Snow Day in Louisiana

While any readers in more Northern climates might be scoffing at the excitement, I will unashamedly talk a little about the consequences of an arctic blast reaching the Gulf of Mexico: snow on the ground, and it’s actually fluffy!

Six inches of snow is predicted for the next day. This being the South, and thus beyond the reckoning of most of its inhabitants, no one knew precisely what to do about the weather. Normally, this would not be a detractor for me and the Post Office. I’d be walking out in that and honestly wouldn’t mind (until Reynauds kicked in and my hands started to hurt and curl in on themselves), but schools have been closed for today and tomorrow.

Bundled up the children and chucked them outside for as long as they could stand the 24 degrees with 51% humidity. That’s a lot drier than they’re used to, but then again, they’re not used to snow being on the ground. While it’s not the first time they’ve had snow, it’s a rare enough event to cause psychotically happy moods and a need to go racing out the door.

They lasted twenty minutes before Han discovered that, like her father and grandmother, Reynaud’s disease is genetic and hurts even when you warm back up.

A for effort, kids. They made the most of the little snow they’ve had so far. By mid-afternoon, they’ll be wanting to go back outside, having forgotten the consequences of the weather and soon to be running back inside as the temperature plummets.

It was also a first for Cooper to see snow, and like the children, the puppy lost his goddamned mind.

That area was blanketed just a few minutes before I snapped the photo. I’ve never seen a Golden get the zoomies quite that hard before.

I, on the other hand, have had enough experience with the cold weather to know that my hands won’t let me enjoy it for too long. I did go out there and played a bit –because how often do I get to hurl snowballs at my children? -before heading inside and handling the indoor responsibilities. Prepping for winter meals such as stews, soups, and so on.

I’ve managed 30 minutes of writing time today, and another 30 minutes of studying for the certification exam, but due to listening to the Silmarillion again, I’ve started up on a small project for those late-night hours when I can’t sleep due to minding the fireplace but can’t get the brain to focus on the story: map-making.

I have no idea what it’ll be used for, but it’s something to keep up the creativity and thus ward off the insanity. I also came across one of WordPress’ ‘Writing Prompts’ that caught my interest, so there may be two posts today. I’ll get another writing sprint in while the children have their afternoon “it’s snowing, oh crap that means it’s cold and we’re not acclimated to that!” playtime.

Y’all bundle up out there and mind the cold.

-JB Swift

Short stories, novel progress, and notes for next project

It may just be an example of an ADD mind taking a creative twist, but I have been busying myself with short stories and writing notes on other novels instead of just writing the novel. Unfortunately, I had come across a major problem to the story and it forced me to remove a large chunk of the work.

Why, do you ask? Simply put, I had made a decision for the character that she would never make, and continued writing as if the decision were normal. It wasn’t until I had gone nearly two chapters ahead when I noticed that the story wasn’t progressing or fitting with the outline I had done for the book. After thinking about it, I went looking and sure enough, I had made a simple mistake that cost me 9,000 words and three weeks of work. Needless to say, I haven’t been terribly happy with this outcome.

(A polite way of saying I’ve been pissed off about it and trying to figure out how to use ANY of that work.)

While I’ve been going over those pages and comparing them to the outline, I’ve been trying my hand at different writings, if just to keep my brain working properly. On one end, I write with the clear intention of getting paid for my work. I do want to entertain but I also really want to keep putting food on my childrens’ plates. With that in mind, I’ve been coming up with short stories and submitting them. So far, I haven’t had any hits yet, but I’ve received a lot of good criticism on my submissions. Actual critiquing from the editors, not just being ignored or told ‘this doesn’t fit the market right now’.

(It might show my age when my complaint about submissions is being utterly ignored instead of being told ‘no’, but let’s move on)

Writing short stories is some hella-good writing exercise for me. While not published, I’ve mostly written novels. I’m used to thinking my stories at novel-length, so condensing a story to 10,000 words or less? That takes work. There’s so much I want to show in the worlds I create, but if it’s not relevant to the actual story, it has to either be put aside completely or told in such a way that the reader can accept it within their suspension of disbelief. If you’re a short-story professional and you’re reading this, know that I am in utter awe of your abilities.

