Percy Jackson and Me

 

I stumbled upon Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief when it first came out. It was a total happy accident, because I absolutely loved it! I’ve been a huge mythology nerd since I was a kid. thought, “I should have written this book,” “I could have written this book,” and “How did I not come up with this idea?”

In The Lightning Thief, my favorite character was actually Luke (just a quick refresher: Luke Castellan was a demigod like Percy, Annabeth, and the other kids at Camp Half-Blood — who went from being friends to enemies). I liked Luke because I could relate to him. 

Like Luke and the other demigods, I grew up not knowing my birth father, and it had a profound effect on me. Nowadays, a single-parent home is not a big deal, but when I was growing up it was quite scandalous -- especially since my mother was rather young

I was angry and resentful, just like Luke (I admit that I still am.). I not only identified with Luke's anger but his sadness too, his insecurity and feelings of worthlessness and wanting nothing more than his father to look at him and call him his son. (Still do.) I can identify with that kind of pain and know firsthand that, if left unrecognized, it can lead you to make destructive choices.

I channeled a lot of these feelings into Colin Caulfield, the protagonist of The Fifth Cycle: A New Hero is Forged and the upcoming The Fifth Cycle: Lost Gods. It's been a cathartic process so far, channeling a lot of the emotions I experience as a boy (and a man) through Colin -- the anger, the bitterness, the sorrow, the insecurity. I lived with a void in my life. I walked around with a piece of myself missing.

I did end up connecting with my birth father not too long ago, during the COVID years. It happened through Ancestry.com. It started with me contacting a cousin who'd used the website as well and went on from there. I was excited to talk to him, and we texted back and forth for a while. Little moments. But they turned out to be so meaningful. I found we were a lot alike. We were both sci-fi nerds and preferred cats over dogs. We traded pictures. Most of my life, all I've heard was how much I looked like my mom. But seeing that picture of my birth father, I saw a lot of my own features staring back at me. I felt a connection on a biological level.

He tried to explain to me how he and my mother were never "boyfriend and girlfriend." I already knew that and didn't care. He also shared his reasons for not being in my life -- without going into a lot of detail, let's just say they were pretty selfless. I was okay with that. I would have simply loved having him in my life in some way shape or form.

Oh, and he lived in the same state at me! Arizona. So as COVID cleared up, we made plans to meet. He sounded excited. During one of our first conversations, he said he did want to meet me. That day, he texted to tell me he couldn't make it. He was having back problems. I told him it was okay, and that we could try again.

I left the ball in his court and waited for him to contact me when he was ready. I never heard from him. I thought about contacting him -- but that seemed so desperate. I guess I also wanted him to be the one to reach out, to make an effort -- like I had. I mean, we were both grown men. But he was supposed to be the "father" in the relationship.

I have to admit now that I was afraid to try to reach out to him -- afraid of what he'd say (I had a sinking suspicion that he'd made up the excuse about his back-problems.). I didn't want to be rejected by him twice.

So, between therapy and writing The Fifth Cycle books, I've been able to reconcile a lot of these troubling emotions that have held me back. So far, it's consisted of a lot of introspection, real emotions I've experienced, and some wish-fulfillment over how I wish my reunion with my own birth father could have gone. With spoiling too much, I can proudly say that Colin with have a relationship with his father. It won't be easy though, for either of them.

I hope you'll join Colin (and me) on this journey. The Fifth Cycle: A New Hero is Forged is currently for sale on Amazon (as an ebook) for 99 cents and will remain at that price until after Labor Day. The second book in the series, The Fifth Cycle: Lost Gods, is due to be released in time for the Holidays.

Take care, everyone,

Your friend,

Dan

Meet the Inklings

 If you recognize the name "the Inklings," congratulation on being serious fantasy book-nerd -- and I mean that as a sincere compliment, I really do. 

The original Inklings were an informal writing/literature studies group that met at Oxford University during the 1930s and 1940s. Its two most famous members were J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. 

I'm not the first person to start a writing club and name it after the Inklings. I'm just the latest. I consider mine the "local chapter." This last school year, the club proved very popular. There were little over twenty members -- grades 3 through 6. Although, I later added a very talented second grader. She actually has three books for sale on Amazon, and I'm confident there will be more in the future. She is amazing! 

So is her older brother. Over the course of six months, this kid wrote ten stories -- each one was over ten pages each. His stories are insanely creative and original. They're "juvenile."  I mean, he is only eleven -- although very mature for his age. But I would have to say his stories are deliberately "juvenile" -- but not in a simple, crude or silly way. It's just the opposite. His stories possess intelligence, wit, and a sense of satire.

