incomplete thoughts

my new place

Mon, 4 Feb 2008 01:14:30 -0700

Incomplete Thoughts is now complete. If you’re looking for my latest random thought, you’ll have to go here.

You can also get there by pointing your browser to www.lostmyplace.com.

Thanks for stopping by. I enjoyed your company. I have no idea what will appear on the new blog. But that’s sort of what makes it fun, don’t you think?

moving...soon

Sat, 2 Feb 2008 13:36:04 -0700

No, not to an apartment. (I’m targeting March for that move.) I’m referring to this blog. I’m tired of the faux leather background so I’m going to move all my random thoughts to a new home. Probably later today. Or tomorrow.

I’m still working on the design, but once it’s done I’ll post a link to the new acheplace so you can update your “Favorites” list (or your “Banned Sites” filter). Once it’s running, you’ll be able to get there directly by going to www.lostmyplace.com.

Not yet, though. Stop clicking on those words.

The first post will be something called “Ghosts Around a Table.” I’m telling you this because I like the title, not because I know it’s a wonderful post.

I haven’t written it yet.

other things i do

Sat, 2 Feb 2008 11:26:23 -0700

Mostly I edit and write. (And think. And dream. And ache.) But sometimes I do a little design work, too.

In exchange for the occasional free massage (and so I don’t feel so guilty about using the office space provided through the generosity of the owner, Cadee) I’ve begun working on a re-branding project for Toccare Massage Clinic.

Here’s a taste of what I’m working on. It’s just a mock-up of the first ad in a new image campaign.

the state of things

Thu, 31 Jan 2008 15:45:49 -0700

I’m nearly done with the sermon-to-book project...sort of. I’ll see it again in a month or so and have more to do then. But by this time tomorrow it will be (at least temporarily) off my table (and mind). Until the next one.

I just signed a contract to write four more books in the Warren Wiersbe Bible Study Series. And I think I have five novels lined up to edit between now and August. (And there are a few more scheduled for the fall of this year and winter of next.)

Somehow this still doesn’t seem like enough income to pay the rest of what I will owe Uncle Sam in April and also my monthly bills. (This will soon include apartment rent. Yes, Stephen is all growed up and is finally going to declare his independence from the borrowed basement and futon. Once I find a place and get “settled” there, you’ll have to come visit me. There will be plenty of space for everyone because I don’t have any furniture. And also because “everyone” is like...maybe...three people.)

I will continue working on The Weight of Secrets as much as I can. This is not just because I feel compelled by the story itself, but also because I fear the wrath of certain “friends” who wouldn’t like it if I just stopped writing. (You know who you are. And for the record, your hyperbolic enthusiasm for my writerly ways does make me feel good - but we all know mankind would be just fine if I put down the virtual pen.)

In other news, my older son, Topher, is about to embark on a 29-day work marathon between his weekdays at Hot Topic and weekends up at the Monument, CO Village Inn. (Go see him on Saturdays or Sundays if you’re in the area and leave a big tip. He just bought a new vehicle and he could use the money. Plus, he’ll take me out to dinner or a movie if he’s feeling wealthy.)

My younger son, Scot, is rapidly becoming a multi-talented musician. He is the drummer and driver behind a band that I don’t think quite has a name yet. He’s also dabbling in songwriting with the help of a computer and a keyboard and a guitar and probably a kazoo.

I’m still on my “eat once a day whether you want to or not” diet, but I haven’t lost any weight because of it. I have been making new friends, though. There’s the waitress at P. F. Chang’s, the waitresses at Champps, the...um...waitress at Ruby Tuesday. Yeah. I know. They’re only my friends because I tip well. But if I didn’t count them my friendship tally would be rather anemic.

Oh...and as a followup to an earlier post...some of the baristas at the nearby Starbucks are starting to call me by name. Well, almost.

“I should know your name - you’re in here all the time...”

“Yes, you should.”

“Um...what is it?”

“Steve.”

“Steve. Right. Okay, I’ll remember that next time.”

We’ll see.

And for those who care about such things...I am well aware I’m not smiling in the above photo. I don’t do fake smiles well and the real ones continue to be elusive. If you want a more specific excuse for the seriousity of my expression...let’s just say it’s all due to the weight of secrets and leave it at that.

Have yourself a lovely day, now. Okay?

a brief excerpt

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 11:38:35 -0700

Here are more words someone else wrote. This time the writer is Kevin Brockmeier and the book is The Brief History of the Dead.

The dead were often surprised by such memories. They might go weeks or months without thinking of the houses and neighborhoods they had grown up in, their triumphs of shame and glory, the jobs, routines, and hobbies that had slowly eaten away their lives, yet the smallest, most inconsequential episode would leap into their thoughts a hundred times a day, like a fish smacking its tail on the surface of a lake. The old woman who begged for quarters in the subway remembered eating a meal of crab cakes and horseradish on a dock by Chesapeake Bay. The man who lit the gas lamps in the theater district remembered taking a can of beans from the middle of a supermarket display pyramid and feeling a flicker of pride when the other cans did not fall. Andreas Andreopoulos, who had written code for computer games the whole forty years of his adult life, remembered leaping to pluck a leaf from a tree, and opening a fashion magazine to smell the perfume inserts, and writing his name in the condensation on a glass of beer. They preoccupied him - these formless, almost clandestine memories. They seemed so much heavier than they should have been, as if they were where the true burden of his life’s meaning lay. He sometimes thought of piecing them together into an autobiography, all the toy-sized memories that had replaced the details of his work and family, leaving everything else out. He would write it by hand on sheets of unlined notebook paper. he would never touch a computer again.