Tyler Colins's Blog, page 24

Jewel in a Journal

Hey, it’s Rey, with my first post of 2022.  The Boss’ blog—when it’s not featuring me and Linda and JJ, and our Triple Threat Investigation Agency—tends to deal with editing and writing from a published perspective.  That got me to thinking about sharing something not related to the world of publishing, something I started last year: journaling.  It can prove a real jewel.

For those not in the know, journaling is, basically, jotting down your thoughts, emotions/moods, and memories.  It’s a way to purge—what’s eating at you, what makes you sad or angry or happy.  Record problems and issues (when you revisit them later, you may find solutions or see that they weren’t as intense or bad as they seemed at the time).

I’ve heard it said that it’s beneficial, not only to watch yourself develop/grow, but in that it can enhance how you work and act; it allows you to think, contemplate, mull over, and process and, thereby, deal with stresses, traumas, and challenging situations.  It’s a little too cerebral for me, but maybe we can have Linda post about that at a future date.

Journaling can be comforting.  I know when I’ve had a bad froth-at-the-mouth day and I sit down to write what’s p’o’d me, I actually feel calmer once I’ve let it all out.  Now, I may still want to yell at the person who’s annoyed me, or kick the door shut, or scream, but not nearly to the same degree.  And, with time (a few minutes, a few hours) I’ve shut off those non-productive emotions like I’ve shut my journal for the day.

What I can also confirm is that journaling works—you really do feel good once you’ve laid it all out on paper or screen.  It’s kind of like having a silent psychotherapist; you reveal all, no holds barred, and you don’t receive advice you feel is useless or know you can’t follow.  Re-reading journal notes can be eye-opening, sometimes jolting, sometimes soothing . . . and sometimes kind of like an epiphany (my new word of the year).

Think of it as a record of you.  Even though I’ve only been doing it a short while, I like that, years from now, I will have accounts of who I was, what I was going through, and how I dealt with or resolved problems.  Will I laugh?  Cry?  Groan?  Roll my eyes?  Maybe all, he-he.

Not sure you can do it?  Feeling intimidated?  You can do it.  Remember, you don’t have to write a full page.  You don’t even have to jot down full sentences.  Write one line or use point-form (words that describe that day, that moment).  Swear if you like.  It’s your personal journal and you can say whatever you want.

Don’t be intimidated by the thought or commitment.  Just grab a notebook and pen or sit at the computer.  Give it two minutes, if that’s all you can commit to.  You don’t need to do it at the same time each day, but I find, for myself, that sitting down at night, an hour or so before bed, works for me.  Maybe you’d like to do it while having a morning coffee.  Whatever works . . . works.

Should you share?  A good question and I can’t answer that.  I’d prefer to keep my journal private, but who knows?  Maybe one day I’ll feel that others can benefit from my experiences and solutions.

You won’t know how helpful or cleansing it can be until you try it.  So, if you haven’t tried journaling, I simply say . . . give it a go!

Twenty-Two, How’d You Do?

Happy 2022 . . .  a new year, new dreams and wishes and hopes.  Here’s to them coming true.

It was difficult deciding what the first post of the year should touch on.  Should it be informative?  Entertaining?  Silly?  Serious?

Then, a thought hit: why not “pen” something different, something rarely done?  Like a poem.

Welcome to twenty, twenty-two

How do you do?

I’m not a poet, as you’ll soon see

But what would life be

Without a challenge or three?

Here’s hoping this year brings a reprieve

Re issues and tidings we’ll likely receive.

May our circumstances improve

That we find a new cheery groove

And once again forward we move.

Farewell to the old, the sad and the bad

Let us embrace joy and be so very glad.

Allow the pandemic to finally leave us be

So our lives are filled with total glee

And we’re all once again so very free.

Well, that was kind of fun.  Yes, as the gals from the Triple Threat Investigation snorted and chortled, and declared, “Don’t leave your day job!!”  (He-he, I believe I’ll heed their advice.)

Happy 2022!

Another Year Arriveth

As the 31st approaches, there’s a certain energy in the air.  It’s different from that experienced the week prior, but it’s definitely there, electric, tangible.  There’s hope . . . optimism . . . faith that things will be better. 

