Hieronymus Hawkes's Blog, page 2

How to Actually Fix Education

Ditch the Tests, Teach for Mastery

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

This is a little different from my normal posts. I got a bug up my butt a few weeks back about this and I did some research. Here are my conclusions. I welcome your feedback. The thing that spurred me was how AI is impacting the classroom. We need a different path forward or our children, and all of us, will suffer. This weekNeal Stephenson’s piece on Self-Reliance and AI added more thoughts from that perspective. You can read that here: https://substack.com/home/post/p-166816228

I. The False Promise of Standardized Success

Picture a fifth grader sitting at her desk, tears smudging her Scantron sheet. She studied. She tried. But the way the test is written doesn’t match the way her brain works. She isn’t alone. For decades, we’ve been training students to perform on standardized tests rather than cultivating deep understanding, curiosity, or resilience. Our system was designed for industrial efficiency, not human growth.

Standardized testing was introduced with good intentions: ensure consistency, set measurable goals, and close achievement gaps. But it quickly became the primary yardstick by which schools, teachers, and students are judged. And like any system optimized for measurement over meaning, it began to distort the very outcomes it was supposed to improve.

What was meant to be a tool for improvement became a weapon of comparison. Schools narrowed their curricula to what would be tested. Teachers taught to the test, not because they wanted to, but because funding, evaluations, and job security depended on it. Students, meanwhile, internalized the message that intelligence could be boiled down to a score. Creativity, empathy, persistence, and critical thinking, all untestable, were left behind.

The most harmful impact lands hardest on the most vulnerable. Children from low-income communities, English language learners, and neurodivergent students are often penalized by a system that doesn’t account for context. Test scores become proxies for zip codes, not indicators of potential. And the pressure? Crushing. Anxiety, burnout, and disengagement are now features of childhood, not exceptions.

We have confused standardization with fairness. But fairness doesn’t mean everyone gets the same thing. It means everyone gets what they need to succeed. And no multiple-choice test can measure that.

II. What If We Designed School for Actual Learning?

Imagine a classroom where students move forward only when they’ve truly mastered a skill. No arbitrary deadlines, no false advancement. Just learning at the right pace, for the right reasons.

This isn’t a radical concept. It’s how we learn in real life. When you’re learning to play an instrument, master a recipe, or pilot a plane, you don’t move on because the calendar says so. You move on because you’ve nailed it. You can demonstrate it. You understand it deeply. Why should learning algebra or persuasive writing be any different?

But our current school system is a conveyor belt. Students move in batches based on age, regardless of readiness. Some fall behind and never catch up. Others coast without challenge. The result is a system where passing doesn’t always mean learning, and failure often means you’re simply out of sync with the system’s artificial clock.

A competency-based model offers a more human alternative. Instead of pushing all students through the same curriculum at the same speed, we honor individual progress. We provide support when it’s needed, challenge when it’s appropriate, and time to truly learn, not just temporarily memorize.

This approach also reintroduces purpose to learning. When students understand that mastery, not mere completion, is the goal, they’re more likely to take ownership. They can see a clear connection between effort, progress, and outcome. School becomes less about jumping through hoops and more about gaining skills they’ll actually use.

Let’s stop asking students to race through a system built for uniformity and start building a system that celebrates and supports genuine learning.

III. What Competency-Based Education Looks Like

Competency-Based Education (CBE) isn’t about lowering standards. It’s about making them meaningful.

In a CBE system:

· Students progress when they demonstrate mastery.

· Teachers provide personalized support and targeted instruction.

· Assessment is ongoing, low-stakes, and feedback-rich.

· Learning includes real-world application through projects, presentations, and problem-solving.

· Students are active participants in their own progress.

Instead of rows of desks and silent drills, imagine classrooms buzzing with collaboration. Students debating ethical dilemmas, designing solutions to real-world problems, and presenting findings to their community. That’s what learning can look like.

In practice, this might mean a student who struggles with fractions doesn’t move on until they can not only solve fraction problems but explain the concepts to a peer. Another student might accelerate through basic algebra but then slow down when tackling more abstract reasoning. The timeline adapts to the learner, not the other way around.

Teachers become learning architects. They assess where each student is, identify misconceptions, provide targeted feedback, and design experiences that allow students to apply their knowledge. Think fewer lectures, more coaching. Fewer pop quizzes, more authentic demonstrations of learning.

Students are encouraged to reflect on their progress, set goals, and advocate for the support they need. This self-awareness fosters independence, motivation, and a sense of ownership that traditional systems often suppress.

As Susan Patrick, CEO of the Aurora Institute, explains: “Competency-based education systems provide structures that foundationally are important to support personalized pathways—and at the same time—ensure equity (through mastery).”1. Beth Rabbitt of The Learning Accelerator adds that their “definition for personalized learning, which has largely stayed the same over the last four years, is a student-centered instructional approach that individualizes learning for each student based on strengths, needs, interests, and/or goals. It allows for differentiation of path, pace, place, or modality and creates greater opportunities for student agency and choice-making.”1

Crucially, the system also rethinks failure. In a CBE classroom, failing an assessment isn’t a dead end. It’s part of the learning process. Students revisit the material, get feedback, and try again. Failure becomes a signal for support, not a scarlet letter.

In this way, competency-based education doesn’t just prepare students academically. It prepares them for life. Because life doesn’t hand out grades. It asks can you do this? And if not yet, what are you doing to improve?

IV. It’s Not Just Theory It’s Already Working

This isn’t some untested pipe dream. There are real schools already doing this and seeing real results.

· New Hampshire’s PACE program allowed districts to replace some standardized tests with performance-based assessments, resulting in lower dropout rates and deeper engagement3.

· Big Picture Learning students participate in internships and projects, leading to higher college enrollment, especially among underserved groups4.

· Chugach School District (Alaska) transitioned to CBE and showed major academic improvements, earning national recognition5.

· VLACS in New Hampshire allows fully personalized learning with strong student outcomes6.

· Summit Public Schools use personalized plans and mentoring to build student agency7.

· High Tech High (San Diego) focuses on project-based learning, producing confident, college-bound graduates8.

· Dallas ISD and Greeley-Evans (CO) saw academic gains and teacher satisfaction through blended CBE pilots9.

· Finland’s system emphasizes teacher autonomy and student well-being over standardized testing, yet ranks high internationally10.

