Summer Haze

Sunday, Max and I went to New Baltimore for lunch. I watched the young girls eyeing Max. He probably doesn't even notice. The kid would be dangerous if he developed his conversation skills. I get my share of looks from the geriatric crowd, but the young, cute ones get all nervous around Max's blue eyes. 

Max is working as a carpentry apprentice-- yes, another new job. Although the smoke has forced him to stay home for a few days. There will be more of that coming next week as well. It will be another night of keeping the air conditioner on and the windows closed, even though the temperatures we are having (lows in the high 50s) would usually allow me to turn off the air and open the windows for the night.

Just another glorious summer.

Quitting, again.

I have eight spent Breeze vapes lined up on my desk. Occasionally, you can still get a hit off one, but that will come to an end by tomorrow. I have vowed not to buy any more— again. 

Mine are all Yellow, Lemon Mint. I'm debating whether I will replace the nicotine with ZYNs for a few days.  They are a nicotine pouch that you place in your lip. I don't really like them, though. Max uses them.

The problem is, I like vaping. I guess that is what every smoker says. I can feel the effect it is having on my lungs, though. If there is one way I don't want to die, it is suffocating. Not being able to breathe is triggering for me. Ironic, I know. 

I've managed to weave vaping into every aspect of my life over the past few years, driving, writing, and at work. The fidget spinner is just not a replacement.  

I'm already picturing the added weight struggle that this is going to bring with it. I haven't lost all the weight I gained over the winter. I'm going to need some serious focus. I quit vaping over Christmas. I was three months into it when I decided to start again. I really wish I could do it occasionally, but that is not how I am wired anymore.

Smoke

 Like other areas of the country, the Canadian wildfires have gifted us with a thick haze of smoke. It's like a grey fog. The smell is everywhere. Not the pleasant smell of a fire in the fireplace. It's the smell of old chemicals that only vaguely reminds you of smoke. The smell seeps into the office, your clothes, your home.

The temperatures are dipping into the 60s at night, but you can't open the windows. My lungs are already rebelling from my vaping (I know, I have to quit). This just adds to it.

Otherwise, Max got him an apprentice job on a framing crew. If you ask me, that is the lowest of the skilled trades. He should have waited for a plumbing, electrical, or HVAC opening to come up.

Nothing says don't work outside like 100-degree weather and toxic smoke.

On the Fringe

Sugar: Hey, you should come in tonight. Violet is here. She wants to see you.

Bathwater: Did you find out what happened to her?

Sugar: I did. Come talk to her. It's for her to say. It's not my place to spread her stuff. I don't want to do that.

She sends a picture of the two of them in the dressing room getting ready.

Bathwater: I take it she can't text me.

Sugar: Yeah, she wishes she could. That's why I said don't worry, I got you. She really wants to talk. She always feels better when she does.

Bathwater: I got plans. I wouldn't get there till late.

Because I can't resist a good story, I went. 

I'm not a fan of Friday nights at the club. The crowd is just different. Some familiar faces always seem to be there. The pair of German brothers in their mid-seventies, who like to stare over the rail and compare dancers. Same bartenders and a couple of familiar dancers.

The crowd was thin, and there were a lot of dancers working. They were really hustling. I had to fend off more than usual.

I saw Sugar first. I chipped away at her defenses during our conversation. She didn't say much about Violet.

Familiar names get called on stage. I find myself thinking about the dancers I used to know with those same ones.

I excused myself to the bathroom. I saw Violet sitting in the center of a booth filled with a group of guys and a couple of other dancers. We locked eyes for a second as I walked past.

Violet came up to the upstairs bar where I usually hang out about twenty minutes later. She settled into the high-back stool next to where I was standing.

Her eyes were glassy. 

"I'm glad to see you're alive," I said.

She didn't want to get into her story at the bar in front of others. 

"Let's go into the back, then," I suggested. "Let me order another beer first. I have a feeling this is going to be a long one."

We went to the back. Violet plopped herself into the corner of the couch and rested her legs on my lap. She slid the triangles of her purple bikini top off her breasts out of habit and started unloading.

First, let me gloat.

Ninety percent of my suspicions were correct. She did get to Loves before I arrived, but he started creating a scene. He took her phone. It was he who sent those last few text messages. It was him in that grey midsize SUV.

