This is a writing blog.  This is also a format through which I hope to connect, not alienate.

Yesterday’s post was pretty dark, but I’m glad I wrote it.  I’m gonna keep it up (the post, not the attitude).  The attitude will be forever in flux (RJT).

SO!  Did I mention I found it, the thingy I was losing?  Did I further mention it’s way over there?  Good.  You’re paying attention.  The thingy is way over there.  It’s out of reach, but not out of the realm of hope.


I’ll have to work for it, the thingy way over there.  I’ll have to work just to get within reach of it.  But as long as I stay here, and it’s way over there, the thingy will always be out of reach.  Sooner or later, the thingy will drift out of the realm of hope.


SO!  I began work on my third novel.  I was very excited about a concept which could lead to some fantastic changes in all three of my works.  Then, life snapped my attention back to it.  It stole my spark, then my excitement, then my motivation.

Then I finally wrote that shite yesterday which, sad to say, was a step in the right direction for me.  Cat-harsis.  No, you stop.  Believe it or not, writing stupid shit is just as vital to the process as writing all the brilliant shit that I do do…  Are you done?

OKAY!  SO!  The title of the first chapter of my new novel is POINT A.  This is in reference to the location of the first scene as well as the main character’s current personal worldview.

POINT A.  Every moment of your life is point A.  Many people have probably said this in the past, and it’s coincidentally a variation of an ancient AA saying, but if I haven’t heard it, and I think if I think of it independently of any subconscious prior knowledge, that I can take full blame for the cheeeeeeeeeze-

Engaged in the future

Married to the past

Divorced from the present

Point A is the present.  The thingy way over there is Point B.  You have the power every day, every moment of your life, to bring Point A and Point B closer together.  Will you ever entangle them, join them in eternal harmony?  Dunno.  What will you have to sacrifice on your quest?  Dunno.  Will the thingy be everything you hoped for even if you do?  What are you asking me for?  I’m just re-re-re-re-figuring this out for myself.

The point is, Point A is just as important as Point B.  The meaning of life is to realize and embrace Point A and, AND, never lose sight, even if you can’t see it, of Point B.

Thank you for your ongoing support MMM and RJT.

Now don’t bother me, I’m engaging a thingy…I mean a book…hmmm…




My mind.  My spark.  My motivation.  My grip.  My focus.  My desire.  My will.  My patience.  My tolerance.  My reason.  My passion.  My compassion.  My interest.  My love.

You name it, it’s slipping.  How do I get it back?  Should I just let it go?  Do I have a choice?  Do I have any say in the matter?

I don’t know what’s been happening to me lately.  Not to me, with me, within me.  I’m losing it, and in a way, it feels kinda good.

I know I’ve written variations on this theme a hundred times, and you’re probably tired of hearing about it.  And you know what, I could care less.  “That’s improper English.”, you might say, “It should be, I couldn’t care less.”  But I could care less.  I still care a little, and as long as I do, I suppose, there’s hope.

I care less than I used to, and ironically, it’s a good thing.  I think I’ve always cared too much about the wrong things; what others think of me, making everyone happy, avoiding conflict, tolerance at the expense of inner peace.

Tolerance at the expense of inner peace.  Shouldn’t the tolerant spirit bring inner peace?  Shouldn’t love be unconditional?  Will tolerating someone stabbing you in the face with splintered kindling bring you inner peace?  Will unconditionally loving this person bring you closer to bliss?  If so, you’re a purer soul than I, and you’re a f***ing dumbass.

I’ve seen the pattern drawing itself out for years; bad behavior justified by previous good deeds.  I should just take the bad with the good.  After all, the same would be done for me.  After all, that’s what love is.  After all, after all, after all…

I’m a teacher, so here’s an example, something to make it relatable.  Invariably, on every day, in every class, whenever there was work to be done, my tolerance was tested.  Some students would finish the work quickly, so quickly as to make me question their effort.  Then, they would start misbehaving; distracting the other students and otherwise being disruptive.

I would approach them to try and correct their behavior, and 95 times out of 100, I would get a variation of this response.  “What?  I got my work done!”

My point; even though you think your work is done, your work isn’t done.  It should continue even when you think you’re finished.  Your work is never done.