And the beauty of a new year waiting around the corner is that anything is possible.  The pandemic will finally disappear.  World peace will prove achievable.  Despots and tyrants will see the light.  Wars and violence are things of the past.  Lessons are learned and applied.  Prejudices and biases are forgotten.  Inequality and intolerance no longer exist.  Hardships and burdens will vanish.

Here’s to a new year that is forgiving and bountiful, filled with days that hold promise and potential.

Happy 2022 everyone!

Resolution / Revolution

T’is that time of year where we offer up resolutions to the spirit[s] of New Year.  Some we may keep, others we’ll discard and forget . . . until New Year arrives again.

In essence, we rather resolve to revolt—to embrace something we wholeheartedly believe is in our best interest, only to reject it when we grow weary of persistently [trying to] hold onto it.

You know, the definitions of resolution and revolution hold some similarities:

resolution = perseverance  /  purpose  /  resolve /  determination  / tenacity

revolution = transformation  /  alteration  /  reform  /  change  /  conversion

In fact, a revolution can be described as “a sudden or momentous change in a situation”.

But I digress.    It seemed fitting, at year’s end, to list resolutions with the [great] hope of sticking to them.  So-o, let’s see if these are doable (they seem simple enough):

  lessen depression/stress/resentment (and accept the current situation as it is)      clasp patience (and hold on tightly)      write another book (time is not my friend at present, but I’ll extend a hand in greeting)      get out more—literally      lose five pounds (guess I’ll have to knock off those gosh-darn-nummy UK snowballs)      take an on-line course or two (got to / want to keep learning)      clean clutter (and move out those damnable dust bunnies)      start my life finally (God/karma/deity willing, of course).

They sound easy-peasy enough.  Let’s check a couple of months from now.    As Rey might say, “Never take something too seriously; life’s way too short.”  How true, how true.

Good Tidings

A short and simple post . . .

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas from JJ, Rey and Linda—the private eyes from the Triple Threat Investigation Agency!

   May your holidays be filled with love, peace, and joy!!!   

Cul-de-Sacs & Detours

Similar title to previous post.  But different route.

I rather liked the last post, but apparently it went down about as well as a toppled wheelbarrow filled with wet gravel.  So, I yanked it from public view and kept it for myself.  One day, I will revisit it and laugh, cry, groan and/or moan.

To be honest, I had originally thought of cul-de-sacs and detours in terms of my writing but became sidetracked and focused on that which should remain private.  Enough baring the soul, which served a purpose once upon a time; now, it’s a true “the end”.

As a writer (and editor), I’ve traveled many roads . . . such as the small path I first stepped on at the age of twelve, when I realized I so enjoyed writing and wanted to pursue that as a vocation.  But I remained in a cul-de-sac for several years because I simply couldn’t view the avenue that would lead me onward . . .  to that desired profession.

I ambled down different paths—went to film school and even worked in the industry for a wee while, until the music world opened up.  Those were exciting times.  But even better?  I even had the opportunity to write some promo pieces and that desire to become a writer reemerged in a major [driven] way.

Part-time courses proved fun.  Writing associations and groups were enlightening.  Taking pen to paper was enthralling.  I was on my way to hammering down Writer Highway #33.

Oddly, the access roads on which agents and publishers resided led nowhere; they didn’t seem excited about the manuscripts I so gleefully and proudly submitted.  Why?!  I had marvelous stories to tell, my-oh-my yes.  Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the perspective), the required skillset [talent] hadn’t really developed—something to do with not seeing the forest for the trees.

Yours truly took a detour or three—kept writing, but not learning.  I think it’s a writer’s thing, probably best known as “ego”, where we don’t/won’t listen to constructive criticism, and continue going (plodding along) and ignoring the signs.

I never gave up, though, even when I received countless rejections and one [very] cruel response from a publisher.  I inflated the vastly deflated self-esteem and plowed down a congested artery, knowing it would be difficult to navigate.  Somehow, some way, however, that ultimate destination would be reached.

