I have lots of thoughts on the event, and I’m not sure where to begin. The TL;DR — I had a good time and I’m really glad we went, even if it wasn’t a pure financial success.

The thing about events like this though is that there are intangibles that are hard to quantify. For example, I was interviewed three different times this weekend. At least one of them was for a school project, I think. One might have been for a podcast. People enjoyed talking with me at the booth, and a few of those people had microphones and wanted me to answer questions and record my thoughts on writing and the industry.

I’ve spoken before how there is writing books, and there is selling books, and those are different skillsets. Enthusiasm helps with both, and both activities require practice. Working a table at an event like this is great, hands-on practice selling books directly. It’s not quite the same as marketing.

Really, the big thing I enjoyed the most about the event was meeting people. I met a system engineer that works for Riot, the company that makes League of Legends and Valorant. I met an actor/voice actor that sounded very interested in producing an audio book for me. I met a Chinese writer that, when she saw the title “The Repossessed Ghost” asked, “Is that real?” She talked about how her mind’s eye has remained opened and she’s helped people talk to the dead. She wanted to know how to get an agent.

One writer I spoke to wanted to know about tools to use, and I gave her a bunch of information. She went to take one of my cards from the table but grabbed Steven’s by mistake. I found out as we were driving home that she told Melissa that I was her new mentor, which would be great if I didn’t know how much she liked using ChatGPT to augment her stuff.

The event had its challenges, some of which I’m still paying for. As an example, I had to park pretty close to a mile away from our booth, and both days, I had to make multiple trips to the cars. My legs and back are sore from all the walking, and my feet are still complaining because of all the standing. The event ran until 5PM, and with tear down, we weren’t able to get on the road to come home until after 7PM. We didn’t get home until near 2AM, and I had to work Monday.

I’m tired and sore, but it feels like I did a good thing. The event was good for my mental health, though my physical health might have taken a hit. My voice is raspy and I’m right on the verge of getting sick.

Will we do the event again next year? Probably not the way we did it. We all might have enjoyed the intangibles, but the publishing company is a business, and we financially took a loss this weekend. I’m not sure what we could do differently that would get us into the land of profit.

I came away with some good experiences, some of which will show up in my stories. Now, I need to rest and recover, and take some of those good vibes and turn them into writing.

The festival started at 10AM today, but we needed to help set up the booth, starting from a position of greater disarray than normal. Steven suggested we meet him at USC around 6:30AM, and we tried, but that’s so early for us that we might as well have tried time traveling. We arrived a little bit later than asked, but we brought breakfast so all is forgiven.

Parking was a thing. When we entered the orbit of USC, we found a volunteer and asked where we should go. He directed us to the Royal parking, which as it turns out, is for authors and participants. I am an author, but I didn’t sign up as a participant. Melissa and I were just here to help with the booth.

The details get grainy and boring, but to spare you some of it, we parked where we were told, but did not have a code to complete a webform. I asked around to get a code, but no one working the event could help. Maybe I parked illegally all day? I don’t know. To try and rectify the situation, I used my phone to apply to be a participant. I don’t think they’re watching that form anymore now that the event has already started. I’m not sure what parking is going to be like tomorrow.

The parking garage is about a mile away from our booth. I made a few trips, carrying some wooden crates and two boxes of books. Not fun. Fortunately, the rain waited until after I finished hauling the goods.

I remember hearing there would be a 60% chance of rain on Saturday morning. It didn’t come as a surprise, but I didn’t expect it to be such a downpour. We pulled books from boxes, trying to get them in place on the table while at the same time, our space kept shrinking because rainwater seeped down the walls of our tent, threatening to ruin all our merchandise.

I’m not sure how we did it, but we kept the books and boxes safe. Some table cloths got a little wet, and packing paper placed to prevent precipitation from penetrating our place wound up soaked. Our neighbors on one side, noticing that their roof was drooping, decided the best course of action was to push the bubble of water up and out, which meant about 5 gallons of water flooded over our wall and into our space. Thankfully, we moved our stuff to the other side of the tent before they drenched us.

