Category: Blogs!

01/25/2026: Book Reviewing, Writing, and a Thank You to Jim Butcher

“Hey Jake, did you get through Twelve Months yet?”

A buddy of mine, evidenced by the use of a childhood nickname, reminded me of a pre-order I’ve had sitting in my Audible account for a week:

Twelve Months. The latest Dresden Files novel by Jim Butcher.

Nearly 17 hours at x1 reading speed, narrated by the excellent James Marsters. If you haven’t discovered this series and are a fan of urban fantasy, I have to first ask how you haven’t heard of it (the series is old enough to rent a car, and saying that is making my knee and back hurt for some reason) and to recommend going to a bookstore and picking up Storm Front, the first book of the series.

When my buddy checked back in with me, two days later, I had just finished listening to the audiobook and was getting ready for the re-listen.

Mr. Butcher, I’d say I’d tip my hat to you, but that’d involve leaving the desk. You’re a master of the craft and I hope to, one day, evoke as much emotion from my stories as you did with this one.

I chuckled, felt introspective, and cried a couple of times (which confused my postal customers, seeing their mailman staring off into space with tear tracks on his face, let me tell you) during the listen. In this series, those usually only happen at key points in a couple of books, but this one was one steady therapy session.

From my experience in writing, evoking emotions is both key and difficult and are typically restricted to the emotions of the genre. Twelve Months, however, evoked emotions for which I know I don’t have the skill level: release. Without spoiling the story, I can tell you that if you’re holding yourself in check against some stress or trying to ‘keep a brave face’ going, you won’t be able to while following the plot… and that such isn’t as bad as you might think.

At one point, I realized that I wasn’t holding my shoulders so tightly, that there wasn’t a feeling of pressure from the corners of my eyes, that I was breathing deeply. For nearly two days, I wasn’t able to worry as much as I usually do. Granted, once I had finished the book and thought about what Butcher had done, the stress did return but didn’t have as firm a grip.

It did, however, throw me off my stride on my own writing. I’ve held to my daily writing, so it’s consistent in that manner, but I shifted over to essays on some background elements that have been just in my head. I don’t know if I’ll make the challenge’s deadline, but once this is posted and my weekly letter is written, I’ll be working on it…

… after I get the chicken in the oven. It’s going to be a rough week, weather-wise. I’ll be needing a lot of food.

Stay safe out there, folks.

-JB Swift

01/18/2026 Out of Desperation May Grow Creativity

I’ve not been too keen for the winter months for a number of years, but not because of the colder weather and that I am a walking beanpole. I actually like jacket weather, since I have an excuse for all the plaid and flannel that people assume (rightly) I like to wear.

But January is usually when I try to prepare something of a budget for the household and come to the same conclusion as I usually do: that I need more work, and I’m not likely to get it from the postal routes. When I was younger, I tried to supplement my income with a second job, something preferably in manual labor that was paid in cash. But that work is hard to come by.

And let’s face it: I’m getting old. I stepped outside this Sunday morning and immediately decided I’d rather clean the stove than yardwork. My joints agreed with me.

So, January is usually a stressful month for me, which in turn pushes me towards my preferred type of escapism: story-telling. Last year, I couldn’t write as much as I had liked, but this year I’m putting my foot down and making the time. But this does lead the question as to how can I find work while needing to write as a therapy against the stress of not making enough to (as much as I’d like) pay for the needs of my family and household?

Lo and behold, the Universe decides to mess with me by showing me a competition I can enter.

I’ve heard good things about these folks, so writers, check them out.

The challenge is to write out a short story with a max of 6,000 words and send it in before the 1st of February. At the time I had stumbled across this, it was 16 January. Do I send one of the short stories I’ve previously written and hope that by some miracle, the judge decides they’re worth publishing (all of them need work, in my honest opinion) or do I test myself and see how much I’ve improved with a new story?

If I write a new story, which world do I go to? Can I put this Legendarium I’ve been in for the past month down (I think I’m going to call it Tales of Eró, but not sure just yet) and dive into a different setting? Could that distract me from my current project? Or do I try sending something from Eró?

…did Professor Tolkien ever have this problem? I bet not. But I’m not at his level, for all that that is the goal.

Now, I do have several stories within this world that might fit the parameters of the challenge. This world has grown much larger than I really ever expected, and I’ve started filling up three different notebooks. The style of those stories, however, might not meet the criteria. They’d be analogous to historical essays, not real narratives. I have one in particular that is done as a narrative, but it reads like a report (because it is a report, but the character doing the reporting is a scribe and what scribe worth their salt would not include dialogue?) and that may not be ‘marketable’.