Several years later, after paying many tolls, [finally] learning means and methods, and taking the [very] long way around, I arrived at that longed-for journey’s end: becoming published.  A dream come true.  Yes, it doesn’t pay much, and maybe the fame (or notoriety? LOL) isn’t there, but it’s all good.  Very good indeed. 

Cul de Sacs & Dead Ends

Recently, I posted on Facebook about the health system here, that it’s geared toward “the client”, with the caregiver simply being, well, just that: the caregiver.

That got me thinking about the many types of roads we take through life—cul de sacs (streets with only one way in and out), dead ends, detours, highways, lanes and paths, and toll roads.

My own life is a cul de sac—I’m in but can find no way out (for the interim).  In some ways, I was born in one, given the abusive/toxic relationship I had and have with my mother.  Yes, I should have located an exit some time ago—decades ago—but for whatever reason(s), I didn’t and that’s on me.  As a friend would say, and I’ve often repeated: it is what it is. 

That also makes the cul de sac a dead end because there is no way to move on . . . at least, for now.  It is what it is. 

There have been no detours to speak of, given the relationship that developed from the day I was born.  As one therapist stated, “you were born to do exactly what you are doing now”.  Okay, I kind of get that.    That, too, is on me: I could have, should have, taken one or two. 

Highways?  Well, life goes so fast—one day you’re twenty, the next you’re fifty, sixty, seventy—that it’s like speeding along one.

I’ve ambled along some small lanes and paths—jobs, writing projects, friendships and relationships.  They’ve opened my mind and eyes, but not enough to find the strength (conviction, confidence) to move—run—beyond them.  Yes, once again, that is on me. 

Toll roads?  I’ve paid (and am still paying) the price for inertia, which—yeah, you got it—is on me.

One day however, and hopefully soon, there’ll be a thoroughfare open to me.  And when I see it, I’m taking it . . . as fast as the speed limit will allow!

May your roads be smooth and traffic-free.  Safe driving, my friends.

Coco’s Nuts, Day Five, Another High-Five . . .

. . . to the 99-cent promo.  For one more day, you can get Coco’s Nuts for under a dollar.

Nuts is the third mystery in the Triple Threat Investigation Agency series and the second official case for budding private eyes JJ, Rey, and Linda to solve.

All the trio has to do is prove that socialite-turned-trucker Buddy Feuer didn’t kill her boss or best friend—regardless of what the evidence suggests.  As  they navigate the dark world of debt collectors (folks who will do anything to get their gambling “clients” to pay up), a few more bodies fall.

The list of suspects is long and the task of locating the real killer is a daunting if not dangerous one.

Maybe you’d like to find out how they do?  Please check out the P.I.s at:

https://www.amazon.ca/Cocos-Nuts-Tyler-Colins/dp/1078374368

Coco’s Nuts, Day Four, Just Two More

That’s it . . . just two more days to get Coco’s Nuts for 99 cents.

Coco’s Nuts is the third mystery in the Triple Threat Investigation Agency series.  The three novice private eyes—JJ, Rey, and Linda—are out to prove that socialite-turned-trucker Buddy Feuer didn’t murder her boss, the infamous Jimmy Picolo, or her best friend, fellow trucker, Eb Stretta, or . . .

As the body count increases, so does the list of suspects and odd if not dangerous characters.  But nothing will deter the persevering P.I.s from finding the culprit (and successfully solving their case).

“It seems a pretty sure thing that Coco’s chatting it up with Jimmy, Razor, and Stretta.”

“What makes you so sure?” I asked offhandedly.

“That was Denton. He and Jimmy Junior and Coco are close friends — have been since grade school, softball, and summer camp,” he elucidated. “Neither has heard from Coco like in two weeks.”

“Were they supposed to?” Linda asked.

“Coco has never missed Denton’s birthday, but he did this time.”

“Not a good sign, is it?” Rey asked with a crinkled brow. “Maybe strange little Coco met up with our gun-happy dude?”

Kent glowered and gulped back wine like a barfly trying to forget yesterday’s hangover.

“Should we add that to the tasks list?” Rey jested. “Find strange little colleague?”

