Author: Jacob Swift

Swift is a US Postman, writer, RPG player, husband, and father, based in a small town in Louisiana. After ten years of not seeking publication, he’s decided to try again. In the meantime, he works a manual labor job and cares for his family. This blog site is a spot for him to put his notes and thoughts down, as well as brag about his family’s accomplishments.

On switching between stories and attempting to relax

I’ve never been one to talk about or worry about my blood pressure, but I know I live and work in a ‘high-stress’ environment. The stress from the day job is unavoidable; that’s what you get for agreeing to be a public servant on a federal level. The demands made on your body and spirit are way higher than what you’d expect. The lifestyle stress is my own damn fault: I like working on multiple projects simultaneously and keep thinking I’m in my early 20’s and capable of juggling 7 different tasks. (I can’t, now, and couldn’t back then, but we’re letting my past self feel arrogant at the moment)

But I was told that I needed to take it easy today. This was because I have been suffering through a heinous sinus infection for several days and have been pushing myself. Walking the mail route during a thunderstorm for several days did not help, either. But Sarah, and my daughter Hannah to my surprise, had all but yelled at me to not do chores and to rest.

I mean, really. What do you when your wife and your daughter tells you that you aren’t allowed to work at home?
(Note: my son showed similar sentiments, but he was distracted today by his trucks and potty-training. I believe that is valid.)

I took their advice (their stern, almost threatening advice, imagine getting a deathstare from a five year old) and took it easy for today. No physically-intensive chores and nothing to get my blood pressure up (I think), just relaxing and attempting to get my writing goals back.

Problem to that: it’s been so long since I’ve been through the daily grind of making my goal that I am staring at the screen and sweating over writer’s block. I did manage to get 800 words written down, but more than half of that was plot/outline while the rest was working on a first draft that I’m not confident in.

Thankfully, I can accept that my first draft will be shit. Every project takes work and I’m still learning. That, and I have several works-in-progress and can shift from one to the other when I’ve hit a snag. If I’m desperate to get my writing muscles working, I can always fall back to D&D writing and work out a few sessions’ worth of situations/dialogue/outcomes.

(Don’t tell Sarah or Hannah that I was working on multiple projects today. They’ll kick my ass and it’ll be easy with this sinus infection.)

I did manage to get some work done, though. Now my late-evening will be spent with my headphones on and lunch-prepping for the work week. Cooking is easy, at least. The struggle will be figuring out what goes with what produce is in the fridge. That asparagus needs using.

Happy writing, folks. See you soon.

Stuck in a storm, so might as well write.

I’ll usually be the first one to tell you that I don’t care if I get rained on, but if you’ve ever been around me during bad weather, you’d think I take this idea to some level of insanity. I never carry an umbrella unless the family is with me, and it’s for their sake, not mine. The moment I realize that a storm is imminent, I accept the fact that I’m going to look and feel like a drowned Louisianian rat and get on with the day.

That said, I’m also very aware of my mortality when a thunderstorm rolls over. This is due to an experience gained several years ago, on the job and in fact, on the very road I’m stuck on at the moment. I was parked by a utility pole during a thunderstorm and forgot the very basic of storm-survival knowledge: utility poles with transformers are prime targets when there’s lightning. A bolt struck the transformers and exploded, my world went white for a couple seconds, and I was picking myself up off the ground a few seconds after that.

Since then, I’ve made a policy that I can deliver the mail in any weather, but if the lightning is close by, I’m going to sit down and wait for about 10 minutes and let the worst pass me. Thus, we have today’s little shared moment with a mailman.

This isn’t really bad for Louisiana, but I’ll scamper for shelter when electricity is flying around.

So, while Zeus and Thor have their airborne spat, I’m sitting here going over my self-motivations to write, or rather berating myself for not doing as much writing as I’d like in several months. I think I’ve averaged about 200 words in a day, when it can happen at all. It’s understandable, really. The career is time and energy intensive, and my family has the ultimate priority in my mind. If given the choice between sitting at my tablet as soon as I get home and talking to the children, I’ll usually pick the latter. That the choice is presented to me when I sit down at my desk, in front of my tablet, is irrelevant and you can’t say otherwise.

I know what I need to do. I need to go back to my old disciplinary methods. Set up reminders to write when the kids go to bed. Have the coffee pot ready to brew when story-time is about to start. Stay away from the beer until I’ve made my goal for the day.