I must be getting old.  My tolerance for these patterns has shown itself to be rapidly diminishing.

I came up with a new program for relationships, just because I like playing around with acronyms, but I don’t even know if I believe in it anymore.

  • P- patience
  • H- honesty
  • U- understanding
  • C- compassion
  • K- kindness

There are a lot of similarities to the CLUNT system I mentioned before.  Here’s the corresponding link.


CLUNT is more action based, PHUCK is trait based.

This is a writing blog.  Everything I write has to do with writing, not only because it is writing, but it explains what goes into my writing.

I hope I don’t completely lose any of the things I mentioned above.  Regardless, I take full responsibility, and hold myself fully accountable, for whatever I become.  This may have me thought an asshole, a princess, a coward, or any number of lazy, ignorant labels.

When I strip it all away, I’m left with only the H.  Hammond.  Halteres.  Honesty; militant, rabid honestly.  I can’t escape.  One of the worst things I was ever heard as a child was the truth never hurts.  Wrong.

The truth almost always hurts.

I hope I didn’t scare you away.  Please come visit again, but right now, don’t bother me.  I tolerating a book.

In the meantime, an analogy….





All the things I’d ought

Look at what they’ve wrought

All the things I’ve sought

All the things for not


You know when someone gives you advice, says you should do something, and tries to help you, and all you can say is, ‘I know.’?  I know.  I know.  I know.  Yeah, you know.

‘I know’ is code for ‘Thanks, but I got this.  I got it all figured out.  I can crash and burn without a co-pilot.’

Then life turns into a shit-show with you as the master of ceremonies.  Nothing has turned out the way you imagined.  You’ve torched all the bridges and docks leading from your island.  The land is barren, and there’s a tsunami of regret approaching to swallow your soul.  But hey, that’s the way you like it.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, I haven’t learned enough.  And ‘Faith without works is dead.’  I know things will get worse before they get better.  I know life will get harder before hope’s reward.  I know there are no miracles waiting for me around the corner, because there are no corners.  Everything is right out in front of me, in plain sight, and it scares the shit out of me.  Yeah, I know.

Does this mean I’m ready to forge headlong into the rancorous future?  Does this mean I’ve shed the cuffs of fear?  Does this mean I’m suddenly reborn as the undaunted hero?  Hell no.  It’s too hard.  I’m not ready.  I haven’t sunk far enough yet.

What’s worse than not knowing what to do to get out of a bad situation, is knowing what to do and realizing you can’t, or won’t, or somehow don’t want to.

Realizations are the reigns of an untamed beast, one that will most assuredly hurt you if you attempt to ride, but it’s the only escape from the inferno of failure.

I know.  You know who I tell that to the most?  Myself.  There’s no way I’m gonna let myself tell me what to do when I already know what I ought.

Until next time, don’t bother me.  I ought to be writing.

This is me, oughting to write!





Something that makes you feel better when you just think about doing it.  Something that alters reality.  Something that takes you away from all the other bullshit that’s going on in your life.  Plus, it’s free, and the only side-effect you feel is a sense of accomplishment.  Why not?  Indeed, why the hell not?

Writing is my drug.  Unfortunately, I’m not addicted to it enough.  I fall back on other things too easily: nicotine, caffeine, sugar, diphenhydramine, and self loathing.  What’s wrong with me?  I’m human.  I write for the right reasons when I’m writing, but I don’t endeavor to write when I’m not writing for the wrong reasons.

Fear, frustration, doubt, and sloth; those are my deadly sins.  The only cure?  Take drugs.  Take the one drug I know will eventually alleviate them all; just fucking write!

Who cares what it’s about, if it’s a part of something larger, or if it means any-fucking-thing at all.  I gotta write, and I gotta do it right now.  Now, I’m going to do it right now.  There, I’m doing it, and it feels goooooood!

I could lock myself up thinking about all the stuff that locks me up by thinking about it, or I could just fucking write.

What’s the worst that could happen?  I could die penniless and alone, having wasted my life on a fruitless, delusional endeavor that was never meant to be.  Good, I don’t like fruit anyway.  Well, maybe pears, and raspberries, and strawberries, and bananas.  Okay, I like fruit.  I like it a lot.  I should eat more fruit, and write more.