Kent regarded us eagerly.

“We could look, if you like, but that’s a lot of turf to cover.” I wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth about Coco at the moment; revealing the truth would be the same as taking out a front page ad in the Honolulu Star Advertiser. Gerald Ives would not be pleased to have been one of the last to know.

He released a lengthy exhalation. “I’ll make a few calls and find out who saw him where and when. We can map a timeframe and take it from there.” He rose and grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Maybe you should start with his landlord,” Linda suggested, holding out her glass for him to top up.

Kent shrugged. “Coco once told me he never mingled with neighbors or the landlord. He had a run-in with Mr. Spamball about his pet rat, Willard. I doubt you’d get much help.”

“Spamball? Rat?” Rey asked, bemused. She found rodents as appealing and useful as reality shows featuring has-beens.

“The fat dude has skin the color of Spam,” Kent explained.

Rey’s expression wavered between distaste and disgust. “What happened to the rat?”

“Winkee, Mrs. Thomasino’s cat, happened. She was a retired meter maid, originally from Pasadena, who lived in the apartment above Coco.” He looked woeful. “When they found Willard, there was nothing left but a tail.”

We all looked woeful as we pushed away pizza and focused on wine.

If you’d like to see how they deal with threats and perils, please check them out at:

https://www.amazon.ca/Cocos-Nuts-Tyler-Colins/dp/1078374368

That’s it . . . just two more days to get Coco’s Nuts for...

That’s it . . . just two more days to get Coco’s Nuts for 99 cents.

Coco’s Nuts is the third mystery in the Triple Threat Investigation Agency series.  The three novice private eyes—JJ, Rey, and Linda—are out to prove that socialite-turned-trucker Buddy Feuer didn’t murder her boss, the infamous Jimmy Picolo, or her best friend, fellow trucker, Eb Stretta, or . . .

As the body count increases, so does the list of suspects and odd if not dangerous characters.  But nothing will deter the persevering P.I.s from finding the culprit (and successfully solving their case).

“It seems a pretty sure thing that Coco’s chatting it up with Jimmy, Razor, and Stretta.”

“What makes you so sure?” I asked offhandedly.

“That was Denton. He and Jimmy Junior and Coco are close friends — have been since grade school, softball, and summer camp,” he elucidated. “Neither has heard from Coco like in two weeks.”

“Were they supposed to?” Linda asked.

“Coco has never missed Denton’s birthday, but he did this time.”

“Not a good sign, is it?” Rey asked with a crinkled brow. “Maybe strange little Coco met up with our gun-happy dude?”

Kent glowered and gulped back wine like a barfly trying to forget yesterday’s hangover.

“Should we add that to the tasks list?” Rey jested. “Find strange little colleague?”

Kent regarded us eagerly.

“We could look, if you like, but that’s a lot of turf to cover.” I wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth about Coco at the moment; revealing the truth would be the same as taking out a front page ad in the Honolulu Star Advertiser. Gerald Ives would not be pleased to have been one of the last to know.

He released a lengthy exhalation. “I’ll make a few calls and find out who saw him where and when. We can map a timeframe and take it from there.” He rose and grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Maybe you should start with his landlord,” Linda suggested, holding out her glass for him to top up.

Kent shrugged. “Coco once told me he never mingled with neighbors or the landlord. He had a run-in with Mr. Spamball about his pet rat, Willard. I doubt you’d get much help.”

“Spamball? Rat?” Rey asked, bemused. She found rodents as appealing and useful as reality shows featuring has-beens.

“The fat dude has skin the color of Spam,” Kent explained.

Rey’s expression wavered between distaste and disgust. “What happened to the rat?”

“Winkee, Mrs. Thomasino’s cat, happened. She was a retired meter maid, originally from Pasadena, who lived in the apartment above Coco.” He looked woeful. “When they found Willard, there was nothing left but a tail.”

We all looked woeful as we pushed away pizza and focused on wine.

If you’d like to see how they deal with threats and perils, please check them out at:

https://www.amazon.ca/Cocos-Nuts-Tyler-Colins/dp/1078374368