V. The Real Shift: Trusting Teachers and Students

At the heart of the competency-based model is a radical but necessary idea, trust. Trust that teachers are not just implementers of curriculum, but skilled professionals capable of guiding complex, individualized learning journeys. Trust that students are not empty vessels to be filled, but curious minds that, when supported and respected, can become active participants in their education.

This shift begins by reimagining the role of the teacher, not as a deliverer of content, but as a mentor, facilitator, and designer of learning experiences. In traditional models, teachers are often judged by their students’ test scores, pressured to teach to the test, and bound by rigid pacing guides. In a competency-based model, teachers gain professional autonomy. They analyze student data, collaborate with peers, design formative assessments, and engage deeply with each learner’s journey11.

Students, too, are empowered. They are given agency over their pace and process, encouraged to reflect on their learning, and supported when they struggle. When students are seen as capable co-creators in the classroom, their motivation shifts from compliance to curiosity. They are not being taught for a test. They are being prepared for life.

This transformation requires more than classroom tweaks. It demands changes in policy, funding, leadership culture, and assessment systems. But the return on investment is enormous: resilient, reflective, independent learners, and a reinvigorated teaching force that no longer sees itself as cogs in a broken machine.

VI. The Call to Action: Rebuild the System, Don’t Patch It

Fixing education doesn’t mean better test prep, faster data dashboards, or shinier textbooks. It means starting from first principles: What do we want kids to know, be able to do, and become? Then building everything around that.

We need to:

· Fund schools based on student learning, not seat time.

· Allow teachers the freedom to assess learning in diverse ways.

· Abandon one-size-fits-all accountability systems in favor of holistic progress.

· Prioritize student wellness, engagement, and agency alongside academics.

· Provide schools with the time, training, and support to transition away from outdated models.

This is not a matter of ideology. It is a matter of will. The knowledge is there. The examples are there. What’s missing is the courage to act.

It’s time to move beyond the narrow definition of success imposed by standardized testing. Let’s commit to an education system that sees every student as a capable learner, every teacher as a trusted professional, and every classroom as a launchpad for the future.

We don’t need to wait for a federal mandate to make change:

· Parents can advocate for pilot programs, question excessive testing, and ask schools about project-based and competency-based options.

· Educators can explore mastery-based grading, share success stories, and connect with like-minded schools.

· Policymakers can stop tying funding to test scores and start investing in teacher training and curricular flexibility.

If enough communities choose to do education differently, the system will follow.

VII. Let’s Build the System Our Kids Deserve

The world our children are inheriting is rapidly evolving. They will face challenges that cannot be answered with a number two pencil. Things like climate change, automation, misinformation, democratic instability, mental health crises, and jobs that don’t even exist yet.

We need an education system that prepares kids not just for the next exam, but for the real tests of life, collaboration, ethical decision-making, lifelong learning, and civic responsibility. We need students who can think critically, act compassionately, and adapt fearlessly.

Standardized education asks, “How well can this kid take a test?”

Competency-based education asks, “What can this kid do with what they know?”

One measures obedience and recall. The other fosters capability, resilience, and readiness for the real world.

The difference between those two questions isn’t just theoretical. It is generational. It is the future.

Let’s choose that future with intention. Let’s build the system our kids truly deserve.

[1] Personalized Learning An Interview with National Thought Leaders and Practitioners: https://edreformnow.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/Personalized-Learning-Brief.pdf

[2] The 74 Million: https://www.the74million.org/article/rabbitt-3-critical-conversations-we-must-have-around-the-future-of-personalized-learning/

[3] Wired: https://www.wired.com/2016/08/inside-online-school-radically-change-kids-learn-everywhere/

[4] Education Reimagined: https://education-reimagined.org/findings-from-the-big-picture-learning-longitudinal-study/

[5] Education Elements: https://education-reimagined.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/PP_Chugach.pdf

[6] VLACS Overview: https://practices.learningaccelerator.org/see/virtual-learning-academy-charter-school-vlacs

[7] Summit Model: https://summitps.org/the-summit-model/

[8] High Tech High: https://www.hightechhigh.org/lcap_goal/improve-student-centered-instruction/

[9] Aurora Institute report: https://aurora-institute.org/resource/community-schools-case-study-project/

[10] OECD PISA Data: https://www.oecd.org/en/publications/pisa-2022-results-volume-i-and-ii-country-notes_ed6fbcc5-en/finland_6991e849-en.html

[11] Aurora Institute: https://aurora-institute.org/wp-content/uploads/Moving-Toward-Mastery.pdf

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Story Static and the Need to Move

Or, Why My Fitness Tracker Thinks I’m a Novelist on the Run

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

Are any of you what I call kinetic writers?

You know the type. The kind who can’t seem to stay in a chair for more than ten or fifteen minutes without having to stand up and discharge all that built-up story static. That’s me. I’m the person pacing the hallway mid-scene like I’m troubleshooting a spaceship, or standing at the window like I’m waiting for the plot to physically arrive outside.

It’s not even a conscious choice. I have to move. Especially when the writing is really flowing. The more intense the scene, the faster the charge builds, like the words themselves are sending voltage back up through the keyboard and into my nervous system. Conservation of energy, or witchcraft. Jury’s still out.

When the prose gets hot, I turn into a twitchy ball of narrative energy. It’s not exactly graceful. I spring up, do a lap around the room, maybe mutter something cryptic like, “Okay, but why is the goat talking?” to a bewildered dog, who thought she was going to get to go outside, then drop back into the chair like nothing happened.

This may sound like a productivity nightmare, but honestly? It’s how I know the work is alive. I call it Ants-in-the-Pants Syndrome, and for me it’s a feature, not a bug. The story’s clicking. Something’s on fire. The act of walking it off isn’t an interruption, it’s a pressure release. Like letting your gun barrel cool after you’ve unloaded half a dozen magazines. You don’t want a jam.

If I’m in a situation where I can’t get up, say, trapped in a café chair or buckled into a plane seat, that energy backs up. My brain starts buffering. The words slow. I stall. If I’m lucky, I can sneak a note into my phone, or whisper an idea into a voice memo before it disappears forever into the mental trash compactor.

I’ve learned to live with my low word-per-hour count. I don’t type fast, I get distracted easily, and sometimes my muse wears roller skates. I’ve hit that golden thousand-words-an-hour mark on occasion, sure. But more often it’s half that, and only if the stars align, the coffee is just right, and no one has mentioned waffles.