Where am I going with this?  Shut up.  Thanks for asking.  I’m happy when I’m writing.  Really freaking happy.  I wish I could earn a living doing it.  So, I have to make sure I can earn a living until I can earn a living writing.  Writing gives me hope, keeps me sane, and helps me make sense out of the world.  Have I mentioned that before?  Is it rhetorical?

Knowing the solution is simple, solving the problem is a little more difficult.  Focus!  Prioritize!  Balance!  Sacrifice!  Make the hard choices!  Be fearless!  Get off my fat ass as get my lazy, sausage fingers a-typin’!  Fine!

Until next time, don’t bother me.  I under the influence of a book.



I can’t seem to find the balance.  That’s just the way my mind works.  I’m sure there are mental exercises for that, but I’m too lazy.

If I’m in my creative mode, the universe opens itself up for me.  I get excited about doing hours of research and writing 2, 3, 4, and even 5 thousand words a day.  Nothing else matters.

If I’m focused on actually surviving in this world, creativity gets bound and gagged and thrown in the trunk with the severed, alien infested, tin foil covered, drunk head.

Don’t get me wrong, I still get sparks, but I don’t have the spiritual energy to spear them.  They dance off to be captured by the next yearning soul.

That’s the idea of ideas.  They’re not original, and they’re not yours.  The I puts them out there, and the first wary sucker to capture them wins.

Just remember this:

  • I – ID – Idea – Ego – Got – Idegot – Idiot

What does it all mean?  I have no idea.  I haven’t been given that one yet.

Until next time, don’t bother me, I’m kneading a book.



It’s been a long and sometimes accident laden road, with pileups caused by heavy snow and distracted drivers, but the commute is now clear.  The destination; a ghost town of high hopes and low expectations; Central Clear Black Condorado Creek City Springs, the big CCBCCCS.  A three mile long trailer park where Patton was spawned in the middle of a hobo, hippie camp under a mountainside cemetery, and even farther under the cabin.

Back to my main point; thank you all for your continued support.  You know who you are.  You’ve suffered my oxymoronic slothful, inconsistent obsession.  But know this, my very soul lies in this novel, and the creation thereof.

I will say it again, writing gives me hope, keeps me sane, and helps me make sense out of the world.  Through my writing, I have found my voice, and my ‘self’.  I also found a lot of cool translations for Greek words, and enough about tac gear for them to start sending me spam, but I still don’t know how to use a semicolon ;-).

And remember, Patton stalks.  I know, corny.


Shattered Delusions and Stolen Dreams

Did I really think what I wrote to be original?  My grand illusions to be that brilliant?  I, the sole proprietor of genius?  (I just had to spellcheck genius.  I’d like to attribute it to a typo, but something is trying to prove a point)  I think the more clever I believe myself to be, the more moronic I become.

Case in point; Opposable.  Here is a story about a man who surgically implants opposable thumbs onto cats only to find this procedure unlocks the dormant parts of the cats’ brains.  The cats develop telepathic abilities, the power to control their own biochemistry, concoct body and mind control potions from within, and even open portals to other realms.  The realms are connected by the Collective; an entity that communicates through shared ideas.  The man’s idea for the surgical procedure awakens the Collective on Earth.

How stupid is that?  Okay, I’ll give myself a little credit for the way I’m presenting it.  The format is pretty Bad Ass.  But how stupid is it that I would think no one else has ever thought of anything like this?  Pretty f***ing stupid.  Shut up.  I’m working through some self loathing, but what I’m working towards will blow your skeptical mind.

So, I’m doing some research on how evolution of the opposable thumb shaped higher intelligence so I can create some authenticity with how the cats become sapient.  Then, there they were, dozens of search results for ‘cats with opposable thumbs’.  Most of them centered around a British advertising campaign for milk (Cravendale).  Here’s a link to their commercials.

