Terrance Layhew's Blog, page 13
May 7, 2022
Publishing a Book Changed My Life | Suit Up
My life was changed by writing a book, that’s the kind of challenge I look for.
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Giving Yourself a Challenge | Scott Hebert
Joined on the show again by Scott Hebert to breakdown the results of our London Challenge for writing, and talk about his current challenge to live like Marcus Aurelius.
Scott’s Links
https://www.youtube.com/c/ScottHebert604
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCmS6mdg37FFScIhP0QymMFg
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May 5, 2022
Secret Origins of Hard Case Crime | Charles Ardai
The first interview on Suit Up Philosophy was a year ago! Hard to imagine. That guest will always be special. Charles Ardai, editor and co-founder of Hard Case Crime, came on the show to give us an education on the how Hard Case Crime started and sneak peak behind the scenes.
I’ll always enjoy mysteries, thrillers, and a good old fashioned crime story. Hard Case Crime publishes these and more. Check out the interview and their incredible catalogue of books.
In no particular order, here are a few of my favorite Hard Case Crime books to get you started:
Little Girl Lost by Richard Aleas (Charles Ardai)
Say it With Bullets by Richard Powell
Read any of them and you’ll find yourself with a pleasant page turner.
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April 19, 2022
Behind the Scenes With Reason and Romance
Here’s an exclusive behind the scenes look at what it took to write Reason and Romance. Learn what surprised me in the writing, insights into the process, and answering the all important question, why did I write a romance novel?
My debut novel Reason and Romance will be released on May 3rd, 2022. Order your copy today here.
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April 15, 2022
Lights Out | The Cancelled Conference 2
Standing at the desk, Beth Simpson was filling out a sudoku puzzle. Somehow, she’d managed to get herself snowed in with the less than dozen people who were here for the now cancelled Organic conference. Normally, she’d have finished her overnight shift and been relieved the next morning. Instead, she was greeted by an email from her manager saying no one was able to get there and her work for Lancelot Properties Management was truly appreciated. She was going to appreciate the overtime in her paycheck when she got it.
Photo by Tony Yakovlenko on UnsplashNormally, there wasn’t a lot going on at The Elk Creek Inn this time of year. This conference was something to break up the monotony of the Winter, but also meant the staff was focused to helping the conference once it started, until then, it was a ghost town. She and the bartender, Glenn, were the only staff at the hotel.
The sound of someone marching down the stairs caught her attention. It was a distinct sound you learned from working the front desk. The way footsteps could signal if someone was casually walking through, or marching because they were mad. These were not casual footfalls, so she looked up and did her best to smile.
It was Dr. Jefferson, she remembered him because he’d been kinder than most when he’d checked in. He looked frustrated, but wasn’t marching towards the front desk, it was towards the bar.
Her eyes dropped back to her Sudoku. There were games on her phone she could have been playing, but any of them worthwhile required internet service, which was no longer available. She hadn’t enough time to fill in another square before another set of footsteps caught her attention, this time they were casual, but she could hear them approaching the front desk. She looked up. It was Mike Hamilton’s smiling face which greeted her.
“I’m just about out of towels, would you mind sending more to my room?” He asked,
It seemed odd he’d have burned through his towels so quickly, but why should she care.
“Of course Mr. Hamilton, room #212 right?”
“You got it!” He said, winking and shooting her a finger gun as he walked to the bar.
“Over – under, do you think we get out of this snow before the conference was supposed to end anyway?” Mike asked Charlie, slapping him on the shoulder.
Charlie had been talking with Dr. Jefferson, who glanced at Mike and excused himself to sit somewhere else.
“People keep leaving when I join the table,” Mike observed, taking a seat next to Charlie.
“A more self-aware man would think there was a reason for that,” Charlie commented, sipping his drink. He’d ordered a Jack and Coke, it’s hard to beat the classics.
“Screw being self-aware, I’d rather focus on important things. Like if we’ve been able to acquire that elevator in Iowa we put an offer on.”
“No internet,” Charlie reminded him, “I haven’t heard anything new from anyone for the last three hours.”
“Stupid storm.” Mike muttered into his drink. “This conference is going to end up costing us more than it ever has in the past, and what for? To get glares from the Donaldson’s and the cold shoulder from the South.”