(Sidenote: No, I will not put my old novels up anywhere for people to read. The last one I wrote was in my early 20s, and it was horrible. Please don’t ask; I can only cringe so much before my face starts hurting.)

On the other end, I’ve been putting my recent education via Deborah Chester’s “Fantasy Fiction Formula” while working on notes for the next projects. While I’d love to have a long-running series of the current project, “Post-World Postmen” could easily be a one-shot novel to be put on the shelves. The other projects could function between 5 and 10 books, if I wrote them well enough and they were picked up. One such project is my latest attempt at writing urban fantasy (one of my favorites because it is very-much-so a genre that I find difficulty writing) and another is a very basic superhero story taken with an odd angle. When Post-World Postmen is finished, I’ll be tackling these stories while begging agents to take my book to the publishers.

The Question of Monetizing

It has been brought to my attention that I can use this site to make a little money. I was told, by both people and ads, that I can design this place to be a spot where you, the reader, would pay for the content I put out into the world.

Now, let’s understand a few things.

do want to make money from my writing. Becoming a successful (that is, funded) writer is both a dream and an ambition. I’d like to actually be home to see my kids grow up instead of the “two hours a day during a week, Sundays guaranteed” thing I have going on at the moment. I’ve been tempted to set up a Patreon, because if anything else, having people pay me the occasional dollar would force me to adhere to a writing schedule/routine.

But this place? I’m not so sure about that.

I’ve seen charities I’ve wanted to support, and in the future (that is, when I figure out how to set it up and it get attention) I will set up donations for people to give money to those charities, but beyond that I don’t want to turn this place into a money-grabbing cesspool. Yes, I want to make money for my words, but this is a place I can put my thoughts down for the simple joy of knowing someone would read it.

I’ll be adding a couple of new pages within this site soon, writing prompts and gaming notes. Maybe I’ll give Patreon another look.

Enjoy the Sunday, folks.

Stepping into a New World (RPG)

It’s one of my bragging points (in all honesty, should not be a bragging point but should make you feel sad) that I have been the main game-runner of RPGs for my group for nearly 20 years. From my first session of 16 people in Dungeons & Dragons (3rd Edition) way back when I was 15 years old to now, I’ve been the guy among my groups that would write up adventures and challenges. I actually have several files in the cabinet with “Campaign” marked on it, some with “Finished” and most just unresolved. That’s the way of it, unfortunately.

But one of my players, the guy I usually call “my buddy” because he’s the friend I talk to every day but likes his privacy on the Internet, reached out to me a week ago with a proposal: he wanted to get a group together for a game.

This is not new to me. I’m used to one player getting to me with a “I want to play this scenario!” idea, and I agree to it. I love writing up plots and challenges, seeing what the players would do in a given situation. Sometimes it gives me the opportunity to try out a new monster, trap, or puzzle. My favorite was a chess-style challenge that stumped the players for, I kid you not, over an hour. I was stupidly impressed by their willingness when I said “For this part of the game, I need all of you to turn in your phones and tablets so you cannot cheat” and six adults put their cell phones and computers into a basket in order to keep playing. That’s one hell of a compliment.

But this time, my buddy had something different. “I want to have a game based in WarHammer 40K, and I want to run it.”

Well. Holy shit.

WH40K is the only tabletop game I did not get into. I’ve delved into at least 20 different systems and games, up to and including GURPS and Call of Cthulhu. I did not get into WH40K because, to put it bluntly, I could not paint all of the miniatures. I’m not talented in that respect and I did not want to flaunt my lack of skill in the area. So, I left that world alone.

So, imagine my sheer terror when my buddy says “The game is based in the WH40K universe, all about a ship and crew, and I want you to be the captain of the ship”.

