I think I’m happiest drawing cartoons and playing with metal so I’m going to stick with that.

Finding a discarded muffler along the road on the morning run made me happier than I ever thought a discarded muffler along the road could make me. Of course I picked it up and carried it home to Metalshack for repurposes TBD; I also learned that running whilst carrying a discarded muffler is… interesting.

From here on out, I'm letting myself take the same approach to writing that I've taken to metalwork and painting and comics: if something comes, it comes, but I won't force it or feel guilty for its absence. No more artificial deadlines masquerading as excuses to feel like shit.

exertions plus AI

After two years of diminshing returns of running – thanks to nuHerbie's insulin pumping – I wanted to switch things up and, lo, this first morning of a new workout routine, thanks to Claude AI. Can't overstate the amount of help Claude's been here: it's been amazing to have an analytical compliment who, when given my exact needs and insulin requirements, can generate a workout routine that will replace daily running while doing things that I've already been doing AND condense those into one long morning session (in this case, 40 minutes of yoga, 35 minutes of muay thai (swapped in for boxing to make up for the loss of leg motion without running, followed by a 10-minute cooldown yoga session). We made a few changes to incorporate "exit points" in the event of hypoglycemic moment, but other than that, this has been great - especially the change in my CGM arc from a crashing tidal wave to a gentle climb and gentle landing. Tomorrow is the same routine, but with HIIT instead of muay thai, while the next day is a strength and running combo. A most welcome change.

Efforts to balance the tactile and the abstract continue.

Haven't decided if the reason I haven't completely given up writing is a true, deep love - or that I'm a stubborn bastard unwilling to admit defeat, least of all to myself. Leaning more towards the latter every day.

My window between "this story will be great, I'm so excited to get to work on it" to "what's the point?" has shrunk from about seven years to +/- seven minutes. Haven’t decided if this is progress or not.

I've been in one creative field or another for the last 30+ years and the one constant I know of is that the only way to not feel like a hack is to make something, anything, and lose yourself to the process.

How would I write if I were starting now?

This being the question I've been asking myself since I threw out nearly all of my previous notions, WIPs, and ideas from the last 20 years (save the two I'm doing for others) around Christmas. Happy / merry, all that.

How would I write if I were starting now?

Start by cutting myself some slack, giving less of a fuck, certainly; getting there but hey, perfectionism and abandonment issues are a tangled match made in hell. At this rate, should be good by my early 60s. Goals.

Real goal, ideal: write as though I'm always starting now.

(WHAT would I write if I were starting now? This / that / the other. Probably.)

bald

Though I shaved my hair off last year, when I fucked up and forgot to put on the clipper guard during my usual self-inflicted fade cut and ended up liking it, it's only been in the last few weeks (after considering letting it grow back but remembering that there are few things in the world that I loathe more than getting a haircut) that I actually got myself one of those head-shaving electric razors, and went the full monty, the full Luthor. And I like it.

I'd avoided going full Luthor not out of a fear of doing it, but out of a total lack of interest in the work required to shave my head with a razor (and out of an ignorance about the existence of such things as dedicated head shavers, miracles of miracles / wonders never cease, back in my day etc etc). Now, it takes a grand total of three minutes before I'm ready to take on the accursed Kryptonian.

Also can't discount that now that the family that were most vain about their hair – my grandfather and my mother – and by extension, mine, are dead, I don't have to think about what they think about it (though it would've been more of a "how much will I have to hear, You have such beautiful hair" sort of thing) and thus, bzzzz, far balder than the day I was born.

Maybe it's a whole "dawn of a new era" -type deal though it's more likely one of those "I hated having hair and I hated my hair and I was sick of my hair and fuck it the end" -type deals though I do confess to a sudden urge to buy a porkpie hat and inform everyone within earshot and beyond that I'm the one who knocks.