Lord, but I hate that kind of rejection notice. The last one killed my drive to write short stories for a long while.

But hey, there’s a chance it could be seen as an attempt to bring back older styles of narrative and story-telling. If it isn’t accepted, then at least I’ll have one more bit of world-building to add to Eró.

Stay safe out there, folks. Wish me luck.

-JB Swift

01/11/2026: An Evening of Doubt

Starting tomorrow, I’ll have eight weeks to train upwards of seventy-two people how to handle a Route Inspection, and the people coming in to evaluate them will determine whether or not they will have their mail routes adjusted. Or removed.

The projections are near ten routes in my territory. Ten jobs. Ten people’s livelihoods. Ten families that are dependent upon an income.

And it’s my responsibility to help them know how to do their jobs, then to defend them when my opposite numbers find discrepancies. Numbers, plural. Versus just me.

If I can be honest, I wish this was just some egomaniacal writing of an arrogant man. But no, that’s the reality of my next two months. I’m just thankful my carriers aren’t followers here or read my posts. I can’t have them knowing how scared I am for them, how worried. I am their Chief Steward, and I carry the name Swift, which means a lot in my area as a union man. Prior generations of my family were union representatives, and they had way more clout than I do.

They also had way more support from their coworkers than I do. For me, in my time? Everyone is either too scared to stand up for themselves or they were burned out by other reps that did not care about them.

It’s a very quiet moment, late at night, when my family is asleep and I can give voice to what goes on behind my eyes. I can admit to my own doubts, my own insecurities.

I am scared for my people. There is not enough mail coming in. It’s why I have been pushing for more lettered mail. It’s not about the postage, but rather the actual letters. We need the work, but there was so little in the past year that the higher-ups decided to evaluate all of us. They’ll determine where the work can go, and that’ll mean people will lose their jobs if I don’t fight for them.

And my people are tired. We all are. We’re always wired in and being bombarded with news, overwhelmed with situations, unable to process one thing before another thing is blaring through our phones or news feeds. I’ve frankly shut off most of my news outlets except for small windows of time each day, usually right around the morning or evening broadcasts used to be.

But I still have to motivate my people into learning things that they have not dealt with before, for the new people. For the older folks, I have to show them where they’ve been doing things wrong and help them correct their bad habits. And I won’t have anyone there standing with me while I do so, because no one else wants to do this work.

They’ll be calling for help, and it’ll be just me that stands. I won’t know if that means I’m heroic until at least May.

Granted, last time this happened, my local branch almost went defunct because no one was willing to step in and take the job of Chief Steward. It was just me back then, too. Maybe I can pull this off, too.

I honestly do not know. I’m scared, I’m worried, but I can’t have my people knowing that. So, I have to go to work tomorrow, looking confident and ready to teach, ready to make seventy-two of the most stubborn people I have ever met willing to listen to the quiet little nerd say, “you’ve been doing this wrong for years, let me show you how to properly sort the mail”.

Wish me luck?

Stay safe out there, folks.

-JB Swift

01/04/2026: A Letter a Week

When I told myself that I should start coming back here at least once a week, I forgot that I had set myself to a Sunday schedule. So, this will go up less than a week after I’ve set my ‘Resolution’.

I’m not sure if that means the Resolution has already failed, but here we go.

What’s more is that I have a different routine I’m going to start on Sunday morning for this year, but it’s not a Resolution for myself, per se. I’ve been mulling it over for the last three months, in fact.

Putting it simply: the Post Office is dying. Not just in terms of financial stability, but in terms of its institution. We need letters.

Firstly, and the thing that I have to remind people often is that the Postal Service is not built to be a company, but as a part of the US American community. We are servants of the People, but we need postage to sustain ourselves. I agreed with the fact that we are not funded through taxes; that can put our Service at risk of being beholden to politicians when we are supposed to be beholden to the People whom those politicians represent. For that to continue, however, we need the People to sustain us with postage.

Secondly, and a bit more metaphorical, but we, the Postmen, need to be proud of what we do again. I and many many other Postmen will tell you that we are, in fact, proud of what we do, but I’ve been here for 15 years, and I’ve watched that pride be worn down to exhausted disappointment.

I think part of the problem is that we’ve, as a society, have geared ourselves to moving quickly to meet ever-shortening deadlines. While I know that the purpose of communication is to convey information in an efficient manner, it’s not until I force myself to stop, sit down, and either talk to a friend in person or (and here’s the kicker) write/read a letter from someone that communication becomes meaningful. In all the months of the last peak season, when I was running myself ragged along with the rest of the US Postmen in this country, the things I remember most clearly and contentedly are two occasions:

1: When I had my childhood friends nearby. We all had the same idea: “Can we please just enjoy each other’s time and company without a timer running?”