The SUV was actually paid for by Violet, but it is in his name. His truck is not running. He threatened to call the cops and take it from her. Violet does not want to be without a car. She did get kicked out of where she was staying (which was not with him). He caused a scene outside, and her roommate said she can't have that.

Violet was forced to move in with him. She stopped texting with me because she doesn't want to put me in the middle. I don't want to be in the middle. She is afraid of him. Her current plan is to save enough money to get another car and leave. I suggested that when that time comes, she should call the cops. She is still reluctant to do that. She'd rather make a clean escape. I don't really see that happening, given the control he has over her. 

I gave her my Google number just in case, before we parted.

When I returned to the upstairs bar area, it was freezing. I was shivering. Sugar passed, and I pulled her in. "Come here. Keep me warm for a sec."

"I figured you two would still be in the back."

"I didn't come here planning to spend a bunch of money. Do me a favor. Keep an eye out for her."

"Will do."

I think Violet will leave him. It's there in the detached way she talks. In the layered plans she's already making. The note she plans to leave behind will basically say, "You're an asshole." The question is when and at what cost.

Why I'm still hanging around the fringes. I like her. She wants to hang out, and she wants to do it soon. I do too.

"You don't have to come in," was one of the last things Violet said to me.

I think that tells me two things.

She wants to figure this out on her own.

And whatever this friendship has become, it isn't dependent on me walking through the doors of the club.

Fade to Black

Saturday, I went to the club.

I didn't expect Violet to be there, but I hoped Sugar might.

When you look down on the stage from the railing near the upstairs bar, you can see where the glossy white surface has worn into a dull circle around the front pole—years of high heels tracing the same path.

I arrived around nine. The place wasn't busy. I'd been sitting at the upstairs bar for about ten minutes when the DJ announced Sugar would be on stage in five songs.

When she came up, I walked down to the rail.

"Hey, have you heard from Violet?"

"No. She's not here tonight." She grinned. "Does that mean I get to take you to the back?" Always the salesman, Sugar is.

I slipped a twenty into her G-string. "I guess. I got a story for you."

After she finished making her rounds on stage, she found me upstairs and sat beside me at the bar.

She told me she'd texted Violet a few days earlier but never got a reply.

I told her everything—what happened that night, my theory about the SUV, and showed her the text exchange.

"Now I'm worried," she said.

"Me too."

She said she'd try calling her the next day. Before she went back to work, we exchanged numbers.

"If you hear from her," I said, "just let me know."

She nodded.

It was obvious Sugar had heard more stories about Violet's boyfriend than I had, but she didn't elaborate.

For now, that seems to be the end of the story.

At least the part I know.

Eos

Why I don't bother looking for women anymore. This is a recent exchange on a mutually beneficial dating site.

Christine: If your still looking for something steady let me know I’d definitely be interested in seeing if we are compatible and looking for the same thing ☺️

Me: Yes, I am. Would you like to get together for a coffee?

Christine: I could do that.  In person is so much easier than on here. I’m over in Grosse Pointe Woods area.  Where are you? Maybe find a place in the middle.

Me: I agree. You don't know until you meet.  I live in Chesterfield. There is Eos Cafe & Coffee House on Jefferson between 12 and 13. I have not been there, but it looks okay.

Christine: Next week I will have way more free time and flexibility.  Would it be ok if we schedule meeting? I have been to EOS before and isn’t too far from me.

Me: Yes, next week would be good for me. I'm looking forward to. Give me some days that work well for you. Tuesday is my only busy day. Wednesdays and Sundays are good.

Christine: I can do next Wednesday if you’d like?

Me: Yes, I can do Wed. Eos closes at 4 p.m. Can you do sometime between noon and 3? If not, I can pick somewhere else.

Christine: How does 1pm sound?

I don’t think I got your name yet? I’m Christine ☺️

Me: Nice to meet you, Christine. My name is Bathwater.  Wednesday at 1 p.m. at Eos on Jefferson sounds great.

At this point, her potential for showing has dropped to fifty percent.

Me: I'm looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. Let me know if your plans change. I'll DM you here when I am on my way.

Wednesday

Me: I'll be heading out in a few. See you there. I'm wearing a green shirt.

I made my way down to Eos. She didn't show. Technically, she could say she never saw the messages, but the app did show her online, and I did boost the message to the top of her inbox.

On the plus side, I still clean up nicely for my age, and I did get to see an attractive girl behind the coffee counter with a nice smile, long torso, and tight tee.