Another one of my Inklings, a young lady, has an amazing command of language and storytelling. It's like she absorbed, through osmosis, how to write. She was a sixth grader, like the boy I mentioned earlier, so that means I'll be losing them to junior high, but I've told them "Once an Inkling, always an Inkling," and that they can send me any new writing any time they want. 

This club has been a blessing to me. It has been a joy getting to share my passion with talented newbies and help them develop that talent. But on a deeper level, it's an amazing feeling to be the type of mentor for these kids that I never had growing up -- and desperately wished I'd had. 

In fact, that missing piece of my life growing up, is what inspired me to focus on gifted education.

More to come,

Take care,

Dan

A Much Needed Change

For those who read the newsletter I sent out earlier this week, my unexpected and prolonged absence was due to me getting a gifted teaching position. It could not have come at a better time and was indeed an early birthday present from the Universe.

Since the Pandemic, I'd taken a break from classroom teaching to work on my writing and to study marketing. For the two and a half years prior to landing my new job, I was the site-based emergency sub at a K-8 school in South Phoenix. The money was great, and I didn't have to take any work home with me.

I showed up at the same school everyday, and if a substitute teacher did not show up I stepped in. If I wasn't needed to that capacity, I would support other teachers on campus. I didn't think much of the job at first. It was just a way to make money. However, the administration and staff, in the beginning, made me feel very appreciated so I decided to stay on. Unfortunately, that did not last. 

I considered myself to be very professional and sincerely wanted to help out. However, let's just say, I learned a lesson in setting boundaries. During those last few months at that school, I went from feeling appreciated to being taken for granted. I also realized that, despite the facet I'd been there longer than some staff members, I was always going to be "just a sub."

One of the turning points came when I was assigned to support the overpopulated sixth grade class (who were chockful of attitude by the way) for multiple days a week -- without the courtesy of being consulted first. I also had to find out about it in an email -- that wasn't even directed to me. I was Cc'd on it, along with the sixth grade teacher and members of administration, stating that I WILL be assisting this teacher on a regular basis. My first response was to reply -- I will?

The big ONE came when I was asked to help support the custodians during lunch time one afternoon. In other words, help clean up after class after class of messy kids. I drew a line, stating I AM NOT A CUSTODIAN. The admin' agreed, and I was never asked to do anything like that again. Incidentally, I wasn't an employee of the school district. Instead, I worked for an outside agency. My supervisor had my back and told me I was not supposed to engage in any duties that were outside of my job description -- such as cleaning up after messy students during lunch time.

In past entries, I've been open about my struggles with depression. That job was not helping. My depression flared up on a pretty regular basis as I grew tired of being seen as little more than the school's "enforcer" and babysitter of "behaviorally-challenged" students. I had a lot more to offer, and this school was not interested in capitalizing on it. This actually turned out to be a breakthrough of sorts. I've questioned my self-worth over the years, but I was finally forced into a situation where I had to really believe in myself, what I was capable of, and what I was truly worth in order to thrive and make a much needed change in my life.

So at least one good thing came out of that .

(TO BE CONTINUED) 

              “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”

                                                                     -  T.S. Eliot 

It came out of Africa centuries ago and has since established a foothold in every part of the world. For most people in the world, coffee is an elixir vitae. They are not the same unless they have had that first cup of rich, black stuff after they have gotten out of bed. They cannot start their day without it. Coffee is a social-thing too, a reason for friends and family to get together. However, for writers, famous and unknown, coffee takes on an even greater level of importance.

If you write on a timetable or a schedule, coffee helps get your primed and focused to fill up that blank computer screen. Yes, I sing the praises of that blessed caffeine-kick. However, at least for me, there is more to it than that. For me, coffee is a meditation. Drinking it is a multi-sensory experience. For starters, there is that heavenly scent. That’s often enough to wake you up on its own – especially if it’s freshly ground. 

As I raise my cup, I pay attention to the warmth of the cup and then take a moment to breathe in that rich scent. I pour it slowly toward my lips, well aware of its delicious heat and making sure I get just enough of it in each sip, so I don’t burn myself. Then, there’s the taste. I drink my coffee black, the way the gods meant for it to be consumed, so we’ll say the taste is – let’s call it jarring. With each sip, I start thinking about what I need to write. Halfway through the cup, I’m ready to begin, and I have the focus needed to see me through that round of writing.

There is this romanticized notion that writers and other artists need to wait to be inspired before they can create anything. Ha! Even the greats will laugh in the face of this. Jack London was famous for saying, “You can’t wait for inspiration, you have to go after it with a club.”

