218. Another Post About Grace

I write a lot about grace. You may have noticed.

I suppose the reason I write so much about grace is that I’m amazed—staggered—almost incredulous—that God puts up with us. I sin. I struggle with selfishness and pride and insecurity every freaking day. Besides my personal faults, I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the myriad pressures and responsibilities of life. Have I mentioned my chronic struggle with anxiety and depression?

Yeah, life can be a mess.

Throughout this messy life of mine, I have often hoped to attain a sort of near-perfection. Someday, I thought, I will get it together once and for all. There will be no more insecurities, sins or mistakes. I hoped to reach a kind of godly plateau, a spiritual condition with very little room for improvement. With God’s help, I will finally get things right.

I know now that’s not going to happen.

Last month, I spent an amazing week relaxing with my family by a lake. It was a sabbath rest: seven days packed with blessings. I felt refreshed and strengthened by that week. My time at the lake was, I felt sure, a cure for at least some of my problems, and the beginning of a better, brighter chapter of my life.

It wasn’t.

The next two weeks were rough. Work was hard. For several days, I blundered through a fog of anxiety and depression. It was almost as though the week at the lake had never happened.

In the end, of course, God helped me through those weeks. That was no surprise. Whatever my problems, God never fails to help me—and that’s the point.

I don’t think I’m ever really going to get it together. I shall always struggle. Perfect holiness and complete awesomeness will elude me. Until I shuffle off this mortal coil, I’ll have problems.

In my experience, God doesn’t make us self-sufficient. He helps us do better. He helps us be better. When we inevitably make mistakes, he forgives.

As much as I wish I could get it together and keep it together, I don’t believe I ever shall.

It is well, then, that our God is a God of grace.

216. Lance Eliot Is Dead

This is a hard post to write.

I suppose I should start with a clarification. Lance Eliot isn’t completely dead. He’s mostly dead. As the creepy old man from The Princess Bride reminds us, “There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead.”

Long ago, I resolved to write and publish a novel. I wanted to be an author. It was my dream. For years, I worked on several versions of a story about a college student named Lance Eliot and his unexpected adventures in another world.

I sort of succeeded more than a year ago with the publication of The Trials of Lance Eliot, the first novel in a trilogy called The Eliot Papers. I had done it! I was a novelist! The first book was published, and all that was left was to finish its two sequels.

The Trials of Lance Eliot

At the moment, I don’t think I can.

For nearly eight years, Lance Eliot’s story has been my greatest passion as a writer. I’ve invested so much in it. I want to have it finished. It hurts to abandon it.

All the same, I think the time has come for me to let it go.

To clarify: I don’t intend to abandon The Eliot Papers forever. I hope to finish the trilogy someday. It just won’t happen anytime soon.

Most of my readers probably don’t care, but I know a few have enjoyed The Trials of Lance Eliot and want to read its sequels. I owe those readers an explanation and an apology.

The apology is shorter, so I’ll start there.

I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.

If you’ve enjoyed The Trials of Lance Eliot and want to know the rest of Lance’s story, feel free to contact me with questions. I’m happy to share plot details with readers who want to know how Lance’s story ends.

As for the explanation: I think Hergé, the creator of The Adventures of Tintin, put it best: “Right now, my work makes me sick. Tintin is no longer me . . . If Tintin continues to live, it is through a sort of artificial respiration that I must constantly keep up and which is exhausting me.”

At this time, I feel the same about Lance Eliot as Hergé felt about Tintin. I love the character and his world and his story. I simply can’t keep them up. They’re exhausting me. What began as a dream has become a burden.

I have other reasons for setting aside The Eliot Papers. I have a job and a blog and many other commitments. I sometimes suffer from depression. At the best of times, writing fiction is hard. Working on a massive project like The Eliot Papers is exhausting and stressful. The addition burden of author stuff—updating a book blog, maintaining a Facebook page, gathering reviews and promoting my writing—is simply more than I can handle.

There is one final problem: The Trials of Lance Eliot hasn’t sold well. I regret to say the novel hasn’t even recouped the money its publisher invested in its publication. This is mostly my fault; I should have been much more active in promoting the book. All the same, it’s definitely a deterrent from investing endless time and effort in sequels.