So, if you ever see someone pacing like a caffeinated ghost between writing sprints, know this, the scene is probably going really well. Or I’ve forgotten where I left my phone again.

Either way, I’ll be back in the chair shortly. Turtle speed. Caterpillar ambition. Static discharge at regular intervals.

It’s not elegant. But it’s how I write.

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The Advice Loop

Proof that self-awareness is not the same as self-discipline

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

You know what’s easy? Giving advice.

All you need is a little confidence and the ability to say things like you mean them. That’s it. That’s the whole trick. No wonder con men do so well, they don’t even have to be right, they just have to sound sure.

Confidence is magnetic. It’s comforting. It makes people listen, even if you’re two steps from disaster and making it up as you go. Which is probably why, on any given day, I can give out some pretty solid advice. Writing advice. Life advice. Even relationship advice, if I’m feeling bold and well-caffeinated.

I had a friend once who was the undisputed king of pulling stuff out of his ass. Always with authority. Always with conviction. And I bought it, a lot, until I finally realized he was full of something else entirely. After that? My motto became trust but verify. As it should be.

Because here’s the thing, confidence only works if the person on the receiving end hasn’t figured out you’re unreliable. Once that’s gone, so is the magic.

Now, I like to think the advice I give is solid, especially when it comes to writing. I don’t bluff. I’m not conning anyone. I’ve been in the trenches. I’ve stared down the blank page and the bloated middle and the “what even is this ending” crisis. The advice I give is earned.

But you know what’s hard?

Following my own damn advice.

The idea for this post actually hit me after I wrote a piece about villains, how great stories often have great antagonists. I talked about how a strong villain can shape the arc, raise the stakes, give the protagonist something to push against. All true.

But then I realized…I haven’t actually written a story where a full-blown villain shows up early and leans in hard. Not one where the antagonist is driving the story like Darth Vader on day one.

I want to. I even have some half-baked ideas I’ve been playing with. But the truth is, stories come to you how they come to you. Most of mine just haven’t included that kind of villain yet. And that’s okay. But it does make me chuckle a little when I re-read my advice and realize I haven’t done the thing I said was so important. Yet.

That’s the nature of writing. Of life, really. We know what we should do. We give great pep talks to others. But when it’s our turn to apply that same wisdom? Suddenly we’re negotiating with ourselves like a toddler refusing bedtime.

I can tell a new writer not to stress about their first draft. “Get it on the page,” I say. “You can’t fix what you haven’t written.” Sage stuff. And then I’ll spend three hours tweaking the same sentence because it doesn’t feel quite right. Because I know better. Because I forgot, again, that perfection isn’t step one. It’s step twenty-three. On a good day.

I saw a post today talking about not using your thesaurus on the first draft. Again, sound advice, but words matter, and I get stuck on words sometimes. I can’t move forward until I find that right word. I know it’s ridiculous.

I can say “rest is part of the process,” and then guilt myself into writing at midnight like I’m on deadline for The New Yorker. I’ll nod along when someone says, “Done is better than perfect,” and then spend three weeks second-guessing a blog post about corn fungus.

We all do it. The double standard of self-direction. The kindness we extend to others that somehow bounces off our own skulls like a poorly thrown dodgeball.

Why Is It So Hard?

Maybe because giving advice feels like control. It’s action. It’s agency. You’re helping someone else get unstuck, and that feels useful.

Following your own advice requires trust, surrender, patience. Gross.

It means believing your future self will be grateful for the hard thing you’re doing now. And my future self is kind of a diva. So, it’s no surprise I procrastinate. That I scroll. That I rewrite. That I tell myself I’ll write more tomorrow.

The writing advice I give is usually solid. I just need to hear it like I’m someone else.

So maybe that’s the trick: when you’re stuck, ask what advice you’d give a friend in your situation. And then pretend you’re just someone who’s lucky enough to know you.

Because even con men know, confidence sells. And sometimes you’ve got to fake it until your own advice finally sticks.

So maybe that’s the lesson.
Advice is easy. Following it takes practice.

And when you catch yourself doing the exact thing you warned someone else not to do…just nod and smile. Maybe even write a blog post about it.

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The Dirty Truth About Smut

(Unless you’re thinking of corn fungus. In which case: wow, same page.)

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

“Smut” is a gloriously loaded word, half taboo, half wink, all marketing power. It’s the kind of term that makes people lean in or flinch…and both reactions are useful.

If you’re like me, the word smut probably makes you raise an eyebrow, or brace for a steamy scene. It’s one of those words that’s been so thoroughly claimed by the world of spicy fiction that I assumed it only meant…well, that.

So, imagine my surprise when I recently learned about corn smut.

Yes. That’s a real thing. Not a punchline. Not a euphemism. Not the name of a niche indie band. (Although that is going on my list of band names)

Meet Ustilago maydis

That’s the Latin name for corn smut, a fungus that infects corn kernels and turns them into bulbous, grayish-black growths that look like something out of a Guillermo del Toro film. In the U.S., farmers usually consider it a disease, a blight, a crop-wrecking horror.

But in Mexico?

It’s called huitlacoche and it’s considered a delicacy. Earthy, rich, almost truffle-like. You can sauté it. Put it in tacos. Fold it into quesadillas. It’s packed with amino acids, lysine, and culinary intrigue.

A Word with a Double Life

This got me thinking, smut has more than one life. More than two, even.

Here’s a brief tour of smut’s surprisingly diverse résumé:

Agriculture: Corn smut. Wheat smut. Sorghum smut. A family of fungal diseases that attack grains.Slang: Sexual content, often printed or broadcast. Sometimes cheeky, sometimes pejorative.Soot: Yes, soot. As in, “a smut of ash blew across the page.” (Dickens, anyone?)Pirate insult potential: “Ye filthy smut, swab the deck!” (Okay, maybe I made that one up. But it fits.)

It’s fascinating how a single syllable can carry so much weight, from fungal cuisine to fanfiction, from ash to innuendo. It’s the kind of word that changes hats faster than a con artist at a Renaissance fair.

So What Do We Do With It?

Honestly? We embrace the weird.

Language is messy and wild and often hilarious. “Smut” might still get the most attention in romance hashtags, but it also reminds us that words evolve, and sometimes they loop back around and surprise us.