Just gonna sweat in my utter ignorance of the world I’m supposed to be knowledgeable about, especially when I gather a crew (players) among my local group to find out most of them are extremely avid WH40K players. I twitched when, in the group chat between the other players, I made a suggestion and they just responded “We put our faith in the captain. It’s your call.”

Y’all, I’m not used to that.

For once, I’m being given the responsibility of “Party Leader”. I’ve played in a few one-shots over the years, sure, but I always, always, made sure I was someone that did not make the crucial decisions. I am so used to making the “Big Decisions” as the GM (DM) and that was something I could simply do. To think I’d be making the decisions and then have to look at someone else who actually made the rules?

Holy Control-Issues, Batman.

I will say that I’m enjoying learning about the universe I’ll be stepping into, soon. The history-nerd in me is champing at the bit to explore all the nooks and crannies of this extremely rich world, though my buddy is putting restrictions on what I should read (which, as his usual GM, I understand) and I have to stop myself from digging too deep.

I might actually post write-ups of those adventures here, so if you’re curious as to how well the GameMaster-turned-Lead-Player does in a crisis, follow this site and I’ll set up a page for it.

Cheers, folks.

The Struggle of Writing With a Day Job

Today was my day off! I did not have to be up at the hour of “whatthefuckisthetime”, did not have to make the mad-dash out the door, did not have to mindlessly sort my letters, and did not have to walk 12-16 miles for my daily bread. As it’s a dream to finally finish the novel and send it off for editing/possible publication (and start work on the next one), you’d think I would have taken this opportunity to seclude myself at my desk and plunk away at the keyboard.
Alas, you’d be wrong.
The main reason I don’t use my day off to fully embrace my introversion and write for 8 hours is a reasonable one: I love my family and it kills me that I don’t get to see them that often. A couple weeks ago, my daughter, soon to be 4 years old, was up with me while I readied to head to the office.
“Will you be gone all day?” she asked. I was buttoning my shirt and looking for my satchel.
“I’ll be gone all day,” I said. “But I’ll be home in the evening, at least by dinner-time.”
This little girl stood by the door and gave me a blank stare. “I never see you,” she said. “I wish you were home.”
I’m not going to lie, people. Being told by your child that they miss you, and the reason that they miss you is because you’re gone for most of the day, between 8-12 hours, just fucking hurts. On top of that, when I get home, I’m too exhausted to really play or do anything except sit down and decompress. I’m on my feet all day for my bread, so I take full advantage of the couch when I get home. I have to wait until the late-night hours, when everyone is asleep and my mind is finally clear of the mail, for me to focus on the story. Until that moment, I try my best to be present around the family, which can get troublesome, as both kids are stubborn and don’t like being told things like “we don’t push” or “stop leaping off the couch into the pile of laundry” or, my favorite, “if you don’t stop running without looking, you’re going to hit a wall at full speed”.

But wait, that’s not the only reason I struggle to write.

One of the problems with being in a full-time job of old-school trappings is that it becomes a fight to be both an old-school husband and a modern day spouse. Yes, I work my long hours to provide for the family. But I also want/need to handle my share of the chores, and that has a higher priority than being useless in the house and smacking the keyboard with hopes of entertaining the masses. There’s dishes to do, animals to feed/care for, and the yard to maintain. If I was already a successful writer, and not gone for most of the day, I don’t think I’d notice these chores. They’d all be done before 10. But as I do work a ‘real job’, I have to have the mad-scramble of taking care of all of these things in the few hours I have between “I have clocked out!” and “I’m gonna pass out now!”, thanks to the sheer exhaustion of enduring the elements for the daily bread.

But wait, there’s STILL more.

This one is an honest trapping of the writer’s mind: it’s a bitch to want to write after work, and the day off is such a joy to have that I unknowingly embrace the entirety of a day off. I relax (as much as I’m capable of), I goof off, I play friggin’ video games. This is a discipline issue, but dammit man, I never get to do that and it’d drive me crazy to not.

I’m looking into a possible career change that wouldn’t take me away from home for so long. I’ll stay in the federal field if I can, as I’ve already invested almost 10 years into it. But I’m looking into something like programming or IT, so I’d be able to do more work remotely. That’d be something, right?