Alas, these things have been forgotten or ignored in the last three months. The mail volume increased, the kids discovered 8PM and decided it was a better time to go to bed, and I really like having a beer when I get home, for all I know it’s going to knock me out at 10 and I’ll wake up in my chair, Microsoft Word open and blank, and my knees hurting.

This is not a note of despairing my writing time, but rather my inner monologue getting an audience. Yes, I can do the things to get back into the swing of things. Also yes, I’m human and do have limits, even though I didn’t know them in my 20’s.

As the “heavy rain” shuffles off and thunder rolls away, I’m getting my satchel and heading out into the wet route. Just another few miles. Then I’ll get home, see to my evening chores, brew coffee, and write.

Just keep this in mind: ultimately we are the ones who will get our stories out, and it does take self-discipline to do so. Don’t slack off too much or you’ll be annoyed at yourself. More annoyed, anyway.

Y’all stay safe out there.

Godspeed, Buster.

As a mailman, I’ve met many, many dogs on my route, and my favorite route-dog died. Buster was a 15-year old bastard. He hated everyone. He hated me, his owners, his food bowl, a nearby leaf. If it existed within Buster’s line of sight, it was an object of his singular displeasure.

He growled at me every day for 8 years, and let me pet him only once. To be fair, he most likely didn’t know he was being petted, as he was staring off into space when I dropped off letters and scratched his ears for him. He did eventually look up at me and gave a threatening “get off my lawn” growl.

Goodspeed, Buster. You insufferable asshole. I’ll miss you.

On returning to a favorite genre for something old-fashioned

Science Fiction remains my all-time favorite story genre. I mostly blame that on being exposed to Star Wars at a very young age, and the choice of books in those years only confirms that.

Like any kid of the 90’s, I discovered Animorphs and became an obsessed reader. I had confirmed my weirdness in the fifth grade among my classmates for knowing these stories better than the St. Michael the Archangel prayer in Religion class (Catholic school for the win!).

Thank you, K.A. Applegate, for giving us all one hell of a story.

In that same year, I also discovered the Star Wars Expanded Universe, with a used and ratty copy of Darksaber.

I don’t care what the younger folks say, THIS is the Darksaber I know!

It was with this novel that I learned that the movies I knew and loved were being given new life, and also about how space battles were fought. I learned that I was intrigued by struggles in deep space, with giant crafts looming over each other and small fighter craft zooming around trying to get an advantage for their side. I learned that I loved the political aspect of opposing sides, and needed stories to give the POV of the antagonist. But mostly, it was giant ships hammering at each other that got my attention.

(Also, this particular story’s premise is hilarious when you think about it, and the climax makes you laugh more than get excited.)

Since then, I’ve always browsed the Science Fiction section of any bookstore I’d come across. When Fantasy was lumped into the same area as Science Fiction, I accepted it. I loved those stories too, so I saw it was an opportunity to stay in my favorite area of the store. I found Old Man’s War by John Scalzi, On Baslisk Station by David Weber, Battlestar Galactica by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston, and the grandfather of science fiction literature, Battlefield Earth by L. Ron Hubbard.

I went out looking for science fiction stories and read everything I could get my hands on, back in those days. It was a love, pure and simple, and it’s stayed with me over the years.

So, let’s step into more recent days. We’re on a family/work vacation in Florida, and my wife tells me that I need to have a couple hours to myself in the city. She knows I don’t like crowds and am a introverted nerd, so she tells me the thing that always excites me: “You can go into a bookstore and get whatever you want.”

Pure. Fucking. Heaven.

I did make a few purchases (been wanting to start building my manga collection) but I found out that I could not find the one thing I knew would satisfy my old addiction. I could not find a book series (starting book, at least) that was a good and old-fashioned science fiction. I wanted starship combat, I wanted explosions in the void of space, I wanted Captains and Admirals arguing strategy and having fights with their subordinates over it.

I was denied my fix and that made me twitchy.

Some days later, I was talking with my regular buddy about this situation. He’s pretty understanding about having a particular niche in preferred reading, so he’s a good shoulder to cry on when you can’t find what you want. However, he also knows I’m trying to be an author, so he hits me where it hurts.

“If you can’t find the story you want, why not write it yourself?”

I have to admit, I’m terrified of the concept. Yes, I’d love to see such a story back on the shelves, but I get that it’s not popular these days. But still, he had a point. What if the story idea still had attraction to readers? Could I make such a story worthwhile enough for them to pay for it?

I honestly do not know, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited enough to give it a try.