So the next time someone says, “I love smut,” you can smile and ask,
“Corn or Kindle?”

August 5, 2025What Makes Good Writing? (Revisited Again)Originally posted August 1, 2019 | Reflecting on a 2011 post #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred … July 31, 2025Finding Your Voice (Without Getting a Throat Injury)Or: how to sound like yourself without sounding like everyone else #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred … July 29, 2025How Do You Title a Novel Without Losing Your Mind?Seriously. If you know, please email me #writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle I’ve finished four … July 24, 2025Transported to 1986 by a Song (A Look Back at a Look Back)Originally posted in 2019. Revisited with a little more grey hair—and maybe …

What Makes Good Writing? (Revisited Again)

Originally posted August 1, 2019 | Reflecting on a 2011 post

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

This reflection goes all the way back to January 26, 2011. And as I reread it now, I still think it’s mostly on the mark. Not long after writing that original post, I read Wired for Story by Lisa Cron, which added a new dimension to how I think about good writing, and more importantly, what makes a good book.

There’s a distinction here worth teasing out. Good writing and a good story aren’t always the same thing. You can have a novel with prose so crisp it crackles, yet the story leaves you cold. Or vice versa, you can stumble into something that’s clunky and awkward on the sentence level but still keeps you up all night turning pages. (Think Dan Brown)

According to Lisa Cron, it’s the story that wins. And honestly? I’ve found that to be true, up to a point. If the writing is truly bad, it becomes a speed bump (or a brick wall). But if the story is strong enough, most readers will forgive the occasional rough edge.

Of course, it’s still a gift when someone can turn a phrase so deftly it makes you stop and say, “Wow.” Laini Taylor comes to mind. Daughter of Smoke and Bone had some truly stunning prose in the first half. (The second half was a different vibe, but that’s a conversation for another post.)

Then again, some of my favorite moments as a reader are the ones where I realize I haven’t noticed the writing at all, because I was so immersed in the experience. That’s always my goal, for the prose to disappear and the story to take over.

I’m not convinced anyone can be taught to be a great writer, but you can absolutely learn the craft of writing. That’s the lifeline you cling to when the muse is off vacationing somewhere in the south of France. (Mine tends to disappear without leaving a forwarding address.) If you want to write for more than a hobby, you can’t wait around for inspiration. You need tools, habits, and a healthy disregard for your own excuses.

A while back I downloaded a free copy of The Last of the Mohicans on my iPhone Kindle app. I’d read the whole series in my younger years and remembered it being awe-inspiring. And the characters and setting are still impressive, but oh, the prose. Heavy. Overwrought. Dense enough to qualify as a new building material. From a modern author’s perspective, it’s hard to get through.

It made me wonder, has writing ruined reading for me?

I fly jets for a living, and commercial flights aren’t relaxing anymore. I know what every strange noise means. I know what shouldn’t be happening. It’s hard not to overanalyze. Reading’s a bit like that now. I notice craft. I spot structural issues. If the writing’s only so-so, my tolerance isn’t what it used to be. My Did Not Finish rate is out of whack now.

Would Cooper get published today? Probably not, not in that form. He’d get the classic “your characters are vivid, your setting is immersive, but this just doesn’t align with our editorial vision.” Translation: “Love the vibes, hate the prose.” But was he a poor writer? No. Context matters. The classics broke ground in their day, even if they don’t meet today’s expectations for clarity, pacing, or accessibility.

Language evolves. So do readers.

Today’s readers are more educated and live in a faster-paced world. We want our stories digestible and engaging, and preferably without a thesaurus. Most of us can recognize good prose when we see it, and I deeply appreciate it when an author makes me feel a scene rather than just read it. But even that is subjective. Some readers prize grammar and structure. Others want smooth readability and cinematic storytelling.

So…what sells?

Should that be part of your equation as a writer?

Maybe. Maybe not.

In the end, you have to write for you. Trying to squeeze your square novel into the round hole of traditional publishing, or trends, or expectations, is a recipe for frustration. Write what you love. Write in your voice. And if you don’t know what that voice is yet, don’t worry. You’ll find it.

2025 Update: Still True, Maybe Truer

Revisiting this post six years later, I find myself nodding along. The core truth still holds, voice and story are what last. Craft matters, but voice connects. And connection is what most readers are chasing, whether they know it or not.

I’ve read (and written) more since then. My tolerance for clunky prose? Still low. But I’ve also softened a bit. I’ve come to appreciate sincerity over style in certain moments. Sometimes a rough gem is still a gem. Sometimes the polish scrubs the soul right out of the story.

If you’re a writer, keep going. If you’re a reader, thank you. And if you’re both, welcome to the club. We have strong opinions and coffee stains on everything.

Finding Your Voice (Without Getting a Throat Injury)

Or: how to sound like yourself without sounding like everyone else

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

Writers love to talk about voice like it’s some mythical creature that lives in your laptop and only appears when the moon is right and your imposter syndrome is distracted.

“You’ve got to find your voice,” they say.

Okay…where exactly is it? Is it under “Settings”? Is there a button I missed?

I used to think voice was all about style. Sentence rhythm. Word choice. Syntax. And yes, it’s partly those things. But voice isn’t just how you write. It’s also how you think. How your brain naturally turns over an idea. It’s the way you tell any story, even if it’s about parallel parking or the contents of your fridge. (You know you’ve got voice if I’d read your grocery list and still chuckle at the commentary.)

And there are a lot of writers on Substack that have an amazing voice. I am not going to name names here. I don’t want to hurt your feelings if you don’t show up on my list of people with a great voice.

Voice is tone, perspective, honesty, attitude.
It’s what happens when you stop trying to write like a writer and just…write like a person. A weird little person with obsessions, opinions, and that one phrase you always lean on when you’re tired. (“Clear Ether,” anyone? I closed a lot of my older blogs with that. But even that was derivative, E.E. Smith used it for the Lensman series.)

When you’re starting out, your voice is usually buried under a pile of influences. You try to sound like your favorite authors. You unconsciously echo their rhythms, their jokes, their paragraph lengths. It’s not a bad thing, it’s how we all learn. You can’t find your voice until you’ve borrowed a few others. But eventually, if you keep going, something shifts. You stop performing the idea of “author,” and start sounding like yourself on purpose.