I did manage to get almost 800 words down today, in snippets throughout the day. I still need to attend to my lunches for the week, and then, then, I’m going to attempt to write more.

Cheers, folks.

A Union Man who disagrees with police unions

For about two years, I worked as a Shop Steward within my local Post Office Union. I’ve had an in-depth experience with what a union does, how it operates, and the importance of its existence for a workforce. I have represented my coworkers in various negotiations between them and management, namely to keep them from being disciplined or to ensure that their overtime hours are noted for the next paycheck. In my time as a Steward, I’ve become a devout follower of the concept that is a ‘worker’s union’. I am and will always be a diehard union supporter.

That said, I’ve been looking into police unions, and I have to say something that does piss off my coworkers and puts me in an interesting spot between the rock and the hard place:

While Unions are Great, the Police No Longer Deserve Theirs

Before I dive into this opinion piece, I am going to do the annoying thing and talk about the history of police unions. I like giving as much context as I can in a debate (probably why no one debates me: it takes too damn long). I’ll do as much of cliffnote’s version as my nerd-brain will allow.

In the United States of America, policing goes all the way back, to the point of night watches in the fledging colony villages, as far back as the 1630’s. These were people who agreed to go about the towns at night to look for gambling and prostitution, but this would evolve and change as villages and towns became cities. In 1838, Boston founded its own police force that was organized, uniformed, and on-duty.  With that idea in the zeitgeist, we began having police forces being established in other cities, ensuring public safety of persons and property.

Sidenote: The concept of police in the South, as it came into being, was centered on making sure the slave trade continued running smoothly, and I continue to be mortified at my regions’ history.

Enter the Labor Movement and all of the whacky (to the upper class) concepts that came along with it!

Again, we go to Boston, but we’re in 1919, now. I want you to take a moment and imagine this time: World War I has ended, the United States went from a backwater nation to the banking capital of the West, soldiers were coming home, the October Revolution (Bolshevik Revolution) is raging in Russia, and the Spanish Flu is sweeping through the planet. The world is changing at a rapid pace and no one quite knows what to expect next.

(Kind of like modern day. Listen to the historians, people.)

In all of this, we have policemen realizing that they’re being required to work 72 hour weeks for little pay, with few workers’ rights, and overall a rather shitty existence. As a postman, I can’t help but relate to that mindset. They were not guaranteed anything like retirment, a fair wage, or proper treatment from their supervisors. Again, something I can relate to. So, what to do? Unionize.

Of course, once you unionize and demand the higher-ups actually listen to you, you get all kinds of shit. In 1919, the Boston Police Department joined the American Federation of Labor (AFL) and started a chapter for themselves. This went as well as you’d expect for the time. This was considered to be a Bolshevik-minded thing! How dare these policemen actually demand better working conditions! You get the point. Edwin Curtis, the Commisioner of the time, refused to speak to the union organizers, suspending them and 11 other officers, and the rest of the force was told that no such thing as unionizing was going to happen.

Welp, shit got real soon after. There was a strike among the police force, and Boston went somewhat insane. The Massachussets State Guard was called in to replace the police force, which went about as well as you’d think. They weren’t used to dealing with rowdy crowds. People were shot. 9 people died.

And so the world learned that police were needed, but they needed to be listened to about working conditions.

That was 1919. Let’s jump to today.

In the now-over-100 years since that time, the police force has ready access to the firepower it believes it needs to handle the level of crime that persists in this country. Whatever the crime, they have the power and authority (two different things in this statement) to handle it, and they believe it to be absolutely necessary, and I would agree to that, if I believed that every city is dealing with the kind of criminals we see in movies.

And we’ve arrived at the point that I, a stalwart union-man and all-around rabble-rouser for worker’s rights, will put my foot down and say “that’s enough”.