“You could think of it like a spiritual retreat,” Charlie suggested, “Disconnecting from technology and news as a way of purging your soul.”
The look Mike replied with said exactly what he thought of that idea.
“Look, I say we make the best of it.” Charlie insisted,
“So you can try to make time with Julie?” Mike suggested with a conspiratorial smirk,
Charlie reddened and Mike laughed.
“She’s an attractive woman,” Mike said, “Perfectly natural you’d have a little crush on her, but I’d forget it if I were you. What’s the chances something would work out anyway?”
“Pretty slim,” Charlie agreed, sipping his Jack and Coke.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Mike added sympathetically.
Before Charlie could reply, things went black.
In the year and a half Beth had been working at the Elk Creek Inn, she’d never heard anything like the small stampede which made it’s way to the front desk at that moment. Phones of various sizes and dimensions were being used as flashlights, shining at her like dozens of interrogators demanding answers she didn’t have.
“The power is out,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Are we going to freeze to death?” Asked a female voice,
“No, nobody will freeze to death if they stay inside.” Beth replied, trying to keep things calm.
“Glenn will check the generators. We’ll have enough power to keep the heat and sewer system, but besides that…” Her voice trailed away.
“Until the fuel runs out,” Someone observed bitterly.
“I’ve got candles and matches. Some electric lanterns too.” Beth added hastily.
Using her phone’s flashlight, she opened a closet she’d never expected to see the inside of again after her training day. Inside were the essentials in case of an emergency, electric lanterns, candles, matches, first aid kits, even a pistol.
Silently, she thanked God there were as few people there as there were. If the hotel had been full and the power went out… It would have been a level of chaos she didn’t want to imagine. The lanterns, candles and matches were distributed to everyone there.
“Just stay calm everyone, imagine the story we’ll have to share when we live through this.” Julie insisted,
“If we live through this,” muttered MacKenzie darkly.
“Positive attitudes people, positive attitudes.” Julie said,
“I’m beginning to become very positive of something,” Bob whispered to Walter Donaldson,
“What?” Walt whispered back,
“We’re not getting home early.”
It had been a restless night for Bob. His room was the one adjoining Mike Hamilton’s. Why in the entire hotel, most of it empty, he’d gotten stuck next to the man he had no idea. It would have made more sense if Charlie McCoy had been booked next to his boss, but no, Bob got to be the one next door. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but the noise was becoming irritating enough he was about to do something. When you’re on the road enough, you get used to a certain level of noise, but listening to the sounds of passion on the other side of the wall was a different matter.
He didn’t know who was in there with Mike, but this had gone too far for his patience. Rolling out of bed, he marched next door and knocked. The sounds stopped, and Mike opened the door. “Can I help you?” He asked in a strained politeness, a hint of a slur to his speech.
“I don’t care what you’re doing or who you’re doing it with, but you’re making an awful racket and that’s where I draw the line.” Bob explained,
Mike nodded, “Of course, of course. We’ll try to be quieter.” He promised, holding a finger to his lips.
Satisfied, Bob went back to his room and settled into bed again. Things had become much quieter. Only the faintest sounds still carried through the wall, but not enough to disturb his sleep or overpower his audiobook. Before he could drift to sleep, they started up again, and if he wasn’t mistaken they were even louder this time.
Groaning, Bob threw on a t-shirt and jeans. Mike Hamilton didn’t care about him or his night’s sleep, so he’d find somewhere else to drop his head.
MacKenzie was shocked the blizzard was still going. Although without the weather report, either by phone, internet, television, or even newspaper, she had no idea of how long they thought it would even last now. It was as if she had been trapped in the past, effectively forced into a world the pioneers had once braved to settle out this far from the Eastern Anglo-civilization. At least they had heat and functional indoor plumbing, thank God. Outhouses had never appealed to her, and that was experience this conference didn’t need. Things had been bad enough all ready. They’d come to the conference excited, this was supposed to be the event where she and her father rebooted Harvest Markets and reminded the collective industry why they were one the oldest and most trustworthy brokers in the business. Now, things had taken a different turn. Better to take the opportunities where you could find them.
“Enjoying the coffee?” Bob asked MacKenzie,
“It’s good,” she replied, offering a smile. They were sitting near the fireplace in the lobby, enjoying the fact there was plenty of wood to add extra heat.
