Halloween, and see if the town is in fact replete with ghouls and other foul creatures cast out of the steaming pits of hell as I suspect that it is on that most sinister of days. Happy travelling.

The rock formations in the back and the color of the trees is just fantastic. It almost makes up for the rollercoaster that is the road.
This is a schoolhouse built in the late 1800’s. If you zoom in to the windows I can’t promise you’ll see ghost faces peering back, but I can’t promise you won’t.
Ranger, our golden retriever, is widely regarded to be very photogenic, Charlie is just usually upset at having his photo taken in general.
One of the views along the drive. Majestic, eh?
I cannot express just how adorable I believe cows to be. I mean, just look at that smoochable little snout. There were 3 others that crossed the road at their leisure.

Writing Without Inspiration

Photo by Miguel Á. Padriñán on Pexels.com

A few years ago, while seated in an airport, I brought out a notebook intent to write a poem. I’ve written a lot of poems, most are probably terrible, but usually I don’t intend to write them, they just….happen. However, seated in that airport I had ambitions of writing a poem about people. Their various outfits, the promise that their trips held, the purpose of their travels. I wanted to make up backstories for each of them, give them a purpose for their waiting in that same airport for that same flight. Maybe they were flying for a funeral, maybe it was a vacation. Perhaps they were about to go and meet someone for the first time, or were they going to meet someone for the last, the ending of a relationship that was long overdue. Either way, I wanted to write about them, put their stories into a poem of potential and unrealized expectations. I never wrote that poem.

Instead, after sitting there, pen poised over the page for what seemed like an eternity, I wrote something else. It started, as a lot of my more meandering writings do, with the simple act of writing something, anything down. Ironically, I wrote about how I didn’t know how to begin writing. Then it began to take the shape of a piece that went on to question how I ever began writing anything at all. Why did I write? How did I write? It became a few pages of me talking to myself about where my inspiration came from, what drove me to write about the things that I wanted to write about.

I’ve went back and forth on whether I truly believe that inspiration is a necessary tool for the great, or in my case mediocre, writer to have in their arsenal.

I’ve certainly felt that call to action known as inspiration to write on a particular subject or had an idea that I simply could not wait to put to page. It usually strikes when I’m nowhere near something that I can use to write, because of course it does. I know writers who always carry a notebook, even a small one, with them at all times for this very reason. I, however, do not. Instead, I file the idea away in some obscure folder in my mind to be accessed at a later time when I can act on it. When I am seated in front of a computer or very near a notebook and inspiration hits, I can write for what seems like forever without running out of ideas or material, limited only by how fast my fingers can traverse the keyboard.

I’ve certainly felt that call to action known as inspiration to write on a particular subject or had an idea that I simply could not wait to put to page.

However, I’ve also written when I didn’t feel inspired. Most of the time when I write, in fact, I don’t feel inspired. I don’t know if it is some romanticized depiction of the writer by movies and television that they simply sit down and whatever they want to write flows out of them and onto the page. This has not been my experience at all. Writing can be a sludge, at times feeling like I’m dragging my way across a page, leaving a wake of poorly composed sentences behind me. Though, I’ve often found that I eventually find a groove, even if I don’t feel inspired to write, that allows me to get the thoughts and ideas that flood my mind onto a page in some form or fashion that I can revisit and rewrite at a later time. So, if I’ve written something that I am proud of both at times of inspiration and in times without inspiration, do I really need inspiration to write?

Well…no, but it helps. I have landed at a place where I don’t believe that inspiration is something that you always need to have access to in order to write, however an indispensable tool to be able to write is…well, writing. Write anything at all. If you feel like you can’t write anything worthwhile, write anyway. The simple act of getting your thoughts into the real world and out of the intangible spaces in your mind is helpful. I used to play basketball every day, I would go outside and shoot and dribble for hours on end, now I do it infrequently and when I do, I can feel the rust that has accumulated over these long years. The same thing happens with any skill or trade, and writing is no different. If you don’t use it, you lose it.

Another tool at your disposal is reading. You can take inspiration from other authors, after all there is nothing that has been created that hasn’t taken inspiration from something or someone. If you’re struggling to write in first person then read a lot of stories that are written in first person or narrate your actions to yourself. (I recommend doing this inaudibly as you are likely to get a strange look if, for example I pick up a lemon at the store and announce, “I pick up the small, yellow fruit with an eager hand”. Trust me.)

Inspiration is weird. One minute you’re singing along to your jam in the shower, the next you know exactly how your main character resolves pushing the love of their life away. Maybe it was a word in the song that triggered a thought, or maybe it was running your fingers through your own hair while washing it that made you think of your characters desire to run their hands through their love’s hair once more. Whatever it is, my advice is that when you feel that inspiration, act on it. I’m not saying that you need to flee the shower, running naked to your computer with bubbles still in your wet hair, to furiously type away while laughing maniacally. But, don’t wait too long. Maybe grab a towel.

Inspiration is weird.

That said, you don’t have to wait until you’re struck by inspiration to write. I am constantly writing little memos in my phone these days. I’ve stockpiled chapters and outlines within my unassuming little Galaxy. I’m certain that anyone observing me waiting, anywhere really, believes that I’m sending text after text to some unseen friend, or maybe drafting an email. In reality, I’m writing about my main character waking up buried beneath ash and debris, panicking and ultimately terrifying two children as his arm emerges from the rubble.

I suppose my rather meandering point is that inspiration is nice but you don’t need it to be able to write something worthwhile. In fact, writing when you don’t feel like writing is a great exercise in persistence and can lead to better writing in the future. Maybe you sit down to write one thing and it turns out that you end up writing something completely different. Great! Go with it, see where your brain wants to take you. Just keep writing.