Tag Archives: blogging

When not driving the family taxi, I write books sometimes

There was a time when I used to post twice a week. That might not seem too ambitious to those who post every day, but it was a quick turnaround in my blogging world. Then, I scaled back to once a week, then once a month. Now, I post when I can get to it and I have something to say I haven’t already said before.

When I started blogging, I had one kid, a toddler. Now that kid can dunk a basketball, and his two brothers aren’t far behind. I spend a lot of my time in the car, going in circles. I do lots of little circles, from school to home to a different school, to a practice field, back to the first school, back home, to a third school, back to the practice field, to a gym, to a different practice field, back to one of the schools (I hope it’s the right one, because I can’t remember which kid I’m picking up), back to the gym, and back home—and then probably out to get pizza because nobody had time to make or eat anything. After that, I try to figure out which kid is missing and where I should have picked him up.

For better or worse (I can’t decide which), I still have my day job.

Another thing I’ve been doing since before I began blogging is writing other things. Some of those things come to something, and some don’t. And some are still in flux. A piece of writing making its way out of flux and into something is this:

Everyone who buys the book gets a back cover too! It’s a special service I provide to my readers.

If all goes to plan, this book will be out next month, which for those of you reading this old post years into the future, is May, 2023. In anticipation of that sublime but unspecific date, here is a marketing blurb. In my world of hungry boys, this would be a snack to hold you over until dinnertime.

Emma and her parents share recurring dreams, in which they are a different family, living 100 years ago in an unfamiliar place, and heading toward tragedy. When Emma’s parents discover their dream family actually existed, it becomes clear that these visits to the past are more than mere dreams—they are playing an unseen role in this historical family’s lives. As the century-old history of this troubled family materializes, it reveals the truth that the impending tragedy spells doom for both families. Only five-year-old Emma has the power to avert disaster, but it will require extraordinary courage against overwhelming evil for Emma to save both families from destruction in The Other Place.

I’ll come back with more between now and publication, but if you get tired of waiting, you could always check out my other books by clicking the “This guy should write a book” tab at the top of the page.

Meanwhile, I’ve still got lots of work to do, and lots of kids to drive around town, so wish me luck.

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The many itches of summer

You haven’t seen a lot from this blog over the summer. There’s a good reason for that: I’ve been super busy scratching my butt and fantasizing about my retirement years. (Notes to self: 1- You are over 50 and still have three children under 11; 2- You will never retire; 3- Milk those fantasies.) In between these important activities, I’ve been doing a lot of writing, only not blog writing.

This is me fantasizing about my retirement lifestyle.

I’ve been writing things that you (i.e. the world in general) may never see. If these things do find the light of day, it won’t be for a few years. That’s the way writing goes though. You’ve got to really want to do it, because you can’t be motivated by any promise of fantastic rewards.

Now is the point where I contradict myself, because that is a blogger’s prerogative. I don’t really want to do it; I have to do it, because that’s who I am. It’s hard work, and I’d rather be spending my summer playing outside, but for some strange, intrinsic reason, I have to do it.

So that’s what I’ve been doing instead of regular blogging.

Sometimes bloggers apologize for having posting sporadically. I won’t do that, because I think it implies your life is somehow incomplete without regular doses of me in it. I’m not quite ready to make that assumption yet. However, if some atonement is necessary, I offer a fun and quick piece of flash fiction from my other blog (from which I’ve also been too absent). It’s sort of based on a true story, or a true fear anyhow, and it’s merely one quick click away: Last of the Good Proctologists (Reading time: 2-3 minutes)

Happy last days of summer to all my northern hemisphere friends!

The reason this blog isn’t as good as it could be – Spoiler Alert: it’s me

Many of the posts I write stem from something funny one of my kids said. With all the hilarious things they say (both intentionally and unintentionally), you’d think I’d have more than enough material to post quite often. And I would, if I could remember things.

Last week, Big Man and Buster had a hilarious conversation. It would have made for an excellent blog post. I remember it was hilarious, but I don’t remember anything they said. What’s more, I don’t even remember what they were talking about.

So why did I wait a week to try to write it down? I didn’t. I wanted to make something of it the very next day. Even then, I could not remember a single word either had said, or what topic they were discussing. All I knew was that they cracked me up, and probably would have cracked you up too, if their father had any kind of memory.