Here’s the kicker, your voice will evolve. And it should.

If you’re still figuring it out, here’s my advice:

Write a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Voice shows up through repetition and rhythm.

Read widely. Steal from the best until it sounds like yours.

Talk on the page like you talk in real life. Just…maybe clean up the ums and curse words. (Unless that’s your brand. In which case: respect.) Keep in mind we emulate real dialogue; we don’t actually write the way people talk. They often hem and haw and don’t finish sentences, or say “ya know,” a lot. That would be horrible to read.

Pay attention to what makes you smile while writing. That’s often the trailhead to your voice.

And for the record, yes, you can have a different voice for different projects. Your space opera may not sound like your cozy paranormal mystery (unless that’s what you’re going for, in which case, you beautiful maniac, carry on). My Substack voice is very different from my prose voice. But underneath it all, there should still be a fingerprint. Something that says this came from you.

Okay, here is a little treat. I am going to share with you the very first draft of my current WIP. A voice comparison with the latest version to show the evolution.

2008 version (Sorry, I know it’s bad. I was new at writing)

It is always a bit of a euphoric feeling when I have conquered my foe but it also leaves me mentally fogged. I need to get back into the house and change without being seen. I don’t like the members of my staff seeing me like this. The euphoria never lasts very long, in fact it is already wearing off as I approach the main house. But I am still jazzed up and a bit on the ragged edge.

I stealth my way along the grounds avoiding my security detail. The darkness of the very early morning hour assists my efforts. Despite all the high tech gear I have put in place to defend my estate I am able to defeat it rather easily. I am not sure if I need to beef it up to the point where I am not able to sneak back in or if things are better the way they are. It would be highly embarrassing to be caught by my own security team, but I do want tight security. It’s a fine line. But then again, I am not just any ordinary thug. I have skills that most men do not possess and I am stronger and faster than a normal man. I can also sense them from a good distance away, which is very handy when trying to avoid roaming patrols.

I make my way to the lower level secret entrance, where I had left the door unlocked on my way out. I am able to avoid contact with anyone else and slip inside the entrance unnoticed. At least that is what I thought. I little too late I realize my folly.

“Good evening Nonno,” a sweet but low female voice says to me. I instantly recognize it is my chief of security, waiting for me just inside the door; waiting with a cloak to drape around me. She is new to my staff and is obviously doing a better job than I expected. I had been focused on the grounds and not the interior of the house.

I am a mess, with torn clothes and a disheveled appearance and a few scrapes and bruises, all minor but it gives me the look of someone dangerous and slightly manic. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here Marta,” I manage to rasp out at her as I try to get a grip on myself. I am still on the edge, almost animal in the way that I feel after the hunt. It takes a real effort to get my head right and calm my impulses as my blood is really flowing in my veins now. I am acutely aware of her presence; I sense her distance, her scent, even her emotional state. Me on the other hand, I am feeling somewhat embarrassed to have her see me like this, even though she knows me very well.

“I AM your Security Chief. I take the job seriously. How would you feel if I let someone else in here?” she says looking at me with a knowing smile, perhaps a little nervous too. She wraps the cloak around me shoulders. “I knew when you left and I’ve been keeping an eye out for you for the last few hours.” We start walking toward my private chambers on this level of the house as I calm further. “Why do you insist on these hunts Nonno? You know they are unnecessary, we have every thing you need right here on the estate.” Nonno is a term of affection; I am her great-grandfather.

“It would be hard for me to explain to you grandchild, but let’s just say that I enjoy the hunt – probably a little too much.” We walk in silence for a bit. “Don’t worry; nobody is going to turn up missing tomorrow in town.” She stops and I raise my head to look at her.

“I wasn’t worried about that Nonno – at least not too much,” she finished the last with a small grin.

I am feeling more like my normal self, as normal as I get anyway. “In time perhaps it will become clear to you why I hunt. Have you talked to your father? He might have some insight.”

“Not recently, he is not all that happy with his retirement and he’s having a hard time adjusting to his new role as husband first,” she says with a small laugh. Then more serious she continues “It’s not my place to question you Nonno. I just want to be able to do my job. Conall told me to let you go when I saw you leaving the grounds. I would feel horrible if something happened to you, that’s all.”

“I’m a pretty tough hombre Marta, you needn’t worry so much. Listen to your brother.”

“Yes Nonno.” I was looking into her eyes now and could see that it pained her to not be able to do her job. My former security chief, while competent, often had no idea when I would sneak out to hunt. I could see now that I would have to rethink the whole thing. I am annoyed that it bothers me to see the pain in her eyes. The Cognate serve its purpose very well, but I had made my mind up a long time ago to try not to get too emotionally involved with them, something I was not following through on very well of late. It was painful for me when they went out of my life as they invariably did. It was a concession I had to make with myself after Anne died. Anne was my wife – a long time ago.

As we approach my quarters I stop and turn to face her. “I won’t sneak out on you again Marta. I’m going to clean up and then I’m heading down to the music studio to work on a new lick that I am trying to perfect. I’ll be good for the rest of the evening,” I say with a grin.

“Ok, I will head up to security and see how things are going. Good luck on that guitar lick Nonno.” She bows her head slightly and grinning she leaves me. She understands me I think, at least my desire to play, she would often come and listen to me play the guitar when she was a young girl.

2025 version

He reached his room, changing swiftly into the scent-masking black polymers he used exclusively for hunting, each movement ritualistic, disciplined. A necessary habit to control the beast. It pacing beneath his ribs, awake, waiting, starving for the barest chance to seize control.

The beast within him was always hungry. It needed release, or it would tear its way out when he least expected. And he could not afford another slip. Remi had spent centuries fighting it, carefully nurturing control through these isolated hunts, just enough to satisfy the insatiable need. Just enough to maintain the fragile peace he’d struck within himself.

Isolating himself was the other part of that equation. Better to be away from the temptation. Safer for everyone.

Outside, the Spring Montana air enveloped him, rich and alive with scents, freshly mown lawn, the bouquet of a variety of flowers, scat from an assortment of small animals, the decay of dead vermin, nothing out of the ordinary.

No humans.

Good.

Remi inhaled deeply, savoring this last contact with Earth’s tapestry of aromas before heading for the sterility of space.

The sweetness of lilacs drifted from the edge of the lawn, triggering a sudden, vivid memory of Jen, her laughter, her smile here beneath the stars, the promise he’d made never to kill again.