In the end, I was left with two options. I could, in addition to many other commitments, keep working on The Eliot Papers: an exhausting, discouraging project without much chance of success. My other option was to let it go.

After much coffee and even more careful, prayerful consideration, I’ve chosen the second option.

My publisher has graciously accepted my decision. I’ve already deleted the book’s blog and my Goodreads author page. My Facebook author page is in the process of being deleted, and I’ve made many tweaks to this blog to eliminate inconsistencies and links to sites that no longer exist.

My decision to let go of The Eliot Papers has left me sad and discouraged. It’s hard to see a dream die. At the same time, I feel free. My life has become simpler. I can work on other projects, and I can spend free time reading and gaming without feeling guilty. That vague, constant burden of anxiety is gone. I can be a writer again without being an author.

Lance Eliot’s story has been quite a journey for us both. Working on The Eliot Papers taught me pretty much everything I know about writing. It was exciting, challenging, fulfilling and fun. In spite of its discouragements and failures, I thank God for The Eliot Papers. It was definitely an adventure.

Lance Eliot isn’t all dead, and I hope he returns someday.

For now, though, I have my own life to live.

214. Green Pastures, Quiet Waters and Hot Coffee

About a week ago, I read Psalm 23 in my reluctant journey through the Psalms. (I don’t care much for the emotional poetry of the Psalms; I prefer the dry wit of Proverbs and philosophy of Ecclesiastes.) You’ve probably heard the twenty-third psalm, the famous Shepherd Psalm, at some point: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.”

The past few weeks had been challenging. Work had worn me out. My car had issues. I suffered from depression and couldn’t get enough sleep. Life was busy, stressful and complicated. For weeks, I struggled to keep it together.

On that peaceful Sunday morning a week ago, I found Psalm 23 encouraging… in a mild, abstract sort of way. “He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.” It sounded pretty, sure, but it seemed too vague and poetic to be really comforting.

A few hours later, I found myself here:

IMG_1496

Green pastures beside quiet waters, and also hot coffee. I didn’t expect that.

A kindly gentleman from my older brother’s church rented a cabin by a lake for me and my family. We spent an entire week boating, swimming, kayaking, stargazing, watching movies, playing video games, going for walks, drinking coffee, devouring roasted marshmallows and simply hanging out.

My parents live in Uruguay, so we hardly ever have the entire family in one place at the same time. To have my family together for an entire week was awesome, and our cabin by the lake was so darn nice. I felt like a very rich person… and a very blessed one.

Well, I’m back. My vacation is done. I’ve returned to my apartment, my job, my faulty car and all the challenges, trials and responsibilities of my life.

You know what? I’m okay with that.

The Lord is my shepherd, and I shall not be in want.

210. TMTF Gets It Together

Confession: For the past two weeks, I’ve been struggling to keep it together.

(Can I confess stuff on my blog? Are bloggers allowed to do that?)

Work has been oddly exhausting. My younger brother recently moved in with me, which has been awesome… and a bit stressful for both of us. My car, Tribulation, lived up to its name and stopped working properly. (Well, Trib never quite worked properly, but it generally came close enough.) I will probably have to pay for expensive repairs or else buy a new car.

Even my typewriter monkeys are still on strike. (I’m typing out this post myself: grueling hard work.) My monkeys keep waving signs at me and threatening to break my coffeepot if I don’t meet their demands, which mostly involve bananas and health insurance.

For two weeks, I’ve felt overwhelmed by changes and difficulties and responsibilities. Mild anxiety has repeatedly given way to discouragement or quiet panic.

Times like these never last, thank God. I’m finally getting it together. As usual, there was no magical moment, abrupt epiphany or blinding revelation that fixed everything instantly. Getting it together has taken work, prayer, sleep, coffee and this post from Amy Green, whose blog is way better than mine.

I was planning to discuss Christian evangelism or Scott Pilgrim today, but those posts can wait. Today is a good day to talk about what’s going on in our lives.

So what’s going on in your life? Let us know in the comments!

201. And We’re Back!

My typewriter monkeys have dusted off their typewriters. I’ve brewed some coffee, fired up my laptop and spent roughly half an hour trying to think of a really clever way to start off this blog post.

Ah, it’s good to be back.

Truth be told, I really needed the break. TMTF had become an obligation, and getting away from it for a few weeks was exactly what I needed to renew my enthusiasm for rambling about faith, writing, video games, literature, life, the universe and everything.

