I sit in the room that I call my office. The light through my window is dim and fading fast, that end of summer light that reminds you of the change of seasons. I am thinking about how my day passed. I am only doing this because I assigned this time to write, and I am working harder to stick to my goals of writing and playing guitar in tiny chunks every day in an attempt to keep some momentum going in my quest to regain the personality I used to have, the personality that would show some real interest and enthusiasm in the world again. If I didn’t force myself to write at this time I probably also would not be thinking about how my day passed. Instead I would be ordering starbucks caramel coffee online because we are, as my wife Penny pointed out this morning, running out.
Starbucks can wait. Four minutes have passed and I need twenty.
Here are the two big things I did today.
First, I did work stuff. Woke up at 5, in the darkness, sat in my office and finished work in the production environments doing blah blah blah. A change control on the single sign on infrastructure that I manage. Some stress. But ultimately, success. A good start to the day. It was visible work so I am recognized and do not become seen as lazy. Then I went to physical therapy. Now I am typing. I know what I have to do tomorrow and I’ll do it tomorrow.
Second, at around noon, I decided to stop working. Rationale: I woke up early, I did something high value and without negative live impact, attended a visible meeting, and had worked the full seven or eight hours I was supposed to work considering I fell asleep thinking about it.
The interesting thing is the second thing. I finally emailed my friend Cal about his story. The one he’s been working on, Avalon’s Artery. I’ve been meaning to try to re-connect with him for a while but Cal is elusive and his ways are often inscrutable. He lives in France now, part time or full time I am not sure, with a girlfriend who he’s been with for, essentially, twenty years at this point. Sometimes I feel he is ignoring me, and sometimes I feel that I am ignoring him, and sometimes I feel that we are simply not wonderful friends the way that I sometimes would like to be with him, again.
He had sent me a copy a couple of years ago. Every six months I’d get an update. Another few chapters. I finally reached out to him this summer to ask if he’d share the latest. I got in return not a direct response but a response instead to a group email consisting of myself and a few other friends from our high school group. And that email said, paraphrased: Here’s the updated story, love you guys, read only if you want to no pressure and that sort of thing.
So I wasn’t sure what to make of that. That he didn’t want to engage me directly? And that sending to a group essentially sidestepped a direct conversation with me?
I decided to make nothing of it. Maybe he thought nothing of it.
I went through the updated chapters. And it is not as good. I know because I started reading in the mid section and the writing there was more coherent, moved a little more briskly. Specific scenes in reality that popped. I made notes of what to say to Cal to be positive. I did not directly edit at any time or offer any negative comments because that isn’t what he asked for. He just wanted “thoughts” so I gave him “thoughts.” I used to reply with edits, I am absolutely not doing that unless he explicitly asks. And my thoughts, as stated to him, were, summarized, more or less: This is professional quality writing. I’m intrigued by the main character and the descriptions of paris and the use of things in the city — signs, patterns — to solve a crime. Or uncover the past. I would love to read more once you have a suitable update for sharing. Hope you are doing well, my man.
I included a note about appreciating the style. In long sections Cal is able to describe moving from one space to another as a series of small actions made by the main character that actually have meaning, purpose, and flow. I was engrossed.

So that was that. I sent the note to Cal.

Internally I always wonder how much of Cal’s writing is Cal himself. There’s a lot of smoking in this movie, earnest descriptions of going to brothels and that sort of thing. I know there must be something in Paris for Cal besides the writing itself. And we all know one of man’s best motivators is the opposite sex.

The later chapters — the newest ones — I confess I was more than a little lost in. It is hard to tell what is real and what is not any more, as seen through the eyes of Jacob, the main character. And I’m not sure how intentional it was. There are also some troubling thoughts — at least in my own head and analysis — regarding flashbacks. There may be some. There may not. It is difficult for me to tell. Time and space seem to bend as I read these bits as my brain struggles to understand intent. Is it because I am stupid or because the writing is worse? Is it because I read the manuscript while half baked and taking, intentionally, the afternoon off to myself to pursue personal tasks and I was distracted by the possibility of work? Could it also be because I am not that great at reading anymore? I had that thought walking around the neighborhood earlier today with my dog. I thought: My reading skills have become shitty and I need to work on them. Not my ability to read. No. The skill of it. And particularly the skill to allow your brain to slow down and immerse yourself in the content and the imagining instead of just trying to rush to the end.

I am rusty at this, the skill of reading. I have been working at it over the last couple of weeks and it is slow going, to let the images paint in your mind as you read vivid descriptions of shit happening. I have become accustomed to skimming and looking for key words and, if possible, feeding bulk text into AI and allowing it to summarize things in bullets.

It doesn’t matter where the fault lies: For whatever reason, I was much less immersed in the latest chapters, which seemed — not as well put together. Maybe deliberately confusing, and maybe just written with less skill and care than previous sections? But yes, also possible that Dear Reader just didn’t connect the dots that well. Cal delights in making readers work some in the reading. I have to put things together over and over in my mind, sometimes tracing back to what someone said two pages ago to decipher why a comment was made later on. I don’t mind that kind of stuff, it makes me feel clever to get it. But these last chapters, whoo. If I had a more current relationship with him, and he asked for real feedback, I might give him these comments. But the current version of me won’t allow it. No, the current version of me will say, paraphrased, it’s great, keep it up.

There is no cost to saying it’s great, keep it up.
The cost to being honest can be hurtful. With this caveat. If the requestor clearly clarifies: I trust you to tell me if there are serious problems? With the plot or structure or coherency?
Then yeah. I could construct a politically correct response to indicate my distress over particular sections. And frame it as Just One Man’s Opinion and all of that.
And even then I would not be honest for just anybody.
It would have to be someone I trusted enough.

And without those caveats? Absolutely not.

Anyway. It’s a big thing to cross off my list, the guilt of not getting back to him was starting to drive me crazy. It has been showing up on my daily task list for four weeks now and every time I have prioritized Cal down.


Cal will respond if and when and how Cal decides to respond and I will not spend another second thinking about it. We are still friends, but a little less sure of the exact points of connection lately, I think. I'm sure he is, too.

Typical for aging men.