His heart tightened painfully. Centuries gone, yet she lingered in every quiet moment. And guilt. He might have to break his vow.

Remi moved silently through the wooded slopes of his vast Montana estate, the night air cool and sharp against his heightened senses. Beneath the pristine quiet, the beast within him stirred restlessly, impatiently craving release. He exhaled slowly, savoring the solitude, the ritual calm before a carefully managed storm.

An unfamiliar scent interrupted his reverie.

Remi froze mid-step. Every muscle flexed in silent readiness, instincts older than memory kicking in before thought caught up. The scent hit first—foreign, wrong—threading sharp through the night air like copper over loam. Someone was here.

Impossible. No one had breached this land. Never.

But the thrum in his blood said otherwise. His body moved before permission, knees bending low, silent through the pines and mulch and memory. The scent of pine sap, distant snowmelt, and the ghost of wildflowers baked into the soil. Beautiful. Clean. His last sanctuary. And now? Spoiled.

A heartbeat pulsed ahead. Not frantic. Not stumbling. Calm. Controlled. The cadence of someone trained. Professional. That alone made them more dangerous.

A low growl started deep in his throat, unbidden. The beast inside him stretched toward the sound, ears pricked, teeth already lengthening in anticipation. It liked the hunt. It craved this break in monotony.

It was no mistake. This was intrusion.

The tension in his jaw pulsed. Coppery tang where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek, sharp and hot.

His mind whispered caution.

The beast wanted violence.

Remi moved silently to a vantage point, eyes and ears straining for confirmation.

There. Movement, furtive and cautious, yet unmistakably human. Not a casual trespasser this one, he moved with practiced intent.

The sharp edge of gun oil and fresh carbon found him. The intruder was armed. Interesting, but irrelevant. The beast growled louder, eager for the hunt, pulsing with the need to consume, to dominate. Remi fought it back, gritting his teeth.

A quick capture, a clean interrogation, that was the goal. He just had to maintain control. But the villain’s blood called out. Hunger pulling at Remi violently. The beast roared inside him, pleading, demanding release.

The intruder stepped into full view.

Black-clad. Military-cut gear, slick with reflective suppression. Night vision goggles hugged his face, scanning the shadows with slow, practiced sweeps. A professional, at least, on paper.

Remi didn’t move. Not a blink. Not a breath. He became the stillness. Not hiding, being the dark. He had no heat signature.

The man’s gaze passed over him like a breeze brushing a statue. Nothing. No flicker of recognition. No hint he’d sensed what coiled not ten meters away.

Amateur.

A decent operator would’ve noticed the absence of motion in that pocket of air. The unnatural hush of something watching back.

The beast inside him grinned. Easy prey.

Remi struck.

One heartbeat, the man was alone. The next, he was airborne, wrenched off his feet in a blur of motion no human reflex could hope to follow.

Remi slammed him against the tree trunk hard enough to rattle bark loose. The rifle clattered to the ground, useless now. Disarmed before he could even register danger. Remi didn’t need force; he was force.

His face hovered inches from the intruder’s. Breath steamed between them. Remi inhaled, pulling in everything, the stink of fear, the ozone tinge of electro-fiber mesh, the sour adrenaline pooling beneath the man’s skin. The bastard reeked of panic.

Remi studied the intruder’s eyes, looking for shape, structure—intent. But the man’s mind was a shattered mirror, all sharp edges and no reflections. Nothing but noise and terror echoing back at him.

Hope you enjoyed that.

As you can see the first version I swept right past the thing that actually shows him being a vampire and a hunter. Classic Show vs Tell.

So, if you’re searching for your voice, don’t panic. Keep showing up. Keep putting words down. Your voice is already there, it just hasn’t stopped clearing its throat yet.

How Do You Title a Novel Without Losing Your Mind?

Seriously. If you know, please email me

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

I’ve finished four full manuscripts and numerous stories that aren’t complete, and I still think titling a novel is somewhere between “naming your child” and “picking your last words.” You want it to be punchy. You want it to whisper genre and tone like a literary sommelier. You want it to stick in a reader’s brain like a pop song, but preferably without rhyming with Baby Shark.

Meanwhile, you’re just staring at your document going, “Okay but what do I call you??”

I once read that one-word titles are the gold standard. (Think Inception, Run, Dune, It.) Sounds smart, until you try to find a single word that:
a) matches your theme,
b) hasn’t already been used by twelve other authors, and
c) doesn’t sound like a discontinued energy bar.

It’s the literary equivalent of trying to name a rock band in 2025. Every good word is taken. Every bad one is ironic. (Although I do keep a list of band names. You never know.)

Titles are a lot like first lines, deceptively small, agonizingly important, and statistically almost never the version you started with. I’d love to see a survey on how many writers actually keep their first sentence from the first draft. I’d wager the percentage is smaller than confirmed Bigfoot sightings.

My last book? The working title was Perfect Working Order. I thought it was elegant. Subtle. A little mysterious. I think that is the 6th or 7th title. The editor I pitched it to gave me the professional version of, “That title is NyQuil in book form.” She asked if I was “attached to it,” which I now know is editor-speak for “If this title were a font, it would be Times New Meh.”

Is that actually a thing? Are authors that attached to the title?

I’ve joked before that I’d happily rename the thing Explosions and Murder! if it helped sell copies. That’s not even a joke, really. If you’re in this game to be read, and not just to fill notebooks with tortured genius, you eventually have to let go. Kill your darlings, especially if your darling is a title no one understands but you.

Now, every once in a while I fantasize about a secret society of elite book-namers. People who read your manuscript once, sip an espresso, and go, “It’s called Blood Geometry. You’re welcome.” Where are these people? Why don’t they have a service? A hotline? A TikTok?

One trick that’s helped, pulling a title straight from the manuscript. A single line that captures something essential about the story. It doesn’t have to be poetic, it just has to feel right. And if readers hit that line in the book and go “ohhhh,” even better. Of course, that only works if your manuscript has that kind of line. And if it’s not buried on page 412 of a 240k-word behemoth.

Another solid strategy is the ultra-obvious title, Toy Story, Fatal Attraction, The Exorcist. You know exactly what you’re getting. Straightforward, on-brand, no guesswork. But it’s a fine line between clarity and cliché, and sometimes you don’t know which side of that line you’re on until it’s printed in hardcover.