Melissa was ready to go to war. She managed to hold her temper until the sun came out, and we left to go eat $25 hamburgers from a van. After that, she calmed down and everything was fine.

I really enjoyed talking to people today. We didn’t get a ton of sales, but I had a good time.

Towards the end of the day, I spotted Chuck Wendig walking by and I said hello. I was going to buy him one of my books, but he didn’t have the space to take one. I walked with him to his next event and we chatted about writing and promoting books while the world is on fire. He remains one of the coolest dudes in the community, and it was a real treat for me to get to meet him again.

Melissa and I are back in our sketchy room. Outside, I can hear angry shouting and cars racing by. Melissa asked me to bolt the door, and for once, I did it without complaint.

Tomorrow should be sunnier. Hopefully we’ll have more people at the booth. I don’t think the sales will justify the cost of participating, but I’m enjoying the adventure, and I’m really glad we came.

This event is the first of many for me this year. I’m not sure what to expect. Looking at the festival’s web page, this is bigger in every way than I imagined. Chuck Wendig will be here! And John Scalzi! And so many, many more people!

I’ll be helping with the Waterdragon booth. If you’re at the event and you’re looking for me, I shouldn’t be far from the vendors.

I’m writing this from a hotel not far from the event. Probably a little further than I want to walk, but I hear parking is a nightmare, so maybe we’ll look at all our options before heading out tomorrow. Maybe Uber? I don’t know.

Speaking of this hotel, let me tell you a story.

Before Melissa and I married, we had a big argument that landed a good portion of my possessions onto the street. Afterwards, we decided to make up and run away together for the weekend. We picked Santa Fe, and the hotel was around $110/night. I remember thinking that it was kind of expensive, but nice. A perfect place for us to patch our relationship back together.

The hotel I’m in right now is also $110/night, but this is Los Angeles, and it’s 30 years later, and oh my goodness is this place a little bit sketchy. There are bars on all the windows. When we entered the room, a blacklight shown from the wall, which I assume is to help guests see that there aren’t any blood stains on the floor or blankets.

The parking lot is the size of a newspaper. Folded.

Melissa is understandably a bit intimidated by this place. It’s a step up from some of the hostels I stayed in when adventuring in Seattle a few years ago, but there’s a vibe about the place that maybe they don’t typically rent for the whole night. The attendant behind the glass did look surprised that we wanted to stay here 2 nights.

I’m not that worried. Sure, there was a guy half-naked walking around the upstairs landing, but he didn’t seem angry or hostile. Just stoned.

I still don’t know what tomorrow and Sunday will be like, but I’m sure hanging out with some cool people and talking about books will do me a lot of good. Maybe I’ll even sell a couple of books while I’m here.

It is Saturday, April 12th, and it doesn’t feel like it’s been one week since Melissa and I were in Vegas. My sense of the passage of time doesn’t work very well anymore. We walked with the protest in Vegas, but that could have been a yesterday, or maybe a month ago. There is another protest next week, and if I can attend, I bet that the Vegas protest will feel like last year.

There is nothing wrong with my memory. In fact, I have a very long, detailed memory, which is one of the things that makes me valuable at work. It helps with my writing, too. My sense of when is off, though, which is a problem when trying to maintain relationships.

There are people I think about all the time that I haven’t spoken with for years. There are people that I spent time with decades ago that are still an influence in my life today. To say that I miss these people is an understatement. Many of them would see me as a stranger if I were to cross paths with them again tomorrow, and though we would be strangers, despite the span of miles and years, I would still feel excitement at seeing them again, and pain for the reminder that we are no longer close.

With almost every one of those relationships, it is my fault that we have grown apart. I am responsible for the long silences. I could have called, wrote a message, or reached out, but I didn’t. It didn’t occur to me. I thought I saw them just a few days ago, when it was actually a few years, and they’ve moved on.

I’m well into the back half of my life, and I can count on one hand the number of people with whom I’m still close. I have a lot of friendships that have become acquaintances, and that’s okay, but there are people I thought I’d grow old with. In honor of those folks, and without naming names, I want to share some thoughts as a kind of tribute to people that are no longer meaningfully in my life.