Difference

 Max did take me to lunch for Father's Day. It was just him and me. His fiancé did not go. The three of us did go to Finn's in New Baltimore the week before.

Max was updating me on his tangles with the neighbors at his mom's condo. Something that didn't occur when his brothers were living there. I said he should expect it; he's living in an old folks community. He swears he is not the problem. I suspect it is a little of both going on.

Currently, I'm writing a fiction story. The opening line came to me as I was waking up one morning. "There is no such thing as cane sugar," she assured me. It's about the friendship between two 8/ 9-year-old kids.

It is called The Eiffel Tower is in Cincinnati. It began as an essay piece that evolved into a 7,000-word story, but I felt there was more to it. I'm currently writing a second half that will be approximately another 5,000 words. The second half flashes forward to when they are adults. I like the story. It is my most ambitious work of fiction in a long time.

I'm not sure what I will do with it when it is done. It will be an awkward length for publishing, but creating the story is more important to me right now than where it belongs. It has been a good distraction while the memoir is out for consideration.

Rings

I don't have any updates on Violet. Saturday rolled around, but she didn't reach out, and I didn't feel like making the drive out to the club to talk to Sugar or see if Violet was there. I hope she is alright, but I don't feel like being drawn into the middle of something when she doesn't seem to have made up her own mind.

As for the ring and Max's engagement. Yes, Max got the ring. Yes, I financed it for him. By financed, I mean I bought it with the understanding he would be paying me back. There was no talking him out of it. I know, I'm as bad as his mother.

He talked about giving her the ring as part of an elaborate plan, but when it came, it didn't take long for him to just hand it over.

They want to get married in Sicily. A wedding honeymoon combination. I wouldn't mind going to Sicily, probably one of the few places in Europe I would travel to. We'll see, though. Lately, I don't feel like leaving the house.

Personally, I still think getting married is just one of those life mistakes people make, especially if they don't plan on having children.

I don't see their plans as being realistic. Young people don't seem to be burdened by an abundance of common sense. Or maybe I'm just burdened by too much these days.

What We Say With Words

The last time I saw Violet was a week before her I think I need help texted. It was my third time seeing her at the club. 

We were behind the curtains, and she wanted to read me a poem she wrote on her phone. She said I had to hear it in her voice. She has a slight southern drawl that you don't usually expect from a person from Indiana. 

I tilted my head close to hers so I could hear her over the music. It was a poem about being in a troubled relationship and knowing the right choice, but not knowing why she stays.

Her poem reminded me of the Silverstein song Massachusetts—about knowing the right choice and still not being able to make it.

Violet is friendly with Sugar, another dancer at the club. She said Sugar was only eighteen, but she lies and tells customers she is twenty. But what was really concerning to both of us was Sugar's actions.

I think Violet doesn't want Sugar to go down the wrong road. Something Violet has had experience with. 

I still haven't heard from Violet, although I have a feeling at some point I will. I'm not reaching out. I'm thinking about going to the club on Friday or Saturday. I don't expect to see Violet there, but I can check to see if Sugar has heard from her and exchange numbers.

 

Bumfuck Michigan

I threw on some clothes and got into the Buick. Driving up North Ave and Capac roads at night this time of year is like flirting with death. Not your own, although that could happen too, but more likely the death of a deer.

I remember a few years back, Sam and I were driving up North Avenue during the middle of a summer day to get to our favorite biking trail and countering nine deer carcasses along the side of the road.

Why was I driving up these rural roads at 12:30 a.m. on a Saturday night? It started with a text I received much earlier in the day. 

Violet: Missing talking to you...I've had a busy, overwhelming week; hopefully, yours has been okay. I'm going to be at the club tonight if you want to pop in and talk for a little bit. I know it sucks spending time together there, but I do miss you...I completely understand if you can't, though.

I saw her the week before. She knows I like seeing her, but she also knows I don't like going all that way to the club. I texted her back a few hours later when I saw her text.

Me: I'm going out with Max and his girlfriend tonight so they can gush over their engagement. (eyeroll emoji) You can call me later, though.

Yes, Max got engaged, but that is a story for a different post.

At eleven, I received another text from Violet.

Violet: I didn't end up going into work. I'm actually having maybe the worst night of my life so far. I think I need help.

I replied immediately.

Me: What's wrong? Do you need to talk?

Violet: I'm not alone. I can't talk yet. I'm about to be stranded and have no place to live though.