Well then, I say let coffee be your muse, your inspiration. Halfway through that first cup, you’re going to be alert and focused, and you’re already sitting at your computer so you might as well give it go. See what happens. You might be surprised.  

Let’s not forget, that without coffee, we wouldn’t have coffee houses. They bring writers, these mostly solitary creatures, out of their lairs and into the bright light of day. Coffee houses are great places to meet other writers, share your works in progress and give each other feedback. 

It’s also a great place to bear down and get some writing done. I can only speak for myself when I say that sometimes writing at home can get dull. There are also too many available distractions. When I write at a coffee house though, I’m definitely more focused. I’m there for a purpose, and I do not leave my seat until I’ve finished whatever writing I have planned on doing for that day.

While doing my research for this post, I read about some very famous coffee houses that legendary writers used to haunt. The Elephant House in Edinburgh, Scotland was a favorite spot for authors Ian Rankin and Alexander McCall-Smith. It’s also where a single mother named J.K. Rowling created a pop culture icon. Vesuvio Café in San Francisco was a gathering place for the poets of the Beat Generation, and Café La Rotande in Paris played host to the likes of Gertrude Stein, F. Scott Fitzgerald, T.S. Eliot, and Ernest Hemingway. I’m tempted to pilgrimage to one of these sacred places with a pen and notebook and see if I catch any residual creative energy left behind by these great authors.

Also, while doing research for this post, I also came across what seems to be an anti-coffee conspiracy. There are heretics out there on the internet that actually believe coffee may actually inhibit creativity. I think those people were never creative to begin with. 

One of these blasphemers did bring up a good point that, often times, great ideas come when you’re not trying or when you’re the middle of another activity. I do agree. This has happened to me quite a bit. However, none of these moments would be possible without those coffee-driven rounds of writing. That is the soil from which these new ideas will later blossom when they are ready. 

Others preached that coffee was a health hazard, a poison that will take years off of your life. Well, tell that to Voltaire. He drank 30-40 cups of coffee a day and lived to be 83. 

DISCLAIMER: I do not recommend drinking 30-40 cups of coffee a day, even though it apparently worked for Voltaire. 

Authors and Cats

RIP Shyanne:

November 2011 - June 2023

Thank you for being our kitty!

I originally published this post in August of 2020 but wanted to rerelease it in honor of our little "Shy-Shy." Her physical presence is missed, but she lives on in our hearts. She's survived by me, my mom, and her sister, Luna.

 “You treat ideas like cats: you make them follow you.” -Ray Bradbury

Authors are drawn to complex characters. That could be why so many authors (famous and those waiting to be famous) love cats.

Ernest Hemingway (East of Eden and so much more) was said to have up to as many as 23 cats living with him at one point. He referred to them as “love sponges” and “purr factories.” Joyce Carol Oates’ (We Were the Mulvaneys)) cat would sit in her lap, keeping her pinned to her chair so she had no choice except to write. I can completely relate. I have had a number of “love sponges” and “purr factories” in my life, and it is indeed, oh so hard to move a cat that has snuggled deeply into your lap.

From a practical standpoint, the cat is an ideal companion for an author. They don’t require to be taken for walks and definitely not as needy or as time consuming as dogs, but it goes deeper than that. Some authors see cats as soulmates in a way. According to Robert Davies (Mindfulness), “Authors like cats because they are such quiet, loveable wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reason.” That makes sense. Cats are pretty discerning about who they choose to hang out with (emphasis on choose). They do tend to steer clear of the loud blowhards out there, who talk constantly and at a very loud volume, and never manage to have anything substantial to say. Can’t say that I blame them.

I want to take this moment to fly in the face of popular opinion and declare that cats are indeed smarter than dogs. The argument often used here is that you can train dogs to do all sorts of tricks and tasks – but not a cat. Well, let’s not forget that dogs are pack creatures and are instinctually inclined to want to please their alpha/owner. To that end, dogs “allow” themselves to be trained, where a cat would never suffer such an indignity. You can train cats to use a litter box and (if you’re lucky) not to scratch the furniture, but as far as fetching, shaking hands, or rolling over, a cat would never stoop so low. Going back to what I wrote earlier about how discerning cats are about the company they choose, dogs are conditioned to come when you call them. A cat will come to you if it wants to, and if you have earned the love and respect of a cat you have indeed earned it, and that is indeed something special.

I have never met two cats that have had identical or even similar personalities. Every cat has a style and a voice of their own. It’s no wonder so many authors have written about cats. Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Bukowski, and Joyce Carol Oates. So far, my favorite literary feline is the Cat in Neil Gaiman’s Coraline, who so brilliantly (and very catlike) states that, “Cats don’t need names. We know who we are.” So true. I want to take this moment to thank all the cats in my life for humoring me by allowing me to give them names, solely for my convenience.