One, you were my best friend. We shared art and music and stories, and I opened up to you about things I never shared with anyone else. We harmonized, literally and figuratively. At a certain point, it seemed like I grew up and you remained Peter Pan. I did try to keep things alive between us, but something happened. I was a little too successful, and you went through painful hardship without me, and I think you became a little bit jealous. Having gone through my own hardships, I couldn’t understand why. My attempts to help only made things worse, and now my presence makes you sad and uncomfortable. You’re one of the people I miss the most, and I wish I could tell you that I still love you.

Two, you were one of the few people that truly let me cry when I needed to. You and I lifted each other up, and we hurt each other, and we probably could have gone through that cycle our entire lives, but some walls are built out of scars. We’re too old for that nonsense, now. I do hear from you from time to time, but you’re not the person I remember any more than I’m the person you remember. Too much has happened. We’re as much strangers to each other as we would be to ourselves if we were to go back in time. And yet, we contain the people we once were. We build our lives on top of the corpse of our youth. What would happen to the foundation if we were to reanimate those old bones and make them dance and sing once again?

Three, you used to inspire me. I looked up to you. In some ways, I moved my life around so that I could be in your orbit, but you changed while we were still sharing space. We had so much in common, and enough differences that we could talk for hours without getting bored. You challenged me in good ways, and made me grow without losing touch with who I am. What the hell happened to you, man? It’s like you and I swapped places, but in trying to achieve what I did at an early age, you gave up the most important aspects of that which you seek. To be less myopic: if you seek to make Jesus a central pillar in your life, you should become more forgiving, more loving, and more charitable. You claim Jesus, but eschew the qualities of Christ, and that more than anything is why you and I are no longer friends.

Four. I think of you often, and at this point, I wish for a better closure. You were always cool. Boisterous. Popular. Bigger-than-life. We had such a great friendship for so long, which from my perspective, is wild because I have never seen myself as being all that cool. Your greatest flaw is that when you look back, you only see the bad times and the faults. This makes it easy for you to slam the door and cut the cord. All I want from you these days is a chance to hang out one last time, give you a stack of my books, and then quietly close the door with a good memory. I guess I’m still hopeful that we would be friends again, but I know the reality.

Five. We have always been matter and anti-matter, which has led to some cataclysmic and destructive times. And yet, we would dust ourselves off, come back together, and give each other energy. We’ve been there for each other, but you have always taken me for granted. We smile and share pleasantries now more often than share time and make memories. You’re not that far away, and yet I miss you just the same.

I think that’s enough for now. There are many others I can talk about obliquely. If you’re reading this, I’m almost certainly not talking about you. But if you see yourself in any of these descriptions, maybe we should talk. Maybe we should have a meal together, make some memories, and actually be friends.

If you’re like me and you have trouble perceiving the passage of time, take this post as a reminder to reach out to the people you care about, so you don’t find yourself in your 50s wondering where everyone went.

It is April 5th, and I’m nowhere near home. My company is celebrating its 25th anniversary, and the CEO has generously paid for Trimark employees to come to Vegas to celebrate. This was planned months in advance. Certainly before Trump was sworn in. I’ve been with Trimark over 13 years, and I couldn’t say no to this.

At the same time, this is April 5th, and there are protests happening across the country. My biggest regret with coming on this Vegas trip is that, once again, I’m just some asshole posting shit on the Internet, and not actually putting my ass on the line. I’m letting other people protest and do the work, while I just bitch and moan safely, from afar.

It couldn’t be helped. This is another moment for our country, and it was going to come and go without me. Again.

Unless…

While Melissa and I ate our greasy sandwiches from Eggslut, I looked up what protests were happening today in Las Vegas. Sure enough, #HandsOff was starting in less than an hour, only a couple of blocks away.

So, Melissa and I walked. We joined the procession heading along the street. Many people carried signs. There were lots of chants, the most popular being “Hey hey! Ho ho! Donald Trump has got to go!”

Melissa and I walked with them, for at least 30 minutes. We chanted with them. We were actually there for a change.

