I woke to some unexpected good news today. "Glimpse," has been accepted for publication in the spring 2026 print version of Welter.
Yes, another of my pieces has been accepted. This really feels great, and it adds to my legitimacy in my bio for query letters. It boosts my confidence that there might just be an agent out there willing to take a chance on the memoir.
It also gives me the kick in the butt I needed to submit a few more pieces. I have been dragging my feet lately.
I have started actively querying agents, which is a job in itself. First, you have to find one who wants to read more. Second, they need to want to represent the project. It is a long journey, but one I am willing to pursue at this point.
I signed up for a small writers workshop led by an instructor from UCLA. Eight people max. I am hoping that produces some good feedback. At this point, I like editing as much as I do writing. I learn a lot from both.
Max is dealing with BPD (borderline personality disorder). In his case, it is probably true. He suggests I, too, have BPD. On that, I disagree. While I have some of the signs, none of them prohibit me from functioning
I think therapy is a good thing, although I am resistant to placing all your trust in it or blaming all your issues on something like BPD. At some point, you have to also take responsibility. His generation leans into this therapy culture.
I'm still busy, but it is in a good way. I'm on my last round of edits for my memoir. It is about time to seek direction from someone more talented and knowledgeable. I haven't decided on whom. This memoir is not a money-making project, but it never has been for me.
I often say to myself, I'd rather create a well-crafted book than a poorly written bestseller. I don't care if people hate the narrator as long as they like the way it is written. That is my focus, and I have learned a lot since my first attempt.
I continue to check how far I have drifted from the original raw blog post. I haven't rewritten history. Which is important to me. It is easy for someone writing a memoir twenty years after the event to unwittingly bend the story. I haven't. The main characters didn't question my writing back then. They can't question them now, though I don't think anyone cares anymore.
Max is painting War Hammer figure on a production level. He is having some issues with keeping his studio dust-free and cat-free. He even asked if he could use my basement as his studio at one point, but that hasn't happened yet. I wouldn't mind.
I haven't seen Max's girlfriend since they moved back to this side of town. I have two theories for that. Either she doesn't like me, or she is pregnant, and no one wants to say. Hopefully, neither is true. But I wouldn't be surprised by either.
This week's plan is to finish my edits, condo association meeting, start my taxes, and continue work on editing Ariel's book.
Currently we meet ever two weeks on Zoom. We used to meet in person, but she move about an hour north of me and I don't feel like making the trip in the winter. I've become very passionate about writing and craft. It's great to have someone to share it with.
I’m not writing her much because new encounters keep turning into possible entry points for short essays. I went to breakfast with Max on Sunday. He and his girlfriend have moved into the twins’ condo, while the twins are staying with their mom.
The twins love it. I still don’t agree with it. A time frame of six months to a year has been kicked around.
Max still hasn’t found a job. He’s being selective… again. But his girlfriend started a new one today — a good one. She’s making a decent salary. Together — and that’s the right word in this case — they’ll do alright.
In the meantime, Max has been doing a side hustle he’s passionate about. For several years now, he’s been painting Warhammer figures. They’re tiny, and he gets incredibly detailed with them. He sells them online for a good profit. Warhammer is a big game, and many players build vast collections.
I’m glad he has a passion like that. It reminds me of where I am with writing right now. It gives us common ground — something we can actually share. I understand how he feels.
I think he wants to make it his full-time job. I encourage him to pursue it, but I also suggest he explore every avenue for revenue adjacent to painting: buying and selling, commissions, content on YouTube or TikTok, anything that widens the lane.
My responsibilities derailed my own dreams of being a writer when I was his age. I had a wife and kids to support.
But there’s another side of Max I don’t encourage. In fact, I openly push back against it — the stories about scamming Amazon by claiming packages were broken when they weren’t. The way he justifies it is concerning.
Max can be incredibly motivated when he’s passionate about something. He’s smart and analytical. I see reflections of myself in him — but definitely not all of me.
I’m not saying he should be like me. We all want better for our kids. If I could have passed anything on to him, it would be creativity and the drive to pursue what he loves.
He is still Max. He is still my son. He seems to accept my flaws as well. Another thing we have in common.
A small piece of good news landed this week: my essay “Fragments” appears in the new anthology Father Stories: Narratives of Fatherhood from Beyond Words Press.
I want to thank all those who still check in on this blog. My readers have always been motivational. I’m thankful to everyone who encouraged me to keep writing these small, true pieces of my life.
