Just a Day in the Life

As some of you surely know by now, I’m a frequent contributor to www.techcircuit.net (I’m even listed on the Staff page, woot woot).  I was just bored, considering it’s 6:30 and I have nothing else to do (and even if I had friends, they wouldn’t be awake right now anyway), so I started rereading some of my old articles.  Man…I’m kind of terrible at everything.

I know I was “hired” to write about literally whatever I wanted, thus explaining my overly-opinionated pieces there, but sometimes I kind of want to smack myself in the head and point out how bitchy I sound.  Seriously, there are numerous pieces I wrote in regards to games I quite like, and they all make it sound like I hate them.  Maybe I focus on the cons too much, or simply fail to mention the pros.  Probably says something about my state of mind.

Regardless, if you guys like sites like kotaku, you should probably go follow us or sign up for the newsletter or whatever.  I could always use a few more readers.

In other news…

Well, I have no other news.  This is literally all I do, all day, every day.  I should probably get back to working on that book at some point.

The Hotel – Potential Intro

I will begin with my story.

My name is Jonathan Michael Walsh. I am currently fifty-seven years of age, which has become more evident as of late with the sudden appearance of gray hairs. My wife, Cheryl, has gotten endless amusement from their growth, constantly reminding me of my newfound status as an “elderly man” by today’s standards.

I am the owner of the Fleur de Champagne Hotel in Riverside, Massachusetts. It came to me through my inheritance seventeen years ago when my parents took their leave of this world in an unfortunate accident, which I will not go into detail about just yet. Since their untimely departure, I have maintained this facility to the best of my abilities, always keeping the place exactly as they had left it. It was entrusted to me for a reason; I dare not shame their memories by running their home into the ground through reckless negligence.

The hotel itself is a marvelous place, built somewhat precariously on the bluffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. For this reason alone our business thrives, attracting all sorts of beach goers, water athletes, and your run-of-the-mill vacationers or honeymooners. As grateful as I am for this fortunate life, it can be rather repetitious. Each day my alarm sounds at precisely 6:05 am and is greeted with my waiting palm. Over the years I had grown an immunity to sleep, more often than not finding myself awakening from my nightly slumber before the terrible clock can work its magic. Nevertheless, I refuse to rise before it plays its vile tune, choosing instead to wait for the scheduled time to begin my day.

My day starts how I imagine it does for millions of others. I stand up, stretch, brush my teeth, take a shower, and get dressed. My wardrobe consists entirely of monochromatic clothing as is necessary for the job that awaits me downstairs. As I straighten my tie and fasten my watch, I always make sure to give my sleeping beauty a soft peck on the forehead. Cheryl, unlike me, has absolutely no trouble sleeping.

I make my way through the kitchen to retrieve my daily dose of black caffeine, greeting the few employees I see as I go. My Executive Chef, Ms. Melanie Chance, had been working with my family for twelve years now and I could not be happier with her performance. She was masterful in the kitchen, a skill which I always silently envied, never having learned for myself how to make anything more than buttered toast. She was also a dear friend of Cheryl’s, the two of them frequently coordinating to take their lunches and dinners simultaneously to share the daily gossip with one another. Ms. Chance was a remarkably bright woman for her age, if I may say so myself, and I often wondered where she had come to obtain such otherworldly wisdom.

My shoes clicked and clacked against the tiled floors as I progressed to the front desk. It was one of my favorite sounds in the world, making this ten second walk one of my favorite parts of the day.

“Hello my dear!”

“Mister Walsh, good morning!” Emily replied, her perfectly white teeth beaming at me. She sat at the front desk with a book discretely hidden from any passing guests, much to my delight.

“How are you, sweetie?” I set my mug atop the wood and began cleaning my glasses, yet another tiny fragment of my daily routine.

“I’m just wonderful, Mister Walsh. I just got to chapter twelve here, and I think Lucy’s about to shoot her husband!”

“Yes, well, ah, suppose you’ll just have to pick it up tomorrow,” I said with a nod. She rose from her chair and returned the book to my waiting hands before politely saying her farewell for the day. As sweet as she was, her naivety often mirrored that of the dumb blonde stereotype. Perhaps she was the reason such stereotypes endure, I mused. Regardless of my feelings towards her level of intelligence, it was still admirable that she was managing to work her way through college here as opposed to some seedy gentlemen’s club, and I was glad to have her as a member of my team.