To be accurate, there are some things I do remember: the dates of a great many Civil War battles; lyrics to 1940s ballads; the Pythagorean Theorem and how to apply it.

Antietam (Sharpsburg, if you’re a Confederate): September 17, 1862. Just one of many dates locked in my memory.

On the other hand, there are lots of arguably more useful things I tend to forget: what my kid needs to take to school today; the coupons I have in my pocket at the grocery checkout; where I’m driving to – if it isn’t to or from work. Less important but still vexing: the plot of nearly every novel I’ve ever read.

When not traveling to work, I like a friend to drive me. Otherwise I will end up . . . at work.

Since I’m getting a little long in the tooth, you may naturally conclude that age is getting the better of me. While this is certainly true, it is not the cause of my forgetfulness. I’ve always been absent-minded. There is limited space for information in my brain. All the bits I try to stuff into that walnut shell compete with each other like rats in a crowed cage, inevitably killing each other off, until the sole survivor is the tune to a commercial jingle from 1975 – the winner and still champion!

So, the reason this blog doesn’t happen more often, and isn’t as sharp as it should be when it does happen, is me. Sure, those little comics who can’t be bothered to record their own jokes aren’t exactly helping, but the buck stops with the blog registrant.

I’m not one to write notes as things are happening; I noticed in school that when I took notes I ended up missing the important tidbits. I write too slowly to keep up and I’d end up missing all the punchlines.

The truly amazing thing is that I’ve managed to retain so much of their words to actually get what posts I have out of them. That must be some sort of redeeming quality. Or maybe, sometimes, they say things that are more important to me than where I’m driving to. Some days, their words are probably almost as important as that old TV commercial. Almost.

Cross-pollination begins in the home

I’m not a great self-promoter.

If you visit here regularly, you probably know this. If you’ve never been here before, see above.

I bet most people who stop here don’t even know I have another blog. Yeah, it’s mentioned in the sidebar, but sidebars are the last refuge of people who are not great self-promoters.

To take it to center stage for a minute, I have another blog: scottnagele.com. On that blog, I write about . . . well . . . writing. I know it sounds like a real hoot, but give it a chance. I mean, some people make good livings marketing online videos of themselves playing video games. It has to be better than that. Right?

Good bloggers with multiple blogs cross-pollinate their readership. I’ve never been disciplined about that, which goes a long way toward explaining my opening sentence. I’m giving it a try. Let’s see how it goes.

One of my favorite things to do over at that other place is to post flash fiction. (Read more flash fiction from scottnagele.com.) In the spirit of cross-pollination, I will blatantly plagiarize a short-short from my other blog below. I hope I don’t get sued. I’m definitely suing.

What’s in Your Wallet?

I asked the nurse to hand me my wallet. She fumbled it a little and a condom fell out. She kept a straight face, discretely picking it up and setting in on my blanket. Then she left the room, not wanting to burst out laughing in front of me.

Rocky, my roommate, grinned at me from his bed. He was 50 years older than me, with his scraggly beard and glassy eyes.

“Sorry about that,” I said.

Rocky chuckled. “I understand. I was a young buck once. You a college boy?”

“Yeah.”

“I never went to college, but I did have my fun.” He nodded at an inevitable transition. “Then I got married. Margie and me was married 40 years, and I liked that a whole hell of lot better than carrying one of them things in my wallet.” He gestured toward the condom I struggled to stuff back into its home.

“40 years? That’s awesome!” It seemed like the right thing to say.

“It was.” He sighed. “Except for the last few. She got Alzheimer’s. I carried her license in my wallet ‘cause she’d lose it otherwise. She’d lose anything you gave her.” He shook his head. “Then she’d snip at me about it. Finally I said, ‘Margie if this next 40 years don’t go no better, I’m calling it quits.’ That was the last joke I told her.” He frowned. “Not a very good joke.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“She passed almost two years ago.”

I didn’t want to say sorry again. “Do you still keep her license in your wallet?”

“No. I couldn’t look at it every time. It only reminded me of the past. But I guess she told the last joke. After all that time wedged in that little sleeve, it left a faint impression of her picture on the plastic, like a ghost staring up at me.”

“Did you get a new wallet?”

“Oh no. I don’t mind the ghost. It doesn’t give me bad memories; it says she’s still with me. And being how I already invested 40 years, I guess I’ll keep her.” He turned his wet eyes toward the window and spoke at the sky. “Yup, I guess I’ll keep her.”