Having cherished a private hope that my typewriter monkeys would make their month-long vacation in Tijuana a permanent stay, I was disappointed. My monkeys have returned. They brought back a baffling collection of souvenirs: three sacks of coconuts, a Velvet Elvis and a hideous false mustache. (I know better than to ask questions.) My monkeys are annoyed to be back, and I’m annoyed they’re back, so at least we agree on something.

In other news, my break gave me an opportunity to make plans for my writing.

At some point, for example, I may put Geeky Wednesdays on hold for a dozen weeks and republish The Infinity Manuscript as a serial. Hardly anyone has read The Infinity Manuscript, which is rather a shame. I put quite a lot of work into it. Rerunning the story seems like a great option if I become temporarily too busy to handle the pressure of writing new Geeky Wednesday posts every week.

I didn’t exactly devote my month off to soul-searching, but it hit me more clearly than ever before that I need to have a better, brighter outlook. I’m a pessimist. As often as I’ve pointed out the importance of being positive, I haven’t been consistent in having a hopeful attitude.

Few things are drearier than forcing or faking cheerfulness. Artificial happiness is a poor alternative to honest pessimism. Father Brown, G.K. Chesterton’s great detective, called an outlook of false optimism “a cruel religion.”

It finally struck me that having a cheerful outlook is not the same as merely pretending to be cheerful. Without making the slightest effort to feel a certain way, I can choose to focus on the positive over the negative instead of succumbing to Batman Syndrome and letting the negative eclipse everything else.

All this to say: I’ve been more positive lately. It’s nice. I recommend it.

The past year was an adventure. I found a job, settled down, learned some invaluable lessons, ate a lot of cookies and discovered coffee tastes great with bourbon.

This was the year I grew up.

I remain grateful to God for bringing me so far, excited to press onward and upset with my typewriter monkeys for cluttering up my apartment with coconuts. I wish they had stayed in Tijuana.

200. TMTF RAP BATTLE!

My typewriter monkeys have finally revealed their sinister plans for this blog’s two hundredth post. They’ve hired some guy called Ice Kream to humiliate me in a rap battle. I’m not sure what a rap battle is, but I know one thing.

This is my blog, and I will defend it!

I should have seen this coming. Oh, well. Live and learn.

I want to thank Kevin McCreary from The Ceiling Fan Podcast. I sent him an email asking to use a rap beat he’d written for his show; he replied by offering to write a brand-new beat and record guest lyrics for this rap battle. His generosity is amazing, and it has been an honor to work with him.

To hear more excellent music from Kevin and the Ceiling Fan crew, check out M’Kalister Park, a silly and wonderful album available on Amazon.com. I highly recommend it, especially if you’ve ever listened to Adventures in Odyssey.

Next, a word to my typewriter monkeys: If you ever do this again, I will donate you to the zoo. That is all.

I would like to thank my father for supporting this blog since before it began. His fantastic artwork, lavish encouragement and gentle criticism have been extremely helpful. Thanks, old man. You’re a Stout Fella.

I’m truly grateful to everyone else who has supported TMTF by writing guest posts, sharing artwork, leaving comments, celebrating Be Nice to Someone on the Internet Day, following the blog, adding it to their blogrolls, linking to it via social media or simply reading it. I deeply appreciate every bit of support!

I guess I should give a shout out to my typewriter monkeys—Sophia, Socrates, Plato, Hera, Penelope, Aristotle, Apollo, Euripides, Icarus, Athena, Phoebe and Aquila—for occasionally helping out with this blog. Thanks, guys.

TMTF ain’t much, but soli Deo gloria all the same.

I’m not sure what lies ahead for this blog. Heck, I haven’t the slightest idea of what my own future holds.

As always, I’m comforted by these words from the old hymn: “Through many trials, toils and snares I have already come. ‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”

I believe it, and I hope TMTF will be there to chronicle every serious, strange and silly thing along the way.

TMTF shall return on August 9, 2013. In the meantime, please feel free to check out my novel, past posts in the Archive or the fantasy novella I published as a serial on this blog.

Thanks for reading! We’ll be back!

197. A Brief History of TMTF

I had to delve into the shadowed depths of my email archives, but I managed to pinpoint the exact day in history when the concept for this blog came to be.