“It was a handy thing Dr. Jefferson travels with that French press. Although, it would have been nicer if it was a larger pot to make at a time. Imagine the man must not drink a lot of coffee himself.”
“The coffee makes the morning easier.” Agreed a new man walking up. He was dark skinned, with an easy smile and a cowboy twinkle. He hadn’t been around much the past few days, not long to linger in a group.
“Hank, how are you baring up?” MacKenzie asked with a smile,
“Grateful we don’t live in teepees anymore.” He replied with a laugh.
Hank Flying-Hawk was from the Spirit Lake Nation, there to give a session on Native Land management practices of history, how they were incorporating them today and building regenerative landscapes on the Spirit Lake Reservation. By MacKenzie’s appraisal, he was also cute to look at.
“If you’d like a cup I’m sure we could get some more coffee,” Bob offered.
“Not much of a coffee drinker,” Hank admitted, dropping in a chair near the large fireplace. “Although this is the time of year I wish I was.”
“Have you ever seen a blizzard like this before?” MacKenzie asked,
“No, but my father has. He’d tell me stories about how as a boy he’d nearly frozen feeding the livestock on our farm. But he could have been exaggerating.”
“Parents can do that.” MacKenzie agreed.
“Good morning,” Dr. Jefferson greeted everyone, he was wearing several layers by now. The minimal heat being generated by the furnace had been noticeable to everyone, but he found it nearly intolerable. Joining the group near the fireplace, he melted his hands by near the flames.
“When I get back home,” he announced, “I’m staying in the South until August.”
“Has anyone seen Julie yet?” Hank asked, “I wanted to ask her about the room fees, given the conference is cancelled.”
Everyone turned from one to another. No one had seen her since last night.
“Did you father get any sleep last night?” Dr. Jefferson asked, changing the topic. “He was still tipping back the bottle when I’d called it a night.”
“I checked on him this morning, he was there then.” MacKenzie said with a shrug.
“I barely got a wink last night,” Bob volunteered, yawning,
“What kept you up, excitement for the trade show to start?” Dr. Jefferson teased with a chuckle.
“Well, it was…” Bob trailed off, glancing at MacKenzie. It wasn’t his place to say anything. “Just a rough one I guess.” He finished.
Dropping the dumbbells, Charlie took a deep breath and then a sip of water. The gym at the Elk had been a pleasant surprise when they’d first come here two years ago. Management must have thought at some point there was value for visiting hunters to keep up with a body building regiment. Barbells, dumbells, cable machines, they had everything needed for a quality gym. Whatever the cause, he was going to take advantage of it. Besides, when it got this cold he might as well generate his own heat.
Finishing his sixty second rest, he picked the dumbbells back up and resumed his flat chest press. Feeling the stretch each time the weights reached their peak and slowly dropping them again.
“Nice reps!” Julie said, clapping as the entered the room.
Charlie tried not to glance over at her, focusing on the lift.
“Can you do one more?” She asked,
Taking a deep breath, he managed to push out one more rep. Coming to the bottom he dropped the weights on the floor and took another deep breath.
“Very impressive,” Julie complimented,
“Thanks,” he replied, catching his breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d get a little time in on the treadmill since there’s nothing else to do now.” She said with a sigh.
For the first time this weekend, there were truly alone together. The question Charlie had, that he wanted to ask, was at the tip of his tongue. Before he could say it, their peaceful moment was shattered by the sound of a skull splitting scream.
A woman’s shriek echoed throughout the lobby and down the halls. Drawing everyone within earshot to the source of the noise, they converged on room #212.
Bob and Hank were the first to get there, but stopped the moment they entered.
Charlie pushed past the two of them to see what was going on. Standing in front of the bed was Beth, girl from the front desk. Her hands covering her face and breathing heavily. A pile of towels were scattered around her feet where they had dropped.
It wasn’t a pleasant scene. The blankets twisted and thrown, sheets crumbled and stained. The oder in the room was metallic, but sterile in only the way cold places could. The blood wasn’t flowing. It had already seeped as far forward as it would, across the bedding and carpet. On the bed, lifeless and pale as the snow outside, the neck slit across, was the body of Mike Hamilton.
We hope you enjoyed part two of The Cancelled Conference. Check back next Friday for the third installment.
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April 13, 2022
Reason and Romance Giveaway!