I'm on my way to get my belongings and then I don't know what I'm doing because I won't have transportation. i might be able to get an Uber, I don't know.

Me: I have a spare room. Do you need a ride or would that just cause more problems?

Violet: I might have no other choice. but to get a ride because I'm out in bumfuck and I don't know if Uber is going to accept late where I am at. I'm going to get packed and try to figure out if I can get a cab or something. Where do you live again?

I gave her my general location.

Violet: Okay, I'm going to get off here and save my battery until I get back and get my stuff packed. I'm on 19%. I'll let you know soon.

Then, a few minutes later.

Violet: I'm going to Loves in Capac right now.

Me: Call me when you can and let me know what you want to do.

Violet: Can u pick me up?

Me: Yes, 45 minutes.

That was what sent me out drive north in the middle of the night--dodging deer (I saw at least four, one in the middle of the road), and wishing I had taken the truck.

I texted her one more time, saying I was ten minutes out. She responded okay. Loves sits off I-69 in rural Michigan, a twenty-four-hour truck stop with a convenience store and an attached McDonald's. There is nothing else worth noting around it.

I parked in front beneath the neon red heart and yellow Loves sign. There was no sign of Violet. I went inside the bright-lit store and checked all around. There was no sign of her. I got back in my car.

Me: I'm here, but I don't see you.

Violet: I'm by the McDonald's. Where are you at?

I got out and walked around the side of the closed McDonald's. There was a black truck parked further back in the lot. There was no way I was going to go up to that. I got back in my car.

Me: I'm in front of Loves. Red car.

Imagine this at night

She didn't respond, but shortly after, a young kid in a silver or grey mid-size SUV pulled up next to me. I glanced over while sitting in my car and smoking my vape. He didn't get out of his car. He stayed for a few moments and then pulled out.

I didn't hear anything else from Violet. I waited another twenty minutes. Then tried calling her. Her phone went to voicemail. After that, I drove back home, thinking I'm too old to be rescuing girls in the middle of the night.

I have a few theories of what happened. You'll probably come to the same conclusions. Still, I can't answer everything.

It's Sunday, and I haven't heard from her. I'm a bit concerned for her safety. This is a kid she has a restraining order against, but there is not much I can do. If she wants to contact me, she can. She has my phone number (if he didn't delete and block it), she has my email, and CashApp. Where there is a will, there is a way.

Flight

Friday, Violet reached out to me over text.

Violet: I'm at Flight Club if you wanna stop and talk for a minute.

Violet: (The) Past couple weeks have been crazy for me, can't really dive into it all on the phone, but it would be nice to see you...I know you don't like coming in here, though.

Me: Are you working tomorrow?

I went in to see her Saturday. I can't resist the promise of a good story.

Violet is taking steps toward getting herself out of her current situation. It's not going to be anytime soon, though. 

We do enjoy talking with each other. We talked for a long time, and I continue to learn more about her. 

Violet still struggles with giving up her daughter for adoption. She knows she picked a good couple, a lawyer and a judge. She gets to see blog posts. Still, she wishes she could be her mom.

I don't know how hard that can be. I couldn't tell her she made the right choice. What I did know was that her time in her daughter's life was not necessarily over. "One day, your daughter is going to be eighteen, and might want to know her birth mom. That's very likely."

"I know thirteen years. I'm counting them down," she says.

"Focus on becoming the woman you want your daughter to meet."

She wants to continue our connection. "I always feel better after talking to you." She tells me.

She suggested calling me.

"Sure, just call me on your way to or from work."

I like that idea. Hopefully, she does. It would be a step in the right direction.

Querying

The hardest thing for me to balance in my query letter is that the story is about relationships that form around the Detroit strip club environment, but it is not a male strip club book.

One guy from the workshop asked to read it and said:

I think it is a great book and will be a big seller, maybe even a movie.

I’m not usually down for stories about strip joints, especially from the POV of dudes, especially patrons getting involved with the talent, but this tale is different: lyrical. 

I trust & like the narrator, and feel compelled to follow his journey and turn the page to see what happens next.

This has not been an isolated response. They have preconceived ideas about what the story will be about, but once they start reading, they find out it is much more. 

I've worked very hard and shaped this book compared to my first attempt. This version is much stronger and a totally different read. I just need one agent willing to take a leap of faith.

