Ask the Author: Ray Blasing
Answered Questions (6)
Ray Blasing
The idea emerged the moment I retired from a 39-year career in high tech. As I packed up my office, I found myself staring at the mountain of books I’d accumulated across nearly four decades—engineering, leadership, management, program execution, innovation, communication, problem-solving, the whole arc of a career in one sprawling collection. As I boxed them for donation, it struck me: Why not distill everything I’ve learned—and everything the best experts have taught me—into a single, coherent, soup-to-nuts guide I could leave for my children before my expiration date arrives?
What began as a handful of “dad notes” quickly grew into something far more ambitious. Once I started writing, the scope expanded exponentially. The two volumes ultimately published this year originated from more than 1,200 pages of early drafts, each pass sharpening the content, structure, tone, and depth until the final books reflected exactly what I’d hoped for: clear, crisp, deeply human guidance that goes far beyond superficial career tips.
Both books were shaped by the themes I explore throughout—cognition and bias, foundational character traits, integrity, inner strength, emotional management, leadership, decision-making, and the uniquely human abilities that AI cannot replicate. In a world captivated by artificial intelligence, my titles were intentionally designed as counterpoints: General Career Intelligence and Advanced Career Intelligence are reminders that human intelligence—rooted in ethics, empathy, curiosity, and adaptability—remains our greatest competitive advantage.
Somewhere along the way, the project evolved into something much larger than a legacy gift to my children. It became a mission: to help people reconnect with the humanity that underpins every interaction, every decision, every career milestone. We’ve become so distracted by speed, noise, and digital shortcuts that we sometimes forget our power to uplift others, influence culture, and ripple outward in ways that strengthen our companies, communities, and families.
In short: the books grew from a desire to pass down wisdom, but they became a blueprint for returning to what makes us human—and extraordinary—in the first place.
What began as a handful of “dad notes” quickly grew into something far more ambitious. Once I started writing, the scope expanded exponentially. The two volumes ultimately published this year originated from more than 1,200 pages of early drafts, each pass sharpening the content, structure, tone, and depth until the final books reflected exactly what I’d hoped for: clear, crisp, deeply human guidance that goes far beyond superficial career tips.
Both books were shaped by the themes I explore throughout—cognition and bias, foundational character traits, integrity, inner strength, emotional management, leadership, decision-making, and the uniquely human abilities that AI cannot replicate. In a world captivated by artificial intelligence, my titles were intentionally designed as counterpoints: General Career Intelligence and Advanced Career Intelligence are reminders that human intelligence—rooted in ethics, empathy, curiosity, and adaptability—remains our greatest competitive advantage.
Somewhere along the way, the project evolved into something much larger than a legacy gift to my children. It became a mission: to help people reconnect with the humanity that underpins every interaction, every decision, every career milestone. We’ve become so distracted by speed, noise, and digital shortcuts that we sometimes forget our power to uplift others, influence culture, and ripple outward in ways that strengthen our companies, communities, and families.
In short: the books grew from a desire to pass down wisdom, but they became a blueprint for returning to what makes us human—and extraordinary—in the first place.
Ray Blasing
Inspiration, for me, usually arrives the moment I read something that matters. A well-argued article, a deeply flawed argument, a powerful story, or even a glancing comment can spark an idea that expands into something larger—an angle worth exploring, a truth worth surfacing, or a nuance that deserves daylight. That’s often the genesis of my Substack pieces: one stimulus that cascades into a broader conversation I feel compelled to contribute to.
I keep an ongoing log of ideas—possible essays, possible chapters, and even possible future books—because the world today offers no shortage of problems, questions, and teachable moments. We live in what I jokingly call a target-rich environment for writers who care about ethics, leadership, truth, and the direction of the country. The challenge isn’t finding something to write about; it’s filtering among the many possibilities so my time and energy land on pursuits that genuinely matter.
It also helps that I truly enjoy writing. The act itself—the shaping of ideas, the clarity that emerges through language—feels like a creative calling. And now, in retirement, I’m fortunate to have the space to follow that impulse.
My bigger challenge is the opposite of writer’s block: avoiding the gravitational pull of the writing vortex. When inspiration hits, I can easily disappear into it for hours or days. So part of my discipline now is remembering to lift my head, step away from the keyboard, and spend time with the people and experiences that make life rich. Balance is its own craft.
I keep an ongoing log of ideas—possible essays, possible chapters, and even possible future books—because the world today offers no shortage of problems, questions, and teachable moments. We live in what I jokingly call a target-rich environment for writers who care about ethics, leadership, truth, and the direction of the country. The challenge isn’t finding something to write about; it’s filtering among the many possibilities so my time and energy land on pursuits that genuinely matter.