Good Morning

Just as I came into the bare streets at last
I saw before me a shadow, a whisper, a fleeting of the light
It flickered as it moved, dancing in the rain
Gracefully shimmering through each lonely drop as they fell from the heavens
I was enraptured, ensnared, my being somehow enhanced
It felt as though it spoke to me, told me its secrets
We were one, together, existing only for that single moment
As it taught me the meaning of my own life, my purpose
It left abruptly and I felt empty, a void growing deep inside me
What once was mine was now a memory
Already distant as each second ticked away
The thought of the end approaching at last
Should I be happy? Sad? Perhaps something more
The love of my life is over again
Rewind, move forward, it is all the same
Powerless over its grasp, I know it to be futile to fight
I cherish our brief tango, short as it may have been, until my dying breath
Until life begins anew as the sun brightens the horizon

Random Stream of Consciousness

I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve only added maybe a thousand words in the last two weeks. I have been conflicted about the whole idea, my hopes dashed from within by multiple factors. I am concerned nobody would ever want to read it, and I have good reason to think so.  I can’t even get people to read what I have so far for free, aside from one of my cousins. Not to mention that whole “From the Hollow” self-publishing bullshit I did three weeks ago. There hasn’t been a single sale since I put it up for free for two days. That was…what, two weeks ago? About that. Not one! You know what this means? Simply put, it is generating absolutely NO INTEREST. Plug away as I might, I’m consistently met with remarkable such as “Oh, that sounds interesting, I’ll buy it now!” or “Hey, it’s only a dollar, I support you!”
How about, instead of saying things you think will make me feel better, you can just tell the truth. “No, fuck off, I’m busy.” “I don’t want to read it, I’m not a big reader, I prefer just chilling out with a movie.” “Sorry Nick, but you’re a douchebag and I hate you.” That’s fine! Just stop lying! It’s not like I won’t notice, either. The sales reports are literally at the tip of my finger, I can check them anytime, day or night.
Ugh. The saddest part is I still enjoy writing. I enjoy the challenge brought forth by the creation, fixing the inconsistencies, making it a perfect, harmonic, living world, full of easy-to-believe characters and an impressionable background. I’m just losing faith in the process. What’s the point of going on if nobody gives a single, solitary shit? I want people to read it. I want to be told it sucks, or it’s good, or I have potential. I don’t care what the feedback is, as long as the feedback exists. It serves as proof that someone cared enough to read my work and then discuss it with me. Is that too much to ask?
Yes, apparently, it is.

I’m done ranting. I’m sure I offended some people with this. If they had the spare time to read it. Ha!