That’s not funny…Okay, a little bit, but it horrified me on a creative level.  Sure, I’ve thought of the ‘Cats and Dogs’ movie, the ‘Warriors’ book series, and several examples of where felines have been anthropomorphized.  It began to take the wind out of my sails.  Then I saw something that should have deflated them entirely.  Instead…shock and wonderment.  Proof of the Collective.  Proof that my idea about an entity that thrived on the sharing of ideas and nothing is original, only borrowed from what already exists…is real.  A link.  Reality intruding on speculation.


Notice the date; February 18, 2016.  Every post, February 18, 2016.  What is the date of this post?  February 18, 2017.  This is not a coincidence, this is the Collective.

I will continue with my project, the Collective deems it so.  And you will help share it with the world, for I deem it so.  Go to:


Now leave me alone, I’m borrowing ideas for a book.


LOL-lies (Or: Don’t Be a Sucker)

I’ve always wondered if people actually LOL every time they reply with LOL.  In my case, I rarely do, but I even rarelier (shut up) type LOL at all.  A friend of mine (MMM) assured me they LOL almost every time they use LOL as a response, but I think she’s the exception to the rule.  Where do you fall in this practice?  I thought so.  LOL.  And no, I didn’t just LOL.  Lies.

Wow, that didn’t take long.  Alright, I’ll address a couple other related topics; openness and honesty as habit, and emotion as creative fuel.

Openness and honesty are important to me.  You can use the LOL lie as a tie in.  I’m not going to send LOL if I’m not LOLing.  That would be a lie.  Am I always honest?  Honestly?  No.  Sometime the truth needs to be knocked the f*** out and locked in a closet.  But I strive to be honest whenever I can and feel really bad when I’m not.  Really, that shit tears me up.

Am I always open?  Hell no!  My mind is a dark, dangerous place.  I try to look for catharsis (RJT) through my writing.  But my life and mind are like an open books with several pages ripped out and burned.  My mind is (obviously) what cranks my creative turbine, but left to its own devices, it will eviscerate me.

But seriously, I try to make openness and honest the rule, not the exception.  Please call me on my shit if you catch me sliding.

The other LOL tie in?  Oh yeah, emotion.  I don’t laugh a lot, and as someone inquired (SLB), I don’t cry a lot…like at all.  It’s not for lack of effort.  I wish I could cry.  I’ve had plenty of reason to over the last…forever.  One thought that keeps going through my mind concerning this: I don’t cry because there’s no one around who cares.  Now that’s sad.  I know it’s false logic, but…I got nothing.

So, I think directly related, I don’t laugh a lot either.  I laugh more than I cry, which is never, but still rarelier (see above and shut up) than I should.  In any given moment, I don’t get too high, and I don’t get too low.  There are general mood swings of course, but I’ll address that at another time.

Isn’t this blog supposed to be about writing?  Put a friggin cork in it.  It is.  I channel my emotions through my writing.  I unleash some of my darkness on the page.  Writing is what keeps me sane, gives me hope, and helps me make sense out of this fleeting life.  Those who don’t understand that, don’t understand me.

Now carry on, somewhere else, I’m scheduling an appointment with a book.


Don’t Be Of-Friended

I was going to title this: Friends With Benefits.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  There’s no sex involved here.  Believe me, I’ve got a better chance of getting published.  Probably because I want that more.

But shouldn’t all friendships have benefits?  I know there’s a lot of different philosophies around the concept of friendship.  For sucks fake, F***book has watered down the institution so much that it barely has any true meaning anymore.  What I’m talking about here is real, life-defining friendship; the rarest of all vessels.


I could be a friend to you.

I’m not going to bore you with the details of what goes into being a good friend.  Here’s what the internet says about it:


I just wanted you guys to know how important friendship is to me.  It’s rare, fragile, and almost never in mint condition.  The point is, if you’re at least thinking about how to be a good friend, you’re good, Friend.

I took out a lot of stuff ’cause I didn’t want to offend anyone and I respect the institution.  If you want to discuss further, contact me offline.  My heart, mind, and ears are always open.  Until then; here.  A list.

  • Communicate
  • Listen
  • Understand
  • Nurture
  • Transform

It’s the CLUNT system (unless you don’t want to Listen and see what you’re left with).  Use it!

Terrible, I know.  But hey…nope, I got nothing.

Now ____ off, I’m befriending a book.