To celebrate the upcoming release of Reason and Romance, we’re giving away a curated gift box.
Along with a signed copy of the book, the box includes: A book scented candle from Nostalgia designs, a ceramic diner mug from Smokey Row (the coffee shop featured in the book), and a poster of the cover art. Combined, everything in the giveaway box comes to a retail value of $70.00.
Reason and Romance will be released on May 3rd, and is currently available at all majority retailers online for pre-order.
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April 11, 2022
You Can Pre-Order on Amazon!
Exciting news! Reason and Romance is now available for pre-order on Amazon and other major retailers. It’s incredible to think we’re less than a month away from the book’s release now. If you haven’t ordered a copy yet, please set a pre-order. These count towards “day of” sales, and really help make the book pop on the Amazon Charts on release day.
Book DescriptionA serious author, George Austen believes romance is a worthless genre, until he’s challenged to write one of his own by a rival author. “Reason and Romance” follows George along his way as he faces the questions of what love means and the people it’s meant to be shared with. Enjoy wit, humor, and discover the true meaning of romance. Join George as he is challenged with the question, “Is romance more than just a genre?”
“Reason and Romance” is for anyone looking for a romance novel that transcends the stereotypical title. George’s pursuit to outdo his rival brings a refreshing take to the very genre George thinks is worthless. This contemporary tale finds a way to weave love, determination, and wittiness into one great package, promising you an experience that will feel new and special.
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April 8, 2022
The Cancelled Conference
This is the first in a series of installments in a mystery series I’m writing. Please sit back and enjoy The Cancelled Conference.
Weather was the literal definition of “unreasonable.” It didn’t matter who you were, or what was planned, it would go about it’s course without a thought. No one has ever changed the weather by having a conversation, but they can choose to travel to it or not. It was becoming more and more doubtful anyone would be traveling to Fargo, North Dakota for the Upper Western Organic Alliance conference this year. There was always talk of snow, talk of blizzard conditions, it was January in North Dakota after all. This year, the snow backed up the talk, and fell in a continual wave around the Elk Creek Inn and Conference Center.
Julie wasn’t pleased by this, not in the slightest. She stood by the window, looking out at the snowfall which was defying her. By sheer will she’d successfully organized this conference for the past three years, taking it from a group of seven old farmers and their wives to an event attended by over a hundred people last year and nearly thirty different vendors. This year, things would be different if she liked it or not.
“You look upset.” Commented a man approaching her.
It was Charles McCoy, the manager of Straightforward Foods and a primary conference sponsor.
“Of course I am,” Julie spat, “We’ve got a day before the conference starts and only eight God-Damn people are here.”
Charlie shrugged, “It’ll make the accounting easier later,”
Julie sighed and rubbed her eyes, “Don’t mention the accounting. This will be a nightmare.”
“It could be worse,” he observed, looking around the lobby. “At least the hotel is nice, there’s good grub, plenty of snacks, and a fully stocked bar.”
“The bar sounds like a good idea right about now,” Julie admitted, dropping her hands in resignation.
There was no reasoning with the weather, so why fight it. They still had a day to figure out if anyone besides themselves were coming. If they were destined to be snowed in, there was worse company to be snowed in with.
The hotel’s bar was a relic of the days the Elk Creek Inn had been nothing more than a hunting lodge from the days when people only came to North Dakota to hunt, ranch or build railways. Since then, after countless remodeling projects by the owners of the Inn over the years, the bar remained nearly the exact same as the time Theodore Roosevelt himself had had a shot of whiskey here. Julie knew this because, in case she’d missed the bronze plague telling the story, the bartender told her when she ordered a gin and tonic.
Drinks in hand, she and Charlie walked over to the other two people spending their time in the hotel bar at one in the afternoon. Walter Donaldson and his daughter MacKenzie, sat in silence as the other two took a seat at their table.
Neither Donaldson was inclined to be rude, but the discomfort they felt was palpable.
“Walter,” Charlie said,
“Charlie,” the man gruffed back,
“We’re delighted you came to the conference this year,” Julie offered, “I’m just sorry it’s the one which looks like it’ll be an asterisk.”
MacKenzie looked warily at Charlie, but didn’t reply.