Cats are artists in their own right. You know, if they could, they would write poems, draw and paint, or compose music. And maybe they do, in ways we’re just not aware of yet. Andre Norton (The Time Traders) stated that “Perhaps it is because cats do not live by human standards, do not fit themselves into prescribed behaviors, that they are so united to creative people.” They’re kindred spirits, for sure.

The cat’s mysterious, complex nature often leads to talk of the supernatural. Think about how each cat is a little aloof to its surroundings, as if its mind is focused on higher realms of thought, or how their piercing eyes that seem to see right through whatever they’re focused on, as if they’re penetrating a magic veil that allows them to see the world and everything in it for what it truly is. No wonder they are so closely associated with witches and once worshipped as gods.

I know I’m not the first author to refer to my cat as a muse (Or is it “mews?”). As I sat down to write this blog post, my cat, Luna, decided to join me. In fact, every time I write, she has to join me and graciously allows me room to write at my desk. She may not pin me to my chair the way Oates’ cat does, but something about her presence and her proximity keeps me relaxed and allows ideas to freely flow, and all she ever asks for in return is a little scratching behind the ears.

MY "MEWS" LUNA

So here’s to our feline companions, our kindred spirits, our “mews-es.” We can only speculate upon your true motives about why you choose to love and inspire us as you do, but we will always be grateful for it and never take it for granted.

Authors and Mental Illness

 

This was originally published as "Writers and Mental Illness" in June 2020.

This isn't a very fun subject to discuss, but it's an important one. In my twenties, I was diagnosed with a "Major Depressive Disorder with Anxiety." It has over the years impeded my productivity, which is why I posted this original post -- after having not posted anything for months.

It's so hard explaining depression to people, and that's because depression is a confusing and frustrating condition. It makes no sense. It leaves no outward physical signs. It's all internal. And often I don't know what's going to trigger me until I actually get triggered. All I can do is try to be more careful next time.

I'm also starting to believe everyone's depression is different. It's a shapeshifter. A trickster. Depressives may share some common symptoms such as the negative thinking and feelings of hopelessness, but from what I've experienced we each have a little extra something-something. 

When my depression flares up, it's often accompanied by tension headaches -- I've compared it to having storm clouds in my head. That tension will run all the way down my neck and into my shoulders and back. I'd go as far as to call it physical damage left behind from battling my negative thoughts (aka my demons). That's why depressives get so tired and listless. We've been spending hours and hours fighting with our minds, trying to get them under control again.

Mental illness has been getting more attention these days, which is great. But there are still so many people out there convinced that it's a choice and not a condition. Believe me it's not! I don't choose to fall into such a deep pit of despair where I'm wondering if life is worth living. Who in the hell would actually choose that?

I had some not so great care in the beginning. Most of the "experts" I saw tried to convince me that after a few rounds of medication and a handful of therapy sessions I'd be okay. It wasn't until, later on, I realized that is not the case. This is a condition I'm going to live with for the rest of my life, and I need to learn how to manage it.

I'm not knocking medication. It does serve a purpose. It's the foundation that supports the rest of my treatment. I've heard people knock therapy, saying therapists don't "do anything." Yes, they do. Their job is to get you thinking about your own mind, get you to ask yourself important questions, and help you draw important conclusions. We're not fixing a car. We're talking about the human mind. It's a little more complex than even a combustion engine.

Therapy has helped me greatly. I was lucky to meet a particular therapist who was an expert in EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing).  I made the most growth working with him. He was the first therapist to realize I also suffered from Complex PTSD (the results of a not very happy childhood). 

EMDR basically helps you rewire your brain. After a lifetime of negative and destructive thought patterns, paths literally get carved into your brain. You have no choice but to go down them. You've known nothing else. EMDR has helped me pave over those old paths and helped me forge healthier new ones. 

On top of that, I make sure to get plenty of exercise, eat right, get enough sleep, and maintain that precious work-life balance.

As far as how my depression relates to my creativity ...

There is the romanticized notion of the Tortured Artist, and why not? Many great artists, painters such Vincent Van Gogh and Salvador Dali, and authors such as Ernest Hemingway and Slyvia Plath, have all dealt with some form of mental illness.

In the case of Bipolars, they may be more productive during periods of Mania. There is no conclusive evidence that being mentally ill makes your creative, but there are cases that support the idea that mental illness can aid in creativity. However, it is generally agreed that mental illness does not have to be present for creativity to exist. I've also come across evidence that creative people are more prone to mental illness. Biology is also a factor.