Another Night

 So Tinkerbell encouraged me to give Violet some more time. She thinks I am happier when someone is around. I am, but I am also happy focusing on writing right now.  I ended up texting her to see if she was working at the club this weekend. She was, and I decided to go in on Saturday night.

I'm beginning to hate going to those clubs, but the weather hasn't really turned to summer yet here. I spent some time talking to a new dancer I met. A cute twenty-one-year-old who would be nothing but trouble. She was hot, though.

When Violet found me and sat beside me, she was obviously intoxicated. Definitely not the girl I met a few weeks prior. I gave her some money and suggested she skip herself on stage and get something to eat. 

Violet is having issues at home, concerning a bad relationship she is trying to extract herself from, along with some other issues that usually come with being that age. She sobered up a bit after eating some pretzel sticks, and we went into the back, where we continued to talk. 

I like her; she is cute and shares some of the same interests. She seems interested in hanging out more, but she needs to get her shit together for that to happen. For now, she is a long shot. 

I told her I wasn't interested in hanging out, but I wasn't going to spend my summer inside the club, and left it at that. I'd don't think I have seen the last of her. She seems genuinely interested in hanging out. The real question is whether she is willing and able to make the first step.

The Gladiator is Back on the Road

Saturday, I decided to start the Jeep and get it ready to take to work for a few days. It had been sitting for months. The battery was dead and wouldn't take a charge. I took it to Murray's Auto Parts to see if the battery or the truck was the problem. It was the battery.

The young sales clerk was ready to sell me a new $259 battery when he mentioned a four-year warranty.

"Wait a minute, that battery is only three years old." I'd gotten it from Auto Zone.

I decided to reclaim my battery and drive the extra mile to Auto Zone. They exchanged it for free. 

Today, Max and I got gas in the truck and went to Walmart to find replacement batteries for my key fobs. Those were not free, but cheap enough.

I tired convincing Max that strapping himself with a $5600 ring payment was not a good idea.

"That's about what mom's ring cost," he said.

I refrained from making a comment on that except to say, "Not the first one. Her first one was less than a thousand."

He clearly hadn't considered wedding plans or other costs coming up in the next year. "Your going to have a lot going on in the next year. Moving out of that condo, a wedding. Don't start off in debt.

I'd rather give you $10,000 for a down payment on a house than to help you finance that ring."

After he left, I decided to switch the hinges on my new dryer so it opened to the left. The door is bigger than the old one, and it was getting in the way when I loaded clothes from the washer.

I also submitted a couple more novel queries this weekend and a few essay submissions.

Overall I'd say it has been productive.

Welter Spring 2026

 I am proud to announce that my piece, Glimpse, is part of the Welter spring 2026 issue.

CURRENT ISSUE | Spring 2026

 

Inside the 61st issue of Welter

New writing from Mira Yousif Almazrouei, Lucie Bhisitkul, Arno Bohlmeijer, Nathaniel Brame, Allison Burris, Sam Campbell, Scott Carroll, J. S. Coursey, Thomas Dettling, Joy DiMenna, Clayton Eccard, Mel Edden, Rachel Eisler, Christa Fairbrother, Melissa Foley-King, Ewen Glass, Benjamin Goluboff, Jennifer Harvey, Ghazal Azad Jahan, Thomas Lowery, Karen McGee, Kate Miano, Lauren Mirzakhalili, Elizabeth Murphy, Christine Naprava, Franz Jørgen Neumann, Bill Neumire, Prasida Clare Newman, David Pizzuro, Kimberly Ann Priest, nat raum, Sara Ries Dziekonski, Thaddeus Rutkowski, Grace Schwenk, Isabella Simões, John Sweeney, Kendra Whitfield, Joy Yin, Joshua Zeitler, and Jianqing Zheng. New artwork from Nuala McEvoy (cover), Joy DiMenna, Carlos Duplá, Richard Hanus, JC Henderson, Beth Horton, Anna Kirby, Susan Laugen, Serge Lecompte, Vishaal Pathak, Jim Ross, and RUNA.

For more information about the 61st print issue and our other print journals, visit our Print section.

Rings

 Max is working for a fire/water damage restoration company. He's been there for two weeks now. He says it is going well. Max thinks things are going well now that he and his girlfriend are both working again. he wants to propose to her in the next five months and get married next year.

He showed me the engagement ring he wants to buy. It costs $5600. I'm not sure if she picked it. He is buying it one line. It is the most expensive ring on the site.