An awkward silence settled on the group. Occasionally sipping their drinks, but leaving unsaid what wouldn’t have been polite to say. Julie wished she’d just sat in the corner by herself. She knew the beef, she knew the stories, but maybe she’d just expected it wouldn’t be a problem.
“Good afternoon,” intoned a Southern accent,
Julie silently thanked the goddess for this interruption.
“Dr. Jefferson,” she welcomed, “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”
Dr. Randolph Jefferson joined them at the table, drawing up a chair from another to make the fifth. He was an older man, nearly the same age as Walter Donaldson. His white beard was white as the snow outside, it stood as a stark contrast from his dark skin. He had what appeared to be a double of whiskey in a tumbler, and held it like a supplicant carrying a candle to an alter.
“Different weather than back home?” Charlie suggested,
“Mighty different weather,” Dr. Jefferson agreed with a nod, “Kentucky rarely sees snow, and rarely sees this much of it in a decade of time.”
“I’m afraid you probably won’t have much attendance for your keynote,” Julie apologized,
Dr. Jefferson laughed, “We’ll see what tomorrow looks like, maybe I’ll just deliver it in here. Probably better to listen to with a drink in hand anyway.”
The group laughed. Tensions had eased between Charlie and Walter since the Doctor had arrived, but neither ventured to say anything more to one or the other.
“Decide to throw a party but didn’t invite me?” Asked a man entering the bar. He was stocky, with a ruddy face and carefully tossed hair black hair. Through not young, he still did his best to look that way, carefully ensuring that any grey hairs were dyed for their troubles.
“Pull up a seat Mike,” Julie offered with a smile. Owner of Straightforward Foods, Mike Hamilton was the largest sponsor of the conference, and someone worth keeping happy.
“He can take mine,” Walter offered, “MacKenzie and I’ll be heading back to our rooms.”
“Don’t leave on my account.” Mike said with a smile,
Walter looked Mike dead in the eyes and said, “I’ll be cordial, but I don’t need to push my politeness.”
Nodding to the table, the Donaldsons left the bar. Mike took Walter’s seat next to Charlie without a moments hesitation.
“I wish he wouldn’t carry on like that,” Mike said, “Treating me like the enemy. It’s a free market, not my fault his business is free falling.” He laughed at himself for that. No one else said anything.
Charlie coughed nervously and drank more of his beer.
Not catching the hint, Mike kept going, “Harvest Markets is going to experience the same fate as Sears. It doesn’t matter if you were one of the first, if you can’t keep up with the competition it doesn’t matter how respected your name is, you become as useful as a walking corpse.”
“Mike,” Charlie began,
“Don’t ‘Mike,’ me Charlie,” he cut off, “If you didn’t believe me you would have stayed working for that dinosaur instead of taking my offer. Straightforward has been good to you, hasn’t it? We’re changing how crops are marketed and it shows. If Donaldson had been canny enough he’d have done it himself.”
Sighing, Charlie drank more of his beer.
Eyes darting between the two, Julie quietly sipped her gin and tonic. Maybe being snowed in wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as Charlie suggested it would be.
Dr. Jefferson excused himself, downing the balance of his whiskey in a single shot and told the barman to put the bill on Mike Hamilton’s tab.
“How’s the conference shaping up Julie?” Mike asked,
She sighed before replying, “Not looking good. We’ve got four exhibitors and two speakers. Not a single guest has arrived, which admittedly is typical. Usually they’d be arriving tomorrow, but given the weather, I’m starting to think that’s hopeless.”
“Did the rest of the exhibitors cancel?” Charlie asked,
“Nearly a dozen emails,” Julie confirmed, “And already I’m getting refund requests from the people who registered for the conference. My staff isn’t even here!”
“That brings up a delicate topic,” Mike began, shuffling his glass across the table. “Since it’s only the three of us and the bartender right now, we can probably talk about it. I think we need to reconsider our involvement with the organization next year.”
Julie’s eyebrows shot up, “Reconsider?” She asked,
“There are other conferences we could attend with larger exposure,” Mike admitted, “And not even I’m made out of money.”
There was a lot Julie wanted to say to that. A lot which she could have said, but even with only the three of them there now it was too large a group to say it in.
Before anything more could be said, Mike’s phone rang. He excused himself to take it and stepped away.
“I can’t believe this.” Julie said, when he’d left.