I don't feel qualified to discuss this medically in depth. I can only speak from personal experience. 

I remember one time while I was in a writers' group, I brought up my depression, and a member of group asked if I could "use it" in my writing. The answer is an emphatic no. 

Depression gets in the way of my writing. It gets in the way of EVERYTHING. It often leaves me with no motivation to do anything. In fact, my depression will trigger my imagination and send me spiraling into all sorts of doomsday/worst case scenario thinking. 

Lately though, I've wondered if my depression has influenced my writing on some level. After all, all those dark feelings and thoughts need to be expressed somehow. 

Maybe depression is the flip side of my creativity. When writing, I am pushing my mind to its limits. Maybe the depression is the result of going too far sometimes? It's the price I pay for my creativity.

On the other hand, my creativity -- my stories -- have ended long bouts of depression too. It wasn't easy. I really had to force myself. It was like walking through hell to get to heaven. One of these trips resulted in the completion of my book, Illumina. 

Writing, creating new worlds and characters, fills me with hope. The process, in and of itself, brings me a level of peace and joy nothing else does. At the risk of sounding crazy, I'd go as far as to say that writing is a spiritual experience for me.

So, for anyone out there who is experiencing depression, mania, or anxiety, do not hold it in, ignore it, or think you can simply distract yourself from it, and it will go away. No, it will not go away on its own, although it may seem like it at times. Remember, it's a shapeshifter. A trickster. 

Above all, do not be ashamed of it. There are people out there who will try to invalidate what you're experiencing, saying you're "being oversensitive" or "making a big deal out of nothing." They'll tell you to "just get over it" or "lighten up." Like I said before, they think depression is a choice and not a condition. 

Don't pay any attention to these people. Your thoughts and your feelings are meaningful and valid, despite what others might tell you. Seek professional help and hold on to the people in your life who will truly support you in this process. There is no quick cure. No magic pill. It is ongoing. It can be frustrating and challenging at times, but don’t give up, hang in there. I assure you it is worth it.

Alice Kyteler

.

My first night in Ireland was spent in Kilkenny City. After a few drinks and a great bowl of seafood chowder, I booked a place on the ghost tour of the city. It was very fun, and our guide was very friendly and knowledgeable. One of the stops we made was to Kyteler's Inn, which had been owned by Alice Kyteler, the first woman to ever be accused of witchcraft in Ireland. I was already somewhat familiar with her story. I learned some additional details for our guide.

Alice was born in 1263. She was said to be very attractive and sophisticated. In 1280, she married her first husband -- In 1302, she married her second husband -- in 1309, her third -- and in 1324, her fourth. Each husband died from "illness," except her third one. He was said to have died during a "drunken spree." Each of Alice's husbands were very rich and very successful, and their fortunes went to Alice after they died. 

Early on, people were already accusing Alice of witchcraft -- that was pretty common for independent and financially successful women back then. It was her fourth husband, who brought formal charges against her shortly before he died. Suddenly, witnesses came out of nowhere claiming to have seen Alice and her associates making sacrifices to the Devil and that her large black dog was actually a shapeshifting demon.

Unfortunately for her prosecutor, Richard Ledrede, the bishop of Ossory, Alice had some very influential friends. In fact, she even got Ledrede arrested. He was released by John Darcy, the Lord Chief Justice. However, by then, Alice had fled Ireland and disappeared into history. Sadly, one of her servants was made a scapegoat for her "crimes" and was flogged and burned at the stake.

Our guide shared a theory about the deaths of Alice Kyteler's husbands. Three out of four of them, the ones who took ill before they passed, displayed symptoms associated with arsenic poisoning -- emaciation, fingernails falling off, and hair turning gray and falling out. 

Apparently, arsenic poisoning was not common in that era so medical experts were not able to give a proper diagnosis. Therefore, it was deemed to be the results of witchcraft. So instead of a witch, Alice may have been a "black widow," marrying rich men, killing them, and inheriting their wealth. 

Aside from her story, Alice left behind her inn -- Kyteler's Inn. It was established in 1324. Originally, it was her home, but she expanded it into an inn, where she was said to entertain rich and influential men who showered her with expensive gifts.

I didn't get a chance to visit the inn, but it sounds like an awesome place. Customers are treated to old school charm and 21st Century amenities, live music, and amazing food and drinks. They can even join in comparative whiskey and gin tastings and learn how to make perfect Irish coffee.

Sigh. Maybe next time.

I left a link below for anyone who wants to learn more about Kyteler's Inn. Enjoy!

Kyteler's Inn