On September 10, 2010 I sent a Kicking Cricket—one of my personal newsletters—that contained the following paragraphs.

My first step to kicking a Cricket is to experience an amusing/interesting/uncomfortable event. I then assemble my elite team of typewriter monkeys and explain exactly what happened.

“All right,” I say, “I want you all to take notes. Socrates, put down your typewriter. Thank you. Now, I was at the Acorn this morning—Hermes, stop poking Odysseus. If you two can’t sit next to each other without fighting I’m going to separate you. As I was saying, I was at the Acorn when a fellow came in with a girl riding on his shoulders. I’d never seen anything like it. For the last time, Socrates, put down the typewriter! So a chap came in carrying his girlfriend and ordered a meal. I want you to—Heracles! If I see you pinch Helen one more time, I’m going to be very angry.”

And so forth, until my TMTF (Typewriter Monkey Task Force) types out a draft of something that is readable and doesn’t bend the facts too much. I revise the draft, type it into my computer and send it forth to be read by my beloved family.

I didn’t intend my Typewriter Monkey Task Force to be anything more than a silly joke, but before long my monkeys were creeping into nearly every one of my newsletters.

These emails, which were titled Kicking Crickets and later renamed Closet Vikings after my favorite fake names for rock bands, consisted largely of the kinds of ramblings I post on this blog. From book reviews to spiritual reflections, my Crickets and Vikings shared my thoughts on, well, faith, writing, video games, literature, life, the universe and everything.

My typewriter monkeys quickly became a running gag. Their second appearance introduced their habit of striking frequently, and later emails showed the TMTF breaking typewriters, misusing fireworks and conducting scientific research to prove that “resemblance to Winston Churchill is a trait manifested by most healthy babies of European descent.”

Around the time I started the typewriter monkey gag in my newsletters, I discovered a hilariously funny blog called Stuff Christians Like that poked fun at the quirkiness of Christian culture. I’m a curmudgeon when it comes to a lot of religious stuff, so I loved it.

Many months later, I stumbled upon a letter to Jon Acuff, the blogger behind Stuff Christians Like. The writer of the letter had been disillusioned by the empty, dreary religious clutter surrounding God. Stuff Christians Like restored her faith by showing her how Christianity could be funny, happy and hopeful. By presenting serious insights in a comical way, Jon Acuff’s blog changed her life.

I finished reading the letter and came to a decision. Somewhere out there, I mused, is a person whose life can be changed by stupid typewriter monkey gags.

I was joking… well, sort of.

I decided to start a blog.

Right from the beginning, I knew what its theme and title would be: Typewriter Monkey Task Force, a blog about… well… anything.

After obtaining a fantastic header illustration from my old man, I spent a panicked week figuring out the WordPress blogging system and setting up my blog. On August 27, 2011, TMTF blundered hopefully onto the Internet landscape.

There have been many changes since. The blog’s original three-post-a-week schedule was reduced to two posts, and later supplemented by weekly installments of a novella I wrote as a serial. Following the novella’s conclusion, the schedule reverted to two posts until the recent introduction of Geeky Wednesdays. I also posted some random creative writing and a series of posts covering the basics of Christian living.

Types of posts have come and gone. Old features like the Turnspike Emails were cut, replaced by new ones such as Why [Insert Author Name] Is Awesome. Several writers and bloggers have shared guest posts, and I’ve been privileged to work with some incredibly generous, talented people.

Did I mention that my readers are awesome? Because they are.

You are.

For almost two years, TMTF has been a blessing to me. Certain posts have forced me to reconsider some of my views and beliefs. A few posts have permitted me, a reserved, introverted person, to share my struggles and vent my feelings openly. Many posts have been therapeutic, encouraging or simply fun to write.

Sure, keeping this blog’s deadlines has been stressful. No, TMTF hasn’t had the same phenomenal impact as greater blogs. Yes, my typewriter monkeys are often a nuisance.

All the same, I remain thankful for Typewriter Monkey Task Force.

195. Faith, Hope and Tea

There was once an old sage named Iroh. His wisdom was tempered by many sorrows and crowned with a compassionate heart, an affable nature and a passionate love of tea.

Needless to say, Iroh is one of my heroes.