So, no, titling isn’t easy. Don’t expect to get it right on the first try. Or the fifth. And definitely don’t let it stall your writing. If your book is about identity collapse, solar colonization, and vampire love triangles, calling it Space People might not get the nuance across.

Although, to be fair, brainstorming fake titles is a phenomenal way to avoid your word count.

Ultimately? Don’t get too precious. Title it something that works for now and change it later if you have to. This process is nonlinear and messy.

Which brings me to:

Totally Real and Not-Made-Up Book Title Services You Wish Existed

NameDropper
For when you’ve been staring at the ceiling for four days and all you’ve got is “Untitled Sci-Fi Project 3.”

Title Fight
You vs. the thesaurus. Only one will survive.

The Titling Dead
Your last five rejected titles come back to haunt you…and one of them still kinda works.

Wheel of Genres
Spin once. Your title now includes either “Blood,” “Chronicles,” or “The Something of Something.” You’re welcome.

SEO No-No
Every title idea you love, cross-referenced with Google trends to make sure it’ll never show up in search results.

The Title Whisperer
“Call it Ashes and Echoes. Or maybe The Echo of Ashes. Or Ashy Echo. I dunno. You figure it out.”

If you’ve got a great titling trick, or just a hilarious fail you’d like to share, I’m all ears. I may even borrow it. For a book. Or this post.

Transported to 1986 by a Song (A Look Back at a Look Back)

Originally posted in 2019. Revisited with a little more grey hair—and maybe a little more wisdom

Music has this magical quality. It can yank you across decades in a single chord. I wrote the bones of this post back in 2019 after a particularly nostalgic drive home. Sirius XM’s 80s channel was counting down the top songs from this week in 1986, and number three was “Highway to the Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins.

Boom. Instant time machine.

It was a beautiful day, the kind that makes your memory lean in close. And with that music, I was twenty-one again. The summer of ’86. What my old roommate called the “God Summer”the stretch of time right after graduating from the U.S. Air Force Academy. We felt immortal. Young, fit, and brimming with plans. I still had a full head of hair and was ready to start my Air Force career as a pilot. At least, that was the plan.

Graduation Day May 28, 1986

Just a few months earlier, Top Gun had hit theaters. It was like pouring jet fuel on our collective dreams. Graduation was just weeks away, and we were all convinced we’d be flying fighters soon. That movie hit us like a shot of adrenaline. A few of us actually made it.

Undergraduate Pilot Training (UPT) is a beast of its own. They say you can teach a monkey to fly if you give it enough bananas, but the trick is keeping up with the Air Force’s pace. Some of it was glorious. Walking off the flightline in a G-suit, helmet tucked under one arm, after a smooth T-38 sortie. I felt like Maverick. My callsign was “Woodrow.” I even rode my motorcycle home afterward. Almost comically on-brand, but it was real.

UPT Official Photo on a very windy day. Sometime in September or October 1986

Up to that point, I’d been pretty successful at whatever I put my mind to. But somewhere near the midpoint of UPT, I hit a wall. A full-blown crisis of confidence. I started to wonder if I’d make it through. That was new. And deeply humbling.

The first half of training was twelve-hour days minimum, with multiple sorties, and every spare second was spent studying instruments, procedures, and systems. At the end of a sweltering Mississippi day, my brain felt like a microwaved burrito. I’m not wired for relentless repetition, which didn’t help.

But it wasn’t all grind. We blew off steam like it was our job. Work hard, play harder. Weekends were packed with beer, dancing (yes, I was actually a good dancer, ask literally no one), and even a little FM fame. My best friend and I had a Saturday night college radio show. Eventually the pool won out, and we ditched the booth for sunshine and cannonballs. I regret nothing.

We were so young.

When I look back now, with a few more miles on the tires, I can see how much time I “wasted.” Not in a hand-wringing way, it was mostly fun, but it wasn’t productive. If I could give that version of me some advice, it’d be: find something you’re passionate about and chase it with everything you’ve got. It took me a long time to figure that out. And truthfully, I wasn’t exactly searching with a map and flashlight.

Back in 2019, I mentioned they were making a Top Gun sequel. Top Gun: Maverick hadn’t come out yet. I joked it looked like a cheesy rehash and added: “I don’t care. Take my money.”

I stand by that.

Kenny Loggins confirmed that “Danger Zone” would be in the movie, and that hit me in the gut. Because that song? It carries more than nostalgia.

It carries Pete.

Pete was a year ahead of me at the Academy. We were in the same cadet squadron, me a freshman, him a sophomore. Solid guy. At Columbus he and some of the others had a house on the edge of town with a pool, and they threw some legendary parties.

The one I remember best? Assignment night. Pete got an F-15. He cranked “Highway to the Danger Zone” on repeat, screamed the lyrics, and danced around the house like a kid who just got handed a fighter jet for Christmas. I can still see it, his joy was electric.

Pete flew for a few years, left the service, and eventually came back. He died in a crash. I don’t know the whole story, just that he was gone.

But I remember 22-year-old Pete, alive, ecstatic, fists in the air, singing that song like it was a promise. And in that moment, for him, it was.

I graduated from pilot training in the fall of ’87. Didn’t get fighters. I got the KC-135 Stratotanker. Less dogfighting, more flying gas station. But it mattered. I ended up flying tankers for 32 years. Not bad for a guy who once feared he wouldn’t make it.

Right after I got dowsed on following my last flight in the KC-135, my youngest children in the background.

Sometimes I wonder what might’ve happened if I’d found my “thing” sooner. Maybe writing. Maybe art. Maybe gaming, approached from a creative side, building worlds or writing articles for magazines. But those are just musings. Water under the bridge.

Revisiting this old post reminded me how strong those memories still are. One song, one sunny day, and I’m back in that summer. Remembering how it felt to be weightless with possibility. Remembering friends. Remembering who I was becoming.

No real regrets.

Life is good.

And it’s only getting better.

The Blob Under My Bed

How I Learned to Sleep Without Dangling Anything Ever Again

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

When I was eight years old, my parents took me to the drive-in to see a little film called Beware! The Blob. You may not remember it, and honestly, that’s probably for the best. It was a low-budget sequel to the original Blob, less horror classic, more ridiculous chaos.