About Me: Extended Edition

I can’t sleep, as usual. To pass the time, I think I’ll write this entry you’re evidently about to read.
Random facts:
1.) I’ve had insomnia pretty much since birth. I never sleep well, and when I do, it’s typically only for two hours or so at a time. This is both a blessing and a curse, in that sleeping is awesome, but the lack of sleeping provides me with ample free time.
2.) I am from Pittsburgh, but I moved to Georgia four months ago on a whim. I had nothing to do here, no plans to speak of, but I decided one day to leave my home and move in with a friend of mine down here, effectively leaving behind everything I’d ever known. Parts of me regret this decision, but I still firmly believe it was a good choice.
3.) I started writing at a very young age due to my apparent inability to speak. I’m not mute, mind you. I simply cannot spit the words out when I have something of particular importance to say. I’ll sit there, crying, mouth agape, trying as hard as I can, but the words never come.
4.) The earliest thing I remember writing was a poem when I was about 10 or 11. I don’t recall the title or the words, but I do know it centered on a young boy running away from home and killing himself in a random back alley. I proudly showed it to my parents who were, needless to say, less than thrilled. A short time later I was informed that I was suffering from depression and social anxiety, two things I still struggle with to this day. Which brings me to…
5.) Crowds of strangers really freak me out. In my youth, it was almost unbearable being among a random group of people. I couldn’t speak, always felt like I was in the way or interrupting, as if I was watching myself from an outside perspective and pointing out everything I did in a negative light. I’ve gotten much more adaptable these days, but I still feel the familiar pangs of discomfort and often neglect joining in a conversation for fear of interrupting.
6.) Despite all my self-imposed shortcomings, I have been incredibly lucky in life. During my teenage years it seemed like the world was out to get me, everyone hated me, blah blah blah. Looking at my life now, however, reveals something quite jarring: I had it so easy. My parents always loved me, I always had a few close friends that were completely trustworthy, and not to brag or anything, but I am a rather intelligent individual. I could’ve just as easily ended up a dumbass with absolutely nothing in life save for a heroin needle or crack pipe if it wasn’t for the people I was surrounded with.
7.) It is very possible that I suffer from a genetic heart defect, one with is allegedly triggered by smoking, and yet I refuse to quit. I do not remember the name of it, nor do I really care. I may not be as depressed as I was fifteen years ago, but that doesn’t make me happy-go-lucky by any means. I very rarely look forward to what the future may have in store for me, and when I do, that’s just me looking forward to the next Fallout or Metal Gear Solid. I am in no rush to leave this world, but I am rather apathetic about remaining a part of it.
8.) I have three tattoos. One on each arm and one on my chest. Perhaps some day I will post pictures, perhaps not. This can be something you look forward to in your future, though I wouldn’t recommend it.
9.) I love animals much more than 99.9999999% of the human race. All animals, even insects. I do my best not to harm anything while I’m walking around. I am fascinated by spiders and quite enjoy watching them spin their webs. If I find a living creature in my house or bathroom or wherever, I am very likely going to pick it up and put it outside, not down the toilet.
10.) I am very bad at relationships. As stated in the fifth entry, I am incredibly difficult to deal with around people I don’t know. I am shy, awkward, easily intimidated, and often do my best to act like an asshole just to avoid meeting new people. When a girl comes along that I do grow fond of, I am uncertain of how to present myself, most often doing absolutely nothing in the hopes that she will randomly talk to me first. At the time of this post, that has yet to ever occur. You’d think I would know better by now.
That’s enough for now. I hope you all learned something interesting.

Consideration and Work Ethic

I’m currently contemplating entering the as-yet-untitled zombie book for Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award despite the fact that it’s less than halfway done and the deadline for entry is January 27th.  This would require me to write roughly 2,500 words per day for the next ten days AND have all of my required editing and formatting complete.

I’m going to try my hardest.  Even if I don’t finish it in time, it’ll certainly move things along for this book rather quickly.  The real question is, do I have the perseverance to work that much on something that may ultimately (and in all likelihood WILL) fail?

I suppose we’ll find out together.

In other news, my other short is still available for free for another 26 hours.  Grab your copy here:


The Futility of Requesting Payment

Things seem to be going well, all things considered,  25 people have thus far downloaded the currently free copy of my short entitled “From the Hollow.”  It can be found here:


Clearly this is proving to be the best option.  Maybe people want to read it without giving me a dollar.  I’m cool with that.  Honestly, I am.  Still waiting for some reviews, though…

How to Shamelessly Self-Promote (Example Inside!)

One week ago today, I self-published a short 12-page story on Amazon Kindle. In celebration of that often regrettable decision, I’ve decided to put it up for free for two days.
Any reviews, criticism (constructive, please), or general thoughts about it are greatly encouraged.
From the Hollow is something that started out as an off-handed remark I made one night and ran with it. This was the result.
Enjoy. And again, anything you have to say about it, I want to hear. Don’t hold back.

Technical Difficulties

Currently I find myself at a standstill.  I’m 34,000 words into this thing, this monster of a tale, and I know where I want to go but I can’t find a way to get there.  This happens far too often; I need to write more detailed outlines instead of choosing a destination and working my way toward it aimlessly.

Doesn’t matter.  I’ll figure it out one way or another.  Tonight’s goal is to hit 36,000 words.  I intend to reach that milestone within the next few hours.  Wish me luck.

Formulaic Destiny

I have always been a bit of a night owl, for as long as I can remember.  Nowadays I spend my nights and early mornings writing and researching what I’ll need for the future. Last night was no different as I was up writing my book until about 3am, then continued browsing various blogs and articles related to agents and book launches.
Sometimes I wonder why I do it, only able to focus on the negatives, asking why I bother when I will ultimately fail. Writing is indeed a labor of love, and it has become nearly the only thing I enjoy doing.  For me, it is less about the money and more about spreading my work, hoping for constructive criticism from every possible source available.
Last night I reached 33,000 words. That is roughly 35%-40% complete, going by industry standards.  It still requires weeks of attention, editing, proofreading, and rewriting, but that’s to be expected. At the moment I am just proud to be making progress each and every day.