2: When I received simple letters from other friends who could not come into town for the holidays. I felt an obligation to push away that sense that I needed to be doing something else and enjoyed reading the conversation my friends sent to me.

Now, I just need that to happen more often, but on a national scale.

I’ll be the first to admit that that’s going to be a very tall order for a short glass. Not to mention that there’s irony inherent in that, for my goal to gain notoriety, I have to use social media to encourage others to write letters more often. There’s also a concern about the Code of Ethics to which I’m bound, but I and several other postal workers have determined that I can, in fact, ask that the People remember us and give us letters to deliver.

That project will start, as all grassroot projects do, very locally. I’ll be writing to customers in my hometown to ask that they start sending out letters at least once a week. I’ll be asking that they encourage pen-pals again. I’ll be asking that the People realize that we, the US Postmen, belong to them and want our service to be utilized so it does not disappear.

I know. I’ve been told before that there isn’t much hope in such a project. But even a little hope can go a long way, and I’ll be holding myself to the same standard: I’ll be writing a letter once a week to friends I can text right then and there. I can promise that I’ll remember the lettered conversations better than what’s stored in my phone.

Stay safe out there, folks. Write your friends.

-JB Swift

01/01/2026: Auld Lang Syne, lang may yer lum reek.

… it’s been a minute, hasn’t it, folks?

The past year turned out to be one where this old dog had to learn new tricks, find new talents, and rediscover old techniques. I ended up busier than I can rightly recall ever having been.

Not something I would’ve wished as I’ve left my thirties, but here we are.

Not what I expected in my career.

It was my first year as a Union Branch President, and I had a trial-by-fire of learning the rules and methods of the Union Steward and Branch President roles. That means I’ve become a (thankfully very small-time) politician. My local branch had dwindled to basically insignificance, but I’ve found good people willing to help rebuild it, and we are, slowly but steadily, making our way back to relevance.

My first time speaking to a crowd of 200 people. Yes, I was terrified.

This means I was also tapped to go with the Louisiana team to up to D.C. and speak with members of Congress and the Senate. Now, those people have heard my name. Whether they actually know who I am, couldn’t tell me. I’m not sure how to feel about it.

In order to actually be competent in these roles, it does mean that I’ve had to go back to school, of sorts. There have been numerous seminars, classes, and week-long trainings I’ve had to attend; all it’s really done is show me just how much I don’t know, but I have to learn it all well enough to teach it, myself.

I’ve had my work cut out for me, folks.

That’s meant, unfortunately, that I’ve been too tired or busy for my usual escapes and stress-relief. I wasn’t able to keep the Star Wars campaign running on my regular schedule, and I admit that the quality of my plot-writing was beginning to suffer. It was a bitter disappointment to put that story on hiatus; it put me through a round of depression, in fact. But when 2025 was winding down to a close (and I was growing almost frantic with the stress), I decided I needed something.

For that something, I went a bit old-school.

Cracked open one of the many leatherbound journals I’ve been given over the years, found my old pen set, and started writing/drawing. It’s slower than what NaNoWrimo expects from me, and I’m writing it out without clear outlines, so sometimes I’ll put down details or choices I was not expecting. I’ve strangely enjoyed this more than I have when writing on the keyboard.

Also, my cursive is slowly becoming legible. I might even develop actual penmanship!

I haven’t left the Star Wars RPG Universe fully, just yet. I do still work on it, in quiet moments. Don’t fret, players; we’ll get back there some day.

2025 was not without its losses. We had to say goodbye to the last of the original pack, Indy.

We miss you, buddy.

Indiana had developed a cancer on his jaw, and it grew way too quickly for us to stay ahead of it. It came to a talk about chemotherapy for him, but we decided to not take away his quality of life at his age. He was the youngest of the Old Four, and the last to go. We like to say that he left to continue his psychotic rivalry with Jojo the Golden Retriever up in Valhalla. I still, for some reason, trip over empty air where he usually likes to suddenly stop in front of my feet. He was a good dog.

When December finally drew itself to a close, and I finally could put away my phone and not answer the myriad of calls and questions, I had to take a moment and review how I’ve done with this life, over the year. Much as I like being able to help and lead what have become my people in the Union, I have to remind myself to slow down a little, occasionally.