I only wish I could share more of them here without voiding their printability elsewhere.
It was the MLK holiday, but my office didn’t give the day off. I had a doctor’s appointment, and Tinkerbell asked if I wanted to get together, so I decided to take a vacation day.
Winter in Michigan has been rough this year. A lot of snow. A lot of cold. Monday was no different. When I got to the doctor’s office, industrial fans were everywhere. A pipe had burst. I arrived just in time for them to tell me they were closing the office and rescheduling everyone.
I headed over to Tinkerbell’s side of town early. I had time to kill, so I stopped at the mall near her house. It’s been a while since I’ve done any shopping or even just gotten out. I parked and struggled through the slush and blistering cold.
Inside the mall, the first thing I noticed was jackets and shoes strewn on the chairs near the entrance, but no people. I thought it was odd until I realized they belonged to the mall walkers.
Apparently, they aren’t concerned about their jackets. They leave them behind like guests coming to visit and then walk the mall. The retired crowd. Soon that will be me. I did do some walking, but I wanted to shop. I ended up buying a belt and two shirts on sale.
After the mall, I picked up Tinkerbell and we headed to the Henry Ford Museum. This was our plan, but she failed to mention it was a free day. It was packed with everyone who can’t afford the usual $34 ticket. Tinkerbell has a membership. A fact she mentioned repeatedly.
Still, it was good to get out and see her. She has decided to do Frankenstein’s Laboratory for Halloween this year.
Max is still avoiding telling me what’s going on until after the fact. He and his girlfriend are still underemployed. They are moving out of their apartment and back to Chesterfield. I assumed they would move temporarily in with his mom. That’s not what’s happening.
My ex is moving the twins out of their condo and back into her house and allowing Max and his girlfriend to live in the twins’ condo.
I was shocked. It feels like she is continuously rewarding Max for poor decisions. She isn’t charging them rent. Even if the condo is paid for—which I don’t think it is—there are still association fees and taxes. I will be very interested to see how long they stay there and whether the twins ever get it back.
I’d also be very interested to know who is paying the mortgage and the fees. The fact that the twins were instructed not to tell me what was happening already tells me she knows it’s wrong or that something shady is going on.
Obviously, Max and his girlfriend need help. But giving them that condo isn’t teaching them anything. Judging by the way they took care of the duplex they rented in Northville, I doubt they will take care of this place.
My harsh opinion is not well received by Max, but I don't really care. There is a pattern of poor choices that has lead him to the situation. Rewarding him will not change his behavior. Yes, times are tougher for young people today. That only means you have to be even more careful with the choices you make.
I spent most of the holidays alone. I saw the boys, but otherwise I kept to myself. I did a little writing, a little LEGO building, played some video games. Solitary things. I caught myself thinking: this is probably what my retirement will look like.
I don’t plan on retiring anytime soon. Six more years, at least. There’s no reason to rush it, not with the way things feel right now. I make decent money. And once I walk away from this job, I doubt I’ll ever find another that pays the same. That reality alone keeps me planted.
Max and his girlfriend are struggling. She was laid off from a good-paying job over the summer and hasn’t found anything steady since. Max has had his own run of jobs, none of them lasting. He doesn’t want work that’s hard. He wants easy work. Something that doesn’t take much out of him.
That’s been a constant point of friction between us. I’ve never left a job without another one lined up. Right now, he’s technically a salesman for a gutter company, but there are barely any leads. I think they fed him a few at the beginning just to get him in the door. Since then, nothing.
I think they are supplementing themselves by doing Uber Eats. Delivering food to people like themselves who are living hand to mouth.
I still believe you don’t get anywhere without working hard when you’re young. I know hard work doesn’t buy what it used to. I know the math has changed. But I also know the alternative. And it’s worse.
I don’t know that financing his decisions is helping either. If anything, it feels like I’m reinforcing the same thinking his mother has always had: someone will catch you. Something will work out. Everything with Max has slid downhill since he moved in with his new girlfriend. I’m starting to think she’s part of the gravity.
Max has always been quiet, but I have noticed a shift in his personality since they have been together.
He wouldn’t see it that way. But in the year since he moved in, he’s left a stable job for a string of bad ones, burned through what had to be close to fifteen thousand dollars in savings, and now they’re a month behind on rent.
That’s not bad luck.
That’s a direction.
Personally, I hope they breakup. Max should move back home and get his act together. One day she is going to get tired of being broke and move on anyway.