We are now at the point when the local police force (my town is around 45,000) has access to military-grade armaments and vehicles. They are protected by the authority invested unto them to observe the people and enforce the law, and when their personal judgement results in a non-white person being killed for a minor infraction, their union will fight tooth-and-nail to make sure, at minimum, they will keep their job.

On paper, I get that. It’s exactly what I’ve done as a union steward. But when I’ve done it, it was because someone misdelivered a package that cost $30 or were 2 minutes late one too many times, or (my real most common problem to deal with) because they argued that they needed overtime to deal with an overburdened route. I know that fight. I’ve fought that fight.

Do you know what happens when a postman steals or dumps mail? They’re fired and most likely jailed, and the union doesn’t do shit for them. That’s a fuck-up that is common sense: Don’t do that.

In these modern days, the police have access to more ways to kill people than the average citizen, and God help that citizen if the officer is young, or nervous, or has a prejudice or rascist attitude.

If a Postman has a rascist attitude to a customer, they don’t have a job. They might, might, get the money they put into their retirement. But the postal workers of the United States don’t have the ability to decide, at a whim, that someone is going to die, even though they do get attacked and killed. They’re not allowed to carry firearms and have to use de-escalation for everything from a barking dog to a crazed individual wanting to steal the parcels in their truck.

If a Policeman harms or kills someone, in the line of duty, whether it was justified or not, their union will step in and fight to keep their job. Even if the person who was killed was an unarmed black man who tried to use a $20 note that turned out to be fake and was in circulation.

Sorry, fellow people in blue. You don’t deserve your union represenation anymore. You’re not a protector but a low-grade soldier that doesn’t realize it’s fighting a war that doesn’t exist. I’ve worked routes considered “high crime”, and I went into those neighborhoods without bullet-proof vests, without guns, sometimes without dog-spray. I’ve been a fixture of the local community. I’ve walked into gang fights and talked the folks down (had a certified letter for a leader to sign) and walked away perfectly fine, even after having a gun pointed at me.

If you want your union to actually mean something, maybe be something worth protecting.

Word Count, Kung Fu, and D&D

Probably one of the most frustrating things to my life is that I love my day job, even though it hinders me in my pursuit of other goals. If you’re curious, my alter-ego is that of a mailman with a walking route. I’m one of those awkward and quiet postmen that just shows up on your property, puts mail in the box and drops off your parcels, and walks far away before you realize I was there. My daily routine has me covering about 12 miles (19 kilometers) with near 70 pounds (31.75 kilograms) slung across my shoulders, so it’s a safe bet that by the time I make it home, I’m dead-tired.

But wait, I do more.
After the New Year, I promised myself I’d do three things:
1: I’d get to my writing after a 3-month hiatus (the Heavy Season of Mail)
2: I’d go back to Kung Fu training, now that my children were grown enough.
3: I’d start my Gaming Sessions again.

Now, the months of January and February were rough starts to the first, and I know why: I was so damned tired at the end of the day, and if I had either coffee or beer (my two favorite evening drinks) I’d find myself asleep at my desk, waking up at 1AM and staggering to bed for the next day. It’s not a healthy practice, but it’s one I can’t always plan for. How do you plan for “passing out at your desk and handling paperwork”? An easy solution to this is switching my evening beverage up, so it’s just enough of an odddity that I have something to focus on. A cup of Earl Grey tea does wonders when you’re seeking self-discipline, I’ve learned. Brits, y’all are on to something.
That said, I’ve managed some 1,400 words this week. That’s not much, but it’s better than a few other weeks I’ve tried. I won’t be adding more to it for the night because at this moment, I’m way too exhausted to make the attempt, and I did tell myself I’d work on this thing today. I’ll have to settle for some note-taking and outlining, either in my current story or one of the others that I’m playing with.

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My late-night easy-listening selections

I also told myself that I’d get back Kung Fu training, which was not all that difficult to do, to be honest. The kwoon (school) is fairly close to my workplace, and my Sifu is a postal customer, so it’s good odds that I’ll talk to him almost every day. I went back in January, after almost two years of absense. I was put on probation (no sash) and treated as a new student (back to basics!) until I showed that I was comfortable with my training. I was put through training again and, after almost two months, I was tested for the next level.