He doesn't have $5600. He doesn't qualify to finance it either. Max wants me to finance it and have him pay me back. I could. I could just pay for it and have him pay me back, BUT I think this is a ridiculous idea.

Why would you want to strap yourself with a $200 payment for more than two years when you can't afford to live without your mother's support? When you haven't even considered the cost of a wedding. When you don't have a good track record with jobs.

I would rather give Max $10,000 for a down payment on a house than to help him finance a $5600 ring. She is not the person to walk around with $5600 on her finger. A person who walks around with that much money on her finger can afford to lose it.

If he wants to get married, I'm not going to talk him out of it (I think it is a bad idea). I'm not going to support being financially irresponsible, though.

Violet

 Gia is back in Detroit. Yes, I have been keeping loose tabs on her. She was in Tampa for a while, then she disappeared. I think she was in Rhode Island for a bit, and now she is showing up back in Detroit. No, I am not looking to rekindle anything with her. I understand she isn't capable of that. However, I must admit that I don't like the way things ended.

After a week of debating with myself, I decided to go to the club Saturday night. I hate the fifty-minute drive, but it is like putting on a familiar shoe.

I saw a couple of familiar faces, but Gia was not there. I'm glad in a way. 

I wasn't there long when a cute dancer walked by me. She was heading toward the private rooms. I could tell she was looking for something with one of the bouncers. I gave her a smile and tried to engage her when she walked past me again, but it seemed like she hadn't found what she was after. She gave me a quick smile and kept going.

She came back a few minutes later. She told me she thought she lost her phone, but it ended up being in the dressing room. We started talking She is from Indiana, but move to the area to dance. She has a cute smile. She reminds me a bit of Tinkerbell. 

We ended up talking. She is an artist. Likes to paint. I took her to the private rooms where we continued our conversation. We talked about writing, Legos ourselves. By the end she was eager to exchange numbers. Maybe something will come of it. Either way, it was a good night.

 

Brief

 I signed up for a writer's workshop. It is run by an instructor from UCLA. It is a group composed of 8 writers and the instructor. Over the course of eight weeks, each writer submits twenty pages (twice) for the other members to evaluate.

Thursday was our first meeting. It seems pretty informal. Several of the students have been in prior workshops. My first twenty pages will be reviewed this week, along with those of another student.

Michigan went directly from winter to summer. Spring was not an option. During that instant switch-over, I started this post at least three four times. 

Max started working back at his old job on Monday, and by Wednesday, he was texting me saying it didn't work out. I wanted to scream, "Maybe the common denominator in your inability to hold down a job was him." 

Who quits a job without having another? He obviously needs the money. I don't know what to do anymore. He told me everything else is working for him right now. The last piece is the right job. I feel like a job is the bedrock for everything else to work out. 

Easter, Sort Of

I went to lunch with Max on Easter. He told me he’d just started back at his old job—the one at the company that makes custom walk-in freezers. At least for now, he’s stepping away from trying to make a full-time living painting Warhammer figurines.

He said staying at home was driving him crazy. That stood out to me, because I’ve always been the opposite. I don’t mind being home—I actually find it easier to focus, as long as I have something to work on. Hearing how things played out, it also reinforced my earlier instinct not to financially support his Warhammer venture. It just didn’t feel stable.

So after about a year of doing his own thing, he’s essentially back where he started. The main difference now is that he’s living in a condo his mom owns instead of at home. I have to admit, it’s hard for me to relate to his lack of direction at this stage. When I was younger than he is now, I couldn’t wait to move out. Once I did, I adjusted quickly—even factoring in living with my ex.

I assumed it might be similar for him, especially since he’s living with his girlfriend. Maybe that assumption was off. Maybe they weren’t as prepared for that transition as I thought.

The thing is, I don’t doubt his ability. Max is capable—he’s always been capable. It doesn’t seem like a question of whether he can do something, but whether he can stay focused on it long enough.

He told me before that he is thinking about asking his girlfriend to marry him next year. I just see that as another long-term learning experience he is not ready for.

Glimpse

 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.

Query

 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. 

March Without the Madness

 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.

Passions

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.

Father Stories: Narratives of Fatherhood

 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 have really been wanting to share my new writings with my readers. I'm not asking you to run out and buy it. I don't get any of the proceeds. But it is very fulfilling to see my work in print. This is a profound stepping stone toward what I hope will become more frequent. 

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.

Snow Days and Max

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.

2026 Updates

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.