“It’s just business,” Charlie defended weakly,
“It’s what you’d do,” Julie suggested,
“No, it’s not, but it’s not my decision.” Charlie pointed out, “I’m only in charge of what Mike decides I’m in charge of and this isn’t one of those things.” In the back of his mind, Charlie could hear Donaldson’s accusation, he’d sold his soul to the devil. Whatever money he may be making, whatever promises there were, Mike Hamilton was in charge and that wouldn’t change.
Swearing, Mike rejoined the table. “My service keeps going in and out around here,” he complained, “That was before the storm, now it’s even worse.”
Back in her room, Julie had to make the decision she’d been wrestling with for the entire morning. It was time to officially cancel the conference. Clenching her jaw, she typed out the announcement on the website. Emailed her staff telling them to stay home, stay safe, and begin the mind numbing process of offering refunds. She made sure to tell them to also include the option of making the registration fee a donation instead of giving a refund.
It was a good thing she’d gotten it finished to, because within the hour there was no phone service or internet. The storm had gotten even worse.
“We’ll look back on this as the conference which never was.” Opined Bob Hancock, to the Donaldson’s over dinner.
Walter nodded wordlessly, he was more interested in his meal than Bob’s words.
Mackenzie was more polite, and agreed it was an anomaly to be sure.
One of the vendors who’d arrived early like them, Bob was a salesman for Jupiter’s Compost. They’d known him for years on the conference circuit, the only things which had changed about Bob during that time were his hair and waist lines.
“In over a decade of conference hopping, this is the first time I got stuck and one which never happened.” Bob continued, “How about you Walter? You’ve been coming to these things longer than I have.”
“First time for me too,” Walter agreed, disinterestedly. His eyes had caught Charlie’s on the other side of the room. A mixture of a glare and wistfulness crossed his face.
Noting where Walter was looking, Bob was tactful enough not to comment. He was a salesman among salesmen, you didn’t get that way by stepping in something stinky. Instead, he turned his attention to MacKenzie.
“It’s a real pleasure to see the next generation getting involved, Harvest Markets second generation. Your father must be proud.” He said,
“Thank you,” she replied, “It’s an honor to be involved.”
“That’s what I’m going to miss with the conference cancelling,” Bob said sadly, “Getting to talk to all those enthusiastic farmers and growers. It always made my day to hear about how they got started and what they were up to.”
Before MacKenzie could reply, Julie stood up and walked to the center of the dining room they were all eating in.
“You’ve all heard by now the conference is officially cancelled,” she started, “I’m sorry that you guys who came early are the ones who suffer the most because of it. It’s not a great situation for anyone. From what the weather looks like, the storm isn’t letting up soon, so while you’re welcome to leave whenever you like, good luck getting your car out of the parking lot.”
A small chuckle circulated around the room.
“If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know. Our priority is making sure everyone makes it safely back home as soon as the storm allows.”
“I could think of worse company to get snowed in with.” Bob commented, sipping his water.
“I could think of better company,” Walter muttered, adding, “I don’t mean you Bob.”
“I know what you mean,” Bob nodded, glancing at Mike Hamilton from across the room. “He’s a mean coot isn’t he?”
“I prefer not to talk about it,” Walter replied, “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“We can’t ignore what he did,” Mackenzie spat,
“He’s an ass,” Bob agreed, “And that’s coming from a man who’s fond of donkey’s. He thinks he can just waltz into Organics and run the whole thing. All he cares about is the money, not the people, and definitely not the soil.”
Walter sighed, “It’s not worth beating the dead horse, or in this case the dead donkey.” He added with a smirk.
“What would happen if the donkey was dead?” MacKenzie asked, both men looked at her in confusion. “I mean, let’s say Hamilton died trying to get home in the storm, what would happen to Straightforward Foods?”
Bob sipped his water, “Your daddy probably has a better idea than me, but I’m guessing the company would have Charlie calling more of the shots. Although, from what I’ve heard,” here he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “The board of directors over there, a bunch of Eastern money investors, they’ve been unimpressed with Straightforward Foods return so far. They may even just close up shop without Mike around.”
“It’s speculation,” Walter warned, “And gossip.”
Holding up his hands, Bob said, “I agree, but it isn’t such a terrible thing to think about, is it?”