And I passed!


Since I’ve come back to training, my kwoon has stepped up in its online presence, and even has its own blog site. I’ve been asked to write articles for it, which is something I’ve taken to with way more care than I usually do. My writing on Kung Fu is chock-full of philosophy and emphasis on Eastern religions, which unfortunately makes the fundamentalists in my area nervous, so I’m having to watch what I write.

Finally, I promised that I’d have D&D sessions, again. That’s one that deserves its own spinoff, and will likely have its own page with a bunch of stories, but for the moment it’s a blank-canvas campaign. That means that I had put a small village on a blank poster-sized sheet and told my players to come up with characters/backgrounds and I’d figure out where they went.

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This is the result of some 50 questions! Never ask the DM about history!

The D&D game is set for Saturday night February 29. If I have the time and energy, I’ll dive into the specifics of this party, but at the moment, they’re in the hamlet of Eisenstadt and the local brewmeister is wary of them, but willing to take their coin, and might have a possible job for them.

With that said, I’m stupidly exhausted and falling asleep as I type. I’m off bed. Take care, readers. Be kind to each other.

Back at it, again.

Well, here I am, once again thinking that there will be people out there who find my blogging interesting. Who knows? Maybe that’s true, or maybe someone typed ‘Swift’ into their search bar and this actually pinged their results.

Either way, welcome to my little corner.

DESK
Jealous, aren’t ya?

Of course, that’s a picture of the desk when it needs to be presentable. All of the crap that usually litters it is just behind me on the table, but you get the idea. This is where I am, most evenings. When the kids go to bed and my wife is readying to turn in for the night, but I need to wax creative or just have too much going on in my mind, I’m right here, plunking away at either the laptop (when it works) or the tablet. That, or I’m turned around at the table, with gaming books spread out everywhere and three different notepads in front of me, as I try to figure out the next Big Challenge for my gaming party.

Occasionally, there are times when I don’t have the gumption (good word, that one) to work on the novel, or I’ve plotted everything I could possibly have plotted in my upcoming game’s plot, but I’m still waxing creative. I had thought to actually write shorts based in the game universes I have running, which admittedly would be a lot of fun, but I keep putting that idea off. Let’s be honest: I’m not all that certain my current project will be published, and it’d take some serious effort from my fellow nerds to be so meta that they’d read a fictional short story based on a D&D game (or worse, the Star Wars or Shadowrun campaigns). Along with that, I keep getting writing prompts, sometimes from friends saying “Hey! This looks cool and you should try it!”, or sometimes from the Internet being the horrible temptress that it is and saying “Hey! You call yourself a writer! Look at these challenges and prove yourself to somebody, anybody, maybe even yourself!”

The Internet is evil. Not for the reasons that fundamentalists give it, but because it gives me so many ideas without increasing my life span to write them all.

Normally, I’d put these ideas and prompts onto the back-burner. After all, I’m writing a book, again. It’s kinda something I want to finish. I have campaigns to write. Hell, I have letters to write, grievances to write, recipes to write….you get the point, I’m good at only one thing in the creative area, and even that is debatable.

Funny thing is, I used to also have a blog site. I kind of forgot about it over the years, but I also forgot about the annual bill that keeps it up and running. It was low enough that according to my checkbook, it just looked like I had gotten my math wrong at some point. But no, it’s still here. Anyway, I used to write about the odd, inane things that interested me in my early- to mid-20’s, and I’m highly amused that people either took me seriously or had a real interest in those old writings. The difference between those writings and this: I know I’m not all that special, and I’m probably amusing enough to get your interest.

When I received an email that the old site had been visited, my first thought was “Why is that thing still functioning?!” I went to it, read through it, and switched it to private, because…*shudder*…that is some horrible and boring work. But I wanted to have a place to put up the other work I keep telling myself to write. I know it’d be good for my craft to do so.

Hence, my little Writing Corner here.