Iroh

Iroh may be merely a character in Avatar: The Last Airbender, a television show, but his wisdom has left a strong impression on me nonetheless. In previous posts, I’ve shared his views on the futility of regret, the importance of seeking insight from many sources and the value of accepting help from others.

“Life is like this dark tunnel,” Iroh once remarked as he and a companion walked along a gloomy underground passage. “You may not always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you keep moving, you will come to a better place.”

Earlier this year, I found myself in a dark tunnel of my own. The posts on this blog took a dismal turn, covering subjects like depression. Then, far ahead, I thought I saw a glimmer of light. A long, dark winter surrendered to the beauty of spring. The trees outside my apartment exploded into sprays of pink blossoms. I renewed my hope that things would get better.

Thank God, things have definitely gotten better.

I won’t go into all the details, but I will share a few of the things that have made a positive difference in my life in past weeks.

I’m back on a consistent schedule

After months of bouncing between daytime and nighttime shifts at two different workplaces, I have returned to my ordinary schedule at my usual workplace. Not having to invert my sleep pattern every few weeks is a great relief!

Speaking of which…

I’m getting more sleep

In past years, I assumed I needed about eight hours of sleep every night, and averaged between seven and eight. However, the aforementioned changes to my work schedule (and my consequent sleep deprivation) forced me to reconsider how much sleep I need.

I concluded I require about nine hours of sleep every night, and I have since averaged between eight and nine. That extra hour of sleep has made a huge difference. I’ve had more energy, and my waking hours have been more productive. Bouts with depression have been milder and less frequent. Getting more sleep has been a tremendous blessing.

I’m being more consistent in fulfilling commitments and goals

Instead of using fatigue or depression as excuses to be undisciplined, I’ve been more consistent in getting stuff done. The more I practice self-discipline, the easier it becomes. It’s satisfying and empowering—and quite a relief—to fulfill commitments promptly.

I’m trying to be pragmatic

I tend to be neurotic. My anxieties have anxieties, as Charlie Brown would say. These are joined by all kinds of insecurities, doubts and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I continue learning how not to get tangled up in all that wibbly-wobbly, feely-weely stuff, and how instead to live with the sort of simple, efficient pragmatism that comes from relying upon the grace of God: to win those battles with anxiety and insecurity by choosing not to fight them.

Which brings me to my final point.

I’m doing my best to live by grace

Yes, I write a lot about grace. I often struggle to understand that God not only forgives my sins, but bears with me patiently through my endless struggles with insecurity, depression and selfishness. No matter how dismal life seems, this promise remains: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Quoth Iroh, “You may not always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you keep moving, you will come to a better place.”

Step by step, I’m getting there.

190. A Conversation with Lance Eliot

This is a conversation with a character from my book, The Trials of Lance Eliot. Although it may appear strange for someone to speak with a fictional person, it is entirely normal for writers to converse with their characters. At least, I really hope it is.

Nice to see you, Adam.

Gah! Where did you come from?

Los Angeles, originally—or are you wondering how I got into your flat?

Yes, that’s it. Who are you? What the heck are you doing in my apartment?

Really, Adam. I’m Lance Eliot. I thought you of all people would recognize me.

Ah, sorry about that. I’ve actually don’t have a clear mental picture of you.

You haven’t? Hang it, Adam, you’re the chap writing my blasted story. You’ve really no idea of what I look like?

Excessive physical description is a sign of poor characterization. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Whatever you say.

Why are you here? My characters don’t usually drop in on me. Well, there was that one time Innocent came over for coffee and—Lance Eliot, put that down!

Don’t fret. You were the one who gave me a fighting staff, remember? I know how to use it.

That’s exactly what worries me. Will you please stop showing off? I’m not comfortable watching you wave that thing around. This apartment is full of breakable objects, including me. Please put down the weapon before someone gets hurt. And by someone, I mean Adam.

All right, I’ll put it away.

How the heck did you get here, anyway? I left you in Rovenia. That’s a long way from here. A really long way.

Maia sent me. You should have thought twice before giving one of your characters the ability to bounce people between dimensions by magic.

Well, I had to get you out of the real world and into my world somehow. Magic seemed like a good explanation at the time. I didn’t think you’d use it to get back into the real world. Why did Maia send you?

We’re all very bored, Adam.