It also helps that I truly enjoy writing. The act itself—the shaping of ideas, the clarity that emerges through language—feels like a creative calling. And now, in retirement, I’m fortunate to have the space to follow that impulse.
My bigger challenge is the opposite of writer’s block: avoiding the gravitational pull of the writing vortex. When inspiration hits, I can easily disappear into it for hours or days. So part of my discipline now is remembering to lift my head, step away from the keyboard, and spend time with the people and experiences that make life rich. Balance is its own craft.
Ray Blasing
At the moment, I’m focused on two major efforts. First, I’m continuing to expand reader visibility and engagement for my two self-published career-guidance books, General Career Intelligence and Advanced Career Intelligence. As any indie author will tell you, writing the book is only half the climb—getting people to discover it is the steeper, far more mysterious ascent. Navigating algorithms, ad thresholds, and the “attention economy” on a shoestring budget can feel like trying to steer a kayak upstream with a teaspoon. I often wish that readers who sincerely enjoy my work—and I hear from many—knew just how profoundly their simple actions matter: a rating, a review, a quick social share, even a sentence of feedback. These tiny gestures are the fuel that gives a book life in the algorithmic ecosystem.
Second, I’m actively writing a series of Substack articles that dig into America’s current turbulence. My goal is to mine for truth, to separate signal from noise, and to add thoughtful analysis to discussions that are too often dominated by sound bites, falsehoods, or deliberately weaponized narratives. In many ways, this continues the spirit of my books—calling readers back to foundational thinking, ethical grounding, and the willingness to challenge easy assumptions.
So that’s where my energy is going: amplifying my books so they reach the people they’re meant to help, and contributing meaningfully to the broader conversation on the direction of our country—one carefully considered paragraph at a time.
Second, I’m actively writing a series of Substack articles that dig into America’s current turbulence. My goal is to mine for truth, to separate signal from noise, and to add thoughtful analysis to discussions that are too often dominated by sound bites, falsehoods, or deliberately weaponized narratives. In many ways, this continues the spirit of my books—calling readers back to foundational thinking, ethical grounding, and the willingness to challenge easy assumptions.
So that’s where my energy is going: amplifying my books so they reach the people they’re meant to help, and contributing meaningfully to the broader conversation on the direction of our country—one carefully considered paragraph at a time.
Ray Blasing
I love this question, because I deeply appreciate our next generation of writers.
First, embrace writing as a craft, not a gift. Like any skill I discuss in General Career Intelligence—whether decision-making, communication, or emotional management—writing improves with deliberate practice, honest feedback, and a willingness to push past discomfort. You can’t become a confident writer by waiting for inspiration; you become one by writing consistently, across many contexts, until the uncertainty gives way to clarity and competence. Like most things in life, there are no shortcuts.
Write often, and write in different forms. Each format exercises a different creative muscle: books require structure and endurance, articles demand precision, business plans require logic and persuasion, and letters of condolence call for emotional intelligence and compassion. In Advanced Career Intelligence, I emphasize that stepping beyond your comfort zone is how growth happens—so treat each writing task as a chance to stretch your abilities rather than something to fear.
When writing opportunities arise, raise your hand. Volunteer. Offer to draft the proposal, the presentation, the team summary, or the delicate email that everyone else avoids. It’s similar to public speaking: the fear diminishes only when you confront it repeatedly, and eventually the confidence becomes second nature.
And don’t write alone in an echo chamber. Seek critique from people you trust—people who will push you, challenge your clarity, and point out blind spots. You don’t grow from applause; you grow from thoughtful correction. Both of my books benefited enormously from people who were willing to tell me when something wasn’t working.
Further, don’t take your English, literature, and composition teachers for granted. Although I trained as a technologist and spent decades in engineering, as I rose through leadership roles I discovered that I was spending more time writing than engineering. My responsibilities—and the stakes—grew, and writing became not just useful but enabling. Everything I learned in high school composition and college English came rushing back when I needed it most. Some of the best writing advice I ever received came from high school teachers I barely appreciated at the time. Don’t make that mistake. Those foundations will stay with you for life, and one day, they may be the difference between competence and exceptional impact.
And use AI sparingly—after you’ve built your own foundation. Over-reliance on any tool prevents the underlying muscles from strengthening. I learned this vividly during my flight training: you’re only truly safe when you can fly using the basics—pilotage, dead reckoning, and core instrumentation. GPS and automation are wonderful…until they fail. Then your fundamentals either save the day or leave you in deep trouble. Writing works the same way. Build your skills first. Learn to think clearly, structure ideas, revise with intention, and express yourself in your own voice. Once those fundamentals are solid, AI becomes a helpful assistant; without them, it becomes a crutch that quietly weakens you.