I think I’ll try that for a Resolution. I don’t set much store in that tradition, but it’d probably be good for me to try it. Especially after my last doctor visit, on New Year’s Eve, where my physician told me to remember my heart. I’m about to be 40, after all. Now I’ve got to take care of myself as well as everyone else around me.

This look like a good start.
Slightly older, slightly grayer, same Black Dog shirt.

I’m going to try coming back here, at least on Sunday mornings before I go tramping off around the property looking for chores. That might make for longer posts, if I can hide myself well enough whittle away for an hour (and I’m not distracted by actually whittling a new smoking pipe), but I’ve missed this little corner of mine the past few months.

No matter what, however, I’ll keep watching my children grow into the wonderful people they’re becoming, praying I’ve taught them rightly, and I’ll keep writing, every chance I get.

Cheers, good people. Happy 2026. May it be a full year, with the good and bad, and hopefully you’ll see me here again. I’ll want to know all about how your year went.

Stay safe out there, folks.

-JB Swift

PS~ Han discovered the Lord of The Rings universe, and then she learned that my Catholic and Irish names can go into my “government name” and said I should make a signature symbol like Tolkien. It needs work, but she thought it looked cool as a draft.

39! Some frustrations but books!

I’m thirty-nine years old!

I was unable to take my Security+ exam!

…sonofabitch.

I stood up from my desk to get Cooper, the golden retriever, a calming chewie to keep his barking down when I had two minutes before the start time. Little did I know (because they only wrote in chat and did not speak) the proctor had logged in early and decided that my coming back into frame was enough to declare my test time invalid. Before the exam would start.

Yes, I’m appealing for a redo and should hear something soon. But to say that I was angry was an understatement of…epic proportions. I basically shut down to keep from shouting at everyone, since no one around me deserved to receive my grumpiness. I’ve calmed down enough to be socially acceptable (as much as I am normally, anyway) and I’m making the most of my time off from the post office and not studying for 9 hours a day.

On a high note, I’ve found books to read for the next month!

I have no idea what the Swifts book is about, and I’m not one for Young Adult stories, but it caught my attention (understandably) when Sarah pointed it out at the bookstore. That, and finding a new (to me) series to try out rounded out my birthday.

I’ll give myself a month to read “Colonyside” and set a reminder to write up an opinion piece, but if you’re a science-fiction reader and fan of John Scalzi: the first line is a damn good hook.

“I’m not dead yet.”

You know what…all right, Michael Mammay. That’ll do. If it turns out that I’m reading out of order, I’ll post a correction and hurriedly catch up.

And now…Cooper taking the good seat for the fireplace.

Stay safe out there, folks.

-JB Swift

02/09/2025 Sunday Updates

Progress is progressing!

Except for when Korra thinks I need to stop studying by cramming herself under my desk.

With studies paused and dogs moved out of small spaces, I did manage another writing session before being interrupted by Cooper!

Cooper was not pleased that I had spent most of my Saturday at my desk.

He wouldn’t look at me for almost three minutes. That’s hours of resentment for golden retrievers.

02/07/2025 Vacation Starts, Study Time Now!

Folks, I’m away from the Post Office for the next…checks calendar…two weeks! After clocking out yesterday and clearing out the case and Union PO Box, I ran away from the building with all the appearance of a schoolboy at the beginning of summer.

Why is there a two-week vacation from work in the middle of winter? I have two reasons: first, my birthday is this month and when I have the leave, I take most of the month off as a gift to myself. Second, because I’m taking the Security+ certification exam on my birthday, so the majority of the time-off will be spent at this desk and reading for all I’m worth.

That doesn’t sound much different than what I do on any of my regular non-scheduled days, does it?

But while I’m going to be bound to this spot for the next two weeks, I’ll be able to make daily posts, provided I don’t get hit with executive dysfunction. Speaking of which, another chunk of writing progress was made this week!

It’s not even into Chapter 11. I need an editor who doesn’t mind Star Wars fanfiction; that, or I was shooting too low for my projected goals.

I’m betting the latter.

There are several projects and notes I’d like to get back to, plus a few ideas to try. In the meantime, look at the leek Sarah got me.

There’s a leek in my office!

Back to the studying I go.

02/02/2025 Happy Birthday, Mom

Today was a day spent having dinner with the woman who always encourages me to find spots throughout the day to work at my writing: my mother.

No pictures, I’m afraid, but I forgot to ask her permission to post photos, so I’m going to leave that as it is.

On top of that, said dinner was a true rarity: having all four of us (Dad, Mom, my older brother, and myself) at the table! Considering how far we all live from each other, I think this happens maybe once a year if at all.

It was a pure moment for mom to experience and I’m hopeful the next time comes about soon.