So, I missed Friday’s post.

I suppose in the long scheme of things, missing one post isn’t so bad for a blog. Just don’t want to do it too much. You want to establish to your audience (big or small) that you can keep to a schedule and deliver.

Kind of like professional writing heeeeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Back on topic, the reason I missed Friday’s post was because I took my nephews to Phoenix Comic Con-er, Fest-er, Fan Fusion?

It’s a comic con. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

What’s become a yearly tradition to indulge myself in all my nerdy fandoms has become something more for me in the last two years: business. In my quest to become an author (possible name for my upcoming auto-biography), I’ve met some amazing, creative people. Not just authors, but amateur comic book writers, artists, craftsmen, and some of the most inventive and creatively-inspiring individuals ever. I usually walk away from con feeling more inspired and ready to work than I do the rest of the year.

Then, then next day comes.


Here I am.

Con (any con really, it doesn’t have to just be Phoenix) is a creative atmosphere that charges your veins and makes you think, “I should be doing more! This person worked so hard on their craft, I need to match theirs with mine! If they spent 15 hours on that painting to turn into a print to sell at con, then I should put that much effort into my short story! Yeah!

Then I go home and pass out on my couch with a chunk of pizza in my mouth from the exhaustion of walking 10 miles in one day on the convention show floor.

The key is find a way to lock down that feeling, that creative adrenaline supershot, and never let it go. If there’s those days when I feel the words don’t come, block it out and write.

Even now, I’m writing this 45 minutes before my family comes over for a Memorial Day BBQ. Nothing should prevent me from remembering that for three days I was surrounded by some of the hardest working people who love their craft so much they’re willing to put up with the bureaucracy of purchasing a table, setting up their booth, bringing in all their prints and merchandise, and selling their work for four straight days to total strangers.

Everything I do should be how they do.

On a completely random side note, I got to meet and talk with a few of my personal writing heroes. Chuck Wendig. Delilah S. Dawson. Sylain Neuvel. I choked and didn’t say anything when meeting Delilah, talked with Chuck about the weather for probably MUCH too long, and called Sylvain by his preferred name, “John Stone.”

Also, Myke Cole called me his new best friend.

All in all, a great weekend.