A Different Kind of Build

Stress is a real noun, and patience is as well.  Some might call them virtues, some might call them requirements for life.  I’ve experienced them both.

In my former life I practiced a lot of patience because I experienced a lot of stress. It was a constant rotation, and admittedly I didn’t always handle the stress in the most appropriate way.  I drank, sometimes I wrote, and even other times, I smoked a bit of the stickiest of the sticky.  In this current life, there is still stress, albeit much less. However I have found myself not practicing much patience. 

In order to practice more patience I began putting together metal models of insects with teeny tiny pieces. It became cathartic. The process wasn’t writing a poem, or short story, or even putting together a book. It wasn’t scrolling on social media, or posting ads that I had to create to promote my books. It wasn’t reading for pleasure or cooking or any other pleasurable activity I’d been engaging in for the last 40+ years. It was using