Will this make a difference? Since the major medias do not seem to be covering it very much, I doubt it. The protests have been peaceful and respectful. The one in Vegas was along the street, not on it. We marched and didn’t even disturb traffic.

The will is there. Protests are happening. I’m happy I got to walk in one. Maybe with the next one in Sacramento, I’ll show up carrying a sign.

• Is it prudent of me to publicly post about participating in a protest? (Edited to improve alliteration)
• Isn’t this blog supposed to be about my writing journey?

There’s no point in me writing my fiction if the books can’t be published. And I’m having trouble writing while I watch my country burn to the ground. Doing something about it, talking about it, will help me get back to writing. Eventually, some of these experiences will show up in my stories.

As for the wisdom of posting this publicly… for about 10 years, I’ve made it obvious that I am anti-Trump. I’m not a Democrat, though my goals align with what theirs should be at this point. I’m anti-Trump. I’m not going to hide that fact.

I wish for him to die in obscurity. The greatest justice would be for him to live out the rest of his life as no one. Some doddering old fool that wanders his golf course, cheating at something that does not matter. A laughable old man that no one takes seriously. That would be a greater justice than killing him.

There were thousands of people on the streets in Vegas. There are many, many thousand across the country, all doing the same thing. At some point, something will change. Either the representatives elected to serve their constituents will start listening to the protestors, or the protestors will get more direct, until they cannot be ignored.

Trump does not not follow the will of the people. We will see how long before the people’s will is made manifest.

Hello friends, stalkers, and people that subscribed to this Blog/Newsletter by accident.

I went quiet for most of March, mostly because I was busy with work, and also I was not in a particularly great headspace. When I know that the post is going to be just a huge bummer, I tend to hold off. I don’t want to bring anyone down, fish for pity, or promote negativity. These times are hard enough. You probably don’t need me to tell you how bad things are. (But if you do want me to talk to you about the state of the world, let me know and we can have a personalized rant and/or discussion.)

That being said, I have an idea for a post I’ve been sitting on which might be a little bit sad. It’s a lament for friends lost, as it were. Sort of a way for me to honor some of the people I still think about that are no longer in my life. That post is coming, when I have the time and mental space to write such a thing.

On the writing front, I’ve stalled out on the next Mel Walker story again. I made some progress in March, but drafting for me lately has been like performing surgery on myself, without anesthesia. Painful, difficult, a bad idea, and almost certainly unhealthy.

I’m writing this, though, which is easy and breezy, while also a way for me to avoid going down and into the throng of people inhabiting Las Vegas.

Why am I in Vegas? Trimark just turned 25, and the owner, Mark Morosky, has paid for all of Trimark to come to this city of sin for a big celebration. Melissa and I will be here tonight and tomorrow night, with our only mandatory obligation being a party from 6PM to 11PM tomorrow night. That means we have a lot of time to run around and play.

Did I mention that neither Melissa nor I gamble much? We’ll host poker parties at our house from time to time, but actual gambling doesn’t appeal to either of us.

There are other things to do here, of course. Shows, mini-golf, an aquarium, Cirque de Solei, which I already mentioned because that’s a show… there’s plenty of mischief we can get up to.

The truth is, I’m a little bit tired from the drive, which lowers my desire to breathe the same air as a city of half-drunk strangers. We got up at 5AM and drove from Sacramento to Las Vegas. There was quite a bit of traffic, but the worst part is that the check engine light came on after we’d already driven about four hours. We stopped in Delano and a very friendly mechanic determined that it was my fuel sensor, and had us patched up and back on the road within an hour. The repair experience couldn’t have been better, but the stress of the car trouble itself was not something I had on my wish list.

I’m fine, though. Melissa is fine. The U.S. is getting destroyed in an extremely predictable way, in that I and others predicted that this would happen, but The Buhls are fine. I alternate between rage and sorrow as I read the news, but I haven’t done anything stupid yet.

Stay safe out there. Support each other. Love each other. It sounds cliche, but it’s true that the only way we’re going to get through this is together.