Finally, remember that writing is an act of generosity. You’re distilling your experience, insight, and perspective into something that might someday help someone you will never meet. That purpose-driven mindset—combined with practice, persistence, and humility—is what turns aspiring writers into real ones.
First, embrace writing as a craft, not a gift. Like any skill I discuss in General Career Intelligence—whether decision-making, communication, or emotional management—writing improves with deliberate practice, honest feedback, and a willingness to push past discomfort. You can’t become a confident writer by waiting for inspiration; you become one by writing consistently, across many contexts, until the uncertainty gives way to clarity and competence. Like most things in life, there are no shortcuts.
Write often, and write in different forms. Each format exercises a different creative muscle: books require structure and endurance, articles demand precision, business plans require logic and persuasion, and letters of condolence call for emotional intelligence and compassion. In Advanced Career Intelligence, I emphasize that stepping beyond your comfort zone is how growth happens—so treat each writing task as a chance to stretch your abilities rather than something to fear.
When writing opportunities arise, raise your hand. Volunteer. Offer to draft the proposal, the presentation, the team summary, or the delicate email that everyone else avoids. It’s similar to public speaking: the fear diminishes only when you confront it repeatedly, and eventually the confidence becomes second nature.
And don’t write alone in an echo chamber. Seek critique from people you trust—people who will push you, challenge your clarity, and point out blind spots. You don’t grow from applause; you grow from thoughtful correction. Both of my books benefited enormously from people who were willing to tell me when something wasn’t working.
Further, don’t take your English, literature, and composition teachers for granted. Although I trained as a technologist and spent decades in engineering, as I rose through leadership roles I discovered that I was spending more time writing than engineering. My responsibilities—and the stakes—grew, and writing became not just useful but enabling. Everything I learned in high school composition and college English came rushing back when I needed it most. Some of the best writing advice I ever received came from high school teachers I barely appreciated at the time. Don’t make that mistake. Those foundations will stay with you for life, and one day, they may be the difference between competence and exceptional impact.
And use AI sparingly—after you’ve built your own foundation. Over-reliance on any tool prevents the underlying muscles from strengthening. I learned this vividly during my flight training: you’re only truly safe when you can fly using the basics—pilotage, dead reckoning, and core instrumentation. GPS and automation are wonderful…until they fail. Then your fundamentals either save the day or leave you in deep trouble. Writing works the same way. Build your skills first. Learn to think clearly, structure ideas, revise with intention, and express yourself in your own voice. Once those fundamentals are solid, AI becomes a helpful assistant; without them, it becomes a crutch that quietly weakens you.
Finally, remember that writing is an act of generosity. You’re distilling your experience, insight, and perspective into something that might someday help someone you will never meet. That purpose-driven mindset—combined with practice, persistence, and humility—is what turns aspiring writers into real ones.
Ray Blasing
Sorry for the response delay!
For me, the greatest joy of being an author is the sense of creation—the same feeling I’ve always had when inventing something new in my engineering and entrepreneurial life. Writing a book is like designing a technology that didn’t exist the day before: you conjure something into the world using nothing but your thoughts, your ideals, your experiences, and the insights you’ve gathered over a lifetime. It’s an act of building from scratch, with a keyboard as the workshop and your own perspective as the blueprint.
In General Career Intelligence, I write about the value of leaning into your strengths—how we thrive when we operate in the zone where passion, proficiency, and purpose intersect. Writing lives in that zone for me. It feels natural, energizing, and deeply satisfying. And while many people struggle with writing, shaping ideas into clear, compelling prose is something I’ve grown to see as a superpower—one that can elevate virtually any career or creative pursuit, a point I reinforce throughout both books.
Another part I love is the freedom: as an author, you answer to no one but your own conscience and craft. You’re not writing for a boss or an investor; you’re writing because you believe the ideas matter. It’s a lot like good consulting—the “payment” is knowing that something you wrote might help someone think differently, solve a problem, navigate a challenge, or simply feel seen. That’s its own reward.
And there’s a quiet magic in the permanence of it all. Long after the keystrokes fade, the ideas remain. Somewhere, someday, a reader you’ll never meet may stumble across a line or concept that shifts their direction, calms a fear, sparks ambition, or reinforces their own inner strength. That possibility—that your lived experience can be repurposed as fuel for someone else’s success—is, to me, the best part of being an author.
For me, the greatest joy of being an author is the sense of creation—the same feeling I’ve always had when inventing something new in my engineering and entrepreneurial life. Writing a book is like designing a technology that didn’t exist the day before: you conjure something into the world using nothing but your thoughts, your ideals, your experiences, and the insights you’ve gathered over a lifetime. It’s an act of building from scratch, with a keyboard as the workshop and your own perspective as the blueprint.