What?

You’ve stranded us. For nearly an entire year, we’ve been stuck in that quaint little town—

What was it called?

You don’t even remember? God help me, the person writing my story is an idiot.

That’s a bit harsh.

The town is called Hurst, Adam. We’re all ready to go. We’ve been ready for months. Don’t tell me you’ve interrupted my life with another deuced adventure only to put it on hold indefinitely!

Not indefinitely. I’m working on it. Slowly.

See here, Adam, I’m concerned. We all are. As long as you put off writing the story, we’re never going to find—

Quiet! You’re giving away plot details.

And this time, I’m not the only person you’ve involved. You’ve dragged someone else into this dreadful adventure, and she—

Stop! I won’t have you blurting out your own story.

Then answer me, Adam. If I don’t tell the story, who will?

Lance, the past year has been… busy. My life is crowded with responsibilities. It’s hard for me to sit and write for hours on end, especially when I consider how few copies I’ve sold of your book. Writing is uphill work. And I may not deal with dragons or sorcerers, but I do suffer from depression sometimes. I know that’s a problem to which you can relate.

Yes. I can.

I have a blog now, too! It takes a lot of work, and my typewriter monkeys drive me crazy, but it’s totally worth it. The problem is that the blog has deadlines, and… your story doesn’t. I’ll get it written. Just give me time.

I haven’t much, you know.

You have enough. Now then, I have a blog post to finish. Say hello to everyone for me, will you?

By the way, Cog asked me to ask you to make him taller.

I refuse to pander to my characters. Tell him he’s tall enough.

All right, then. I guess it’s time for me to slip away. Keep writing, won’t you?

And he’s gone. How did he do that? How do they ever do that? Ah, well. Lance Eliot is a good fellow—though I regret giving him a weapon. No writer should ever be threatened by one of his own characters. Any future heroes will have to be pacifists, I guess. Now then, back to work!

189. Death

I work in a group home for gentlemen with mental and physical disabilities. Of these gentlemen, by far the most interesting was the middle-aged man called James Joyce.

(In this blog post, all names have been changed for reasons of privacy.)

James Joyce, who very pragmatically addressed me as “Man With Glasses,” suffered from extreme obsessive-compulsive disorder and one or two other psychological conditions. He also had a few physical problems, and—I can only guess—heart trouble.

He drove us all crazy with his manic behavior and cranky attitude, but James Joyce also made us laugh. A hot pink Disney princess poster brightened up his bedroom. He often warned me, “The Boogerman’s gonna getcha!” James Joyce constantly demanded all kinds of snacks, and occasionally pounded the floor with his shoe to kill nonexistent spiders.

More poignantly, he sometimes asked me, “Are we very good friends?” On one occasion, when I was particularly out of temper with him, he broke a long silence by saying in a still, small voice, “You’re nice.”

On a Monday afternoon a few weeks ago, James Joyce helped me mix up batter for corn muffins as I prepared supper at work. He later tried snatching a water balloon out of someone’s hand. It exploded and left him wet and squawking in indignation. When I left work, he was being as much of a nuisance as ever.

Early the next morning, James Joyce passed away of heart failure.

Death is a sobering subject. We’re reluctant to discuss it, and when we do we generally change subjects as quickly as possible. Perhaps the reason it makes us uncomfortable is that we know there is no getting away from it. Death is a guest whom no locked door can keep out.

I’m truly thankful never to have suffered the loss of a loved one. My family and friends are alive and well. My experience with death is mostly limited to killing off fictional characters, which is nothing. To claim I know something about death because I’m a writer is like pretending I’m an expert on literary scholarship because I’ve read a picture book.

There’s a common saying: I’m too young to die!

That’s idiotic. No one is too young to die.

Responding to that old cliche, I can only echo the words of an incidental character from Avatar: The Last Airbender and say: I’m not, but I still don’t want to!

In the end, however, I’m ready—not eager, but ready. If I today shuffled off this mortal coil, I’d leave some books unwritten and a dozen typewriter monkeys unemployed and many thousands of liters of coffee undrunk. It would be a bit of a disappointment for me, and a tragedy for the people who don’t mind having me around.

Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?

I guess the sting of death falls mostly upon those left behind.

God rest your soul, James Joyce. I’ll always be wary of the Boogerman.