I don’t remember the popcorn. I don’t remember the weather. But I remember the Blob.

For the uninitiated, the Blob is a big, goopy, blood-red mass that slides around eating people. Slowly. Relentlessly. It doesn’t talk. It doesn’t have a plan. It just absorbs everything in its path, like Jell-O with a grudge.

And that night, parked under the stars in the safety of our big American car, my brain did the thing that little kid brains are so terrifyingly good at, it rewrote reality.By the time we got home, I knew the Blob lived under my bed.

It had found its way from the screen into my room, where it now lurked, waiting for any foolish foot or wayward arm to stray over the edge. That was its moment. That was the rule. Hang off the bed? Blob bait.

For months, I slept like a professionally shrink-wrapped burrito. Tucked. Tight. No toes over the line. No dangling arms. And under no circumstances did I let my hand trail off the mattress, even when I had to pee or I desperately needed a drink of water. That was Blob territory.

Was it hokey? Absolutely. Did it stick with me? Oh yeah. Stick…it never got me actually. LOL.

What amazes me now is how powerful fear can be, especially when you’re a kid. It doesn’t matter if the monster is a bad special effect from a movie your parents thought was “silly fun.” When your brain decides something is real, it’s real.

It’s funny looking back now, of course. The special effects in Beware! The Blob were glorified ketchup and cornstarch. But to eight-year-old me? It was a documentary.

That fear, the kind that feels absurd in hindsight, teaches you something. It makes you cautious. Imaginative. Maybe even a little more empathetic to what other people are afraid of.

And if nothing else, it explains why I still don’t like sleeping with my limbs hanging off the bed.

Some habits die hard. Others ooze under the frame and wait.

Your Turn

Did you have a childhood fear that seems silly now but haunted you then? A monster, a movie, a weird noise in the basement? Let me know. I’ll be over here keeping my ankles tucked safely under the covers.

What I’ve Learned About Relationships (So far)

The Ultimate Long-Form Character Development Arc

#writingcommunity #booksky #amwriting #writing Unfetterred Treacle

You don’t stay married for nearly 30 years without learning a few things. Sometimes the easy way, sometimes the “oops-I-shouldn’t-have-said-that” way. Relationships are funny things, full of joy, compromise, miscommunication, shared coffee hot drink orders (my wife hates coffee,) and the occasional strategic blanket tug.

1. Honesty Really  Is  the Best Policy

It sounds basic, but it’s the bedrock. You can’t build anything lasting if you’re constantly trying to remember what version of the truth you told. My wife and I don’t lie to each other. Ever. That level of trust didn’t happen overnight, but now it’s second nature. And bonus, I never have to keep track of elaborate cover stories. She already knows everything. (Sometimes before I do.)

2. Lead with a Servant Heart

I know, it sounds like a line from a church bulletin. But what I mean is, put each other first. And no, not in a doormat kind of way. If both people are looking out for each other’s well-being, things tend to balance out beautifully. It’s like synchronized generosity. The trick? It has to go both ways, or resentment creeps in faster than cold pizza vanishes from the fridge.

3. Communication: Use It or Lose It

Most problems in relationships aren’t huge problems. They’re misunderstandings that fester. Just say the thing. Even if it’s weird or uncomfortable. Even if it’s “I didn’t sleep well because your elbow was on my kidney.” Talk early. Talk often. Keep each other in the loop. And remember, silence isn’t golden, it’s just confusing. My wife and I are both cancer widows after long marriages and we started with openness and heavy communication right from the first few conversations we had. It’s been magical. Simple, but so hard for so many.

4. Apologize (Even When It’s Not Your Fault)

Sometimes someone just has to go first. Not to take the blame, but to break the ice. Pride is a terrible third wheel and a horrible plan for happiness. A well-timed “I’m sorry” is a powerful thing. And let’s be honest, making up is way more fun than sulking.

5. Set Expectations Out Loud

Your partner isn’t psychic. If you expect something, say it. Don’t assume. Don’t drop hints like a sitcom spouse in a holiday episode. Just be clear. You’ll both be happier, and no one ends up fuming because someone forgot it was “your turn” to unload the dishwasher in 1998. Early and often. Don’t make your partner guess.

6. Be Curious About Your Partner

This one’s underrated. Don’t just live next to your partner, live with them. Ask questions. Learn what makes them tick (and what ticks them off). Take an interest in their interests, even if you don’t share them. You don’t have to become a knitwear enthusiast or know every character on their favorite murder show, but your curiosity is a form of love. And it keeps the connection fresh. I actually have a list I keep of her favorite things, like Angelina’s Chocolate from Paris, or that Songbird by Fleetwood Mac is one of her favorite songs.

7. You’re Not Responsible for Their Happiness (But You Can Help Make Room for It)

This one took me a while. You can’t make someone happy, and it’s not your job to fix all their bad days. But you can create space for joy. You can do little things that lighten the load. You can be their safe place to land. It’s not about solving their life, it’s about showing up for it.

8. Cultivate Shared Joy

Having mutual interests helps. Shared joy builds shared memories, and shared memories are the glue. Whether it’s a hobby, a show, a band, or a mutual disdain for folding laundry, find your “us” things. They’re worth the time. Laugh at the ridiculous things that happen. Humor is one of the best salves for any problem and the more you can laugh together, the better.

9. Look for the Good, Not the Gaps

In long-term relationships, it’s easy to start tallying the things your partner isn’t doing. Try to focus instead on what they are doing. Gratitude softens the edges of daily life. It turns “why didn’t they…?” into “I’m glad they did.”

10. Sometimes Listening Is the Fix

Okay fellas, lean in for this one: they don’t always want you to fix it. (In fact, they rarely do.) What they want is for you to listen. Really listen. Not the kind where you’re secretly assembling a three-step solution while nodding supportively. Just be present. Let them vent. Validate the feeling. And if you’re not sure whether to offer advice or just be quiet? Ask. Trust me, “Do you want me to listen or help brainstorm?” is relationship gold.

Final Thoughts

Love isn’t just a feeling, it’s a practice. A long, weird, wonderful, often funny practice that you get to do every day. And if you’re lucky, you get to learn from the same person, over and over again.

What about you? What’s one relationship truth you’ve learned the hard (or hilarious) way? What’s the best (or weirdest) relationship advice you’ve ever gotten or given? Drop it in the comments. I’m always learning.