In General Career Intelligence, I write about the value of leaning into your strengths—how we thrive when we operate in the zone where passion, proficiency, and purpose intersect. Writing lives in that zone for me. It feels natural, energizing, and deeply satisfying. And while many people struggle with writing, shaping ideas into clear, compelling prose is something I’ve grown to see as a superpower—one that can elevate virtually any career or creative pursuit, a point I reinforce throughout both books.
Another part I love is the freedom: as an author, you answer to no one but your own conscience and craft. You’re not writing for a boss or an investor; you’re writing because you believe the ideas matter. It’s a lot like good consulting—the “payment” is knowing that something you wrote might help someone think differently, solve a problem, navigate a challenge, or simply feel seen. That’s its own reward.
And there’s a quiet magic in the permanence of it all. Long after the keystrokes fade, the ideas remain. Somewhere, someday, a reader you’ll never meet may stumble across a line or concept that shifts their direction, calms a fear, sparks ambition, or reinforces their own inner strength. That possibility—that your lived experience can be repurposed as fuel for someone else’s success—is, to me, the best part of being an author.
Ray Blasing
Sorry about my delayed response - I'm just now freeing myself up to answer questions on a regular basis!
Writer’s block is often described as a lack of ideas, but I’ve found it’s usually the opposite—a traffic jam of thoughts all trying to merge at once. In General Career Intelligence, I talk about how procrastination, overwhelm, and self-empathy shape our ability to think clearly. Writer’s block has the same fingerprints. It appears in countless forms in life: when a student stares at a blank college-application essay, when a project leader struggles to craft a clear plan, or when we search for the right words to comfort someone who has lost a loved one. The common thread isn’t “stuckness”—it’s a moment when the brain is trying to separate signal from noise.
My own method is not linear. I allow myself to bounce between chapters, ideas, and even unrelated tasks—something I encourage readers to embrace. Shifting gears is not avoidance; it’s often the cognitive reset needed to let deeper ideas surface. In the book I explore the value of “productive distraction”—those moments when stepping away is not indulgence, but strategy. When I return, the fog has usually thinned, and the path forward becomes obvious.
Writer’s block can also stem from imposter syndrome—another theme I address. When you’re writing slightly beyond your comfort zone (which is where all meaningful work happens), your confidence may falter. In those moments, I try to apply the same advice I give in my chapters on inner strength and foundational character traits: extend empathy inward. Let yourself be human. The ideas are still there; they simply need space to reorganize.
And finally, I remind myself that writing a book is more than writing sentences. Outlines, structure, chapter titles, sequencing, imagery, even the rhythm of the table of contents—these are all forward motion. So even on days when the prose refuses to cooperate, I take satisfaction in knowing that the project is still advancing.
In other words: writer’s block isn’t a wall—it’s a pause. And sometimes a pause is exactly what clears the way.
Writer’s block is often described as a lack of ideas, but I’ve found it’s usually the opposite—a traffic jam of thoughts all trying to merge at once. In General Career Intelligence, I talk about how procrastination, overwhelm, and self-empathy shape our ability to think clearly. Writer’s block has the same fingerprints. It appears in countless forms in life: when a student stares at a blank college-application essay, when a project leader struggles to craft a clear plan, or when we search for the right words to comfort someone who has lost a loved one. The common thread isn’t “stuckness”—it’s a moment when the brain is trying to separate signal from noise.
My own method is not linear. I allow myself to bounce between chapters, ideas, and even unrelated tasks—something I encourage readers to embrace. Shifting gears is not avoidance; it’s often the cognitive reset needed to let deeper ideas surface. In the book I explore the value of “productive distraction”—those moments when stepping away is not indulgence, but strategy. When I return, the fog has usually thinned, and the path forward becomes obvious.
Writer’s block can also stem from imposter syndrome—another theme I address. When you’re writing slightly beyond your comfort zone (which is where all meaningful work happens), your confidence may falter. In those moments, I try to apply the same advice I give in my chapters on inner strength and foundational character traits: extend empathy inward. Let yourself be human. The ideas are still there; they simply need space to reorganize.
And finally, I remind myself that writing a book is more than writing sentences. Outlines, structure, chapter titles, sequencing, imagery, even the rhythm of the table of contents—these are all forward motion. So even on days when the prose refuses to cooperate, I take satisfaction in knowing that the project is still advancing.
In other words: writer’s block isn’t a wall—it’s a pause. And sometimes a pause is exactly what clears the way.
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