After dinner, Dr. Jefferson was sitting by the large fireplace. It was the only place he felt warm in the entire hotel. Even the heater in his room wasn’t enough to feel comfortable. The invitation to speak here wasn’t high on his priority list, at first. Why after all would anyone want to come for Fargo in January? It was the second invitation which had prompted him to take them up on the offer. It was the timing which worked, the occasion when two people were near enough to make a private conference easy, without provoking any unwanted or unneeded tongue wagging around the Organic community. He shivered involuntarily. What he wouldn’t do to be back home right now.
His phone chirped. The service kept going in and out, but at least his calendar could still remind him of what was next without service. It was time for his meeting. Sighing, he left the warmth of the fireplace and ascended the staircase to where the second floor rooms were. At room #212, he knocked.
“Thank you for meeting Dr. Jefferson, take a seat.” Mike Hamilton offered after opening the door.
Nodding, Randolph Jefferson entered the room and took a seat. He hoped this meeting would be worth all the hassle it had been to get arrange.
Tune in next week for the second installment of the series. Check out my book Reason and Romance, releasing May 3rd. wherever books are sold. https://www.amazon.com/dp/1667827723
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March 15, 2022
Dating The Muse
“I believe that inspiration will always try its best to work with you—but if you are not ready or available, it may indeed choose to leave you and to search for a different human collaborator.” – Elizabeth Gilbert
My Muse has terrible timing. She likes to talk whenever I’m busy doing other things, when I’m trying to sleep or drive. It’s in those moments, where I’m occupied or tired, she likes to share her thoughts and insights. It’s tempting to ignore her, and sometimes I do, but more often I choose to find a way to respond to the insight, to capture it for use at a more convenient time.
If I take the time to listen to her when it’s not timely, I’ve found she’s more inclined to speak when I’m actively trying to act upon those ideas later on too. Like in any good relationship, if you don’t take the time to make the other party feel heard and understood, you’re in danger of ruining the connection you have with them.
Photo by Crew on UnsplashMy parents credit the length and quality of their marriage to the emphasis they have always made to set aside time to spend together. Regular date nights and alone time without the distractions of work or their adoring children. Even with friends, the ones I am closest with are the ones I make time for and prioritize in my life. The muse expects the same treatment if she’s going to collaborate on my work.
Expecting inspiration without making the time and space in your life to use it is a waste. Like with any habit, the more you take the action, the stronger it becomes. I become a better writer when I work regardless of insight, if I make the time to date my muse even if she doesn’t have anything new to offer me today. When she speaks, when the insight arrives, I don’t just ignore and forget about it but make the time to use it as effectively as I can.
Foster a relationship with creativity. Show the Muse you care about her, make the time to let her be heard and make the time to use what she’s shown you. Be generous with your attention to the Muse and she will be generous in return.
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March 3, 2022
Use the Hurt
“We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt use it—don’t cheat with it.” – Ernest Hemingway
While we’d all like to think differently, Hemingway in this quote defines a truth of the creative process. I’m sure there are some creatives who haven’t been crushed by life, or bullied by circumstance, but I’d venture to say they are in the minority. The majority of us who create have have felt the weight of destruction at some time and in some place.
Pain however, doesn’t need to be fruitless. Besides the growth you may find in your life from struggle, it also informs and gives gravity to the work you can create. Personal tragedy can become the fodder for good art.
Suffering is among the few truly universal things in life. It’s why when art reflects the pain and tragedy of real life we can relate to it in a deeper and more meaningful way than if it was as painless as Dick and Jane. With the gravity of real life, or at least the reality of suffering, art means more because the stakes are ones we know in our own lives. Pain offers a subject to talk about, a place to understand a part of the world and how it works.
Admittedly, the best writing I have ever perpetrated has always come after a set-back, after a failure or disappointment in my career or personal life. It’s not a pleasant truth, but it is a truth none-the less. I think it’s because I’m more driven to say something meaningful in those moments, and say it with less censor.
Instead of merely accepting the hurt as a wound, I use it as inspiration. It revealed a part of the world to me I may not have seen or remembered, and I use the writing to share whatever I’ve gleaned from the experience with others.
Hurt happens. Our world will never be perfect and we will never avoid all suffering, but we can redeem it. Art, the creative expression, offers the opportunity to make something of use and value out of the hurt and harm endured. Instead of burying the pain and letting it infect you with misery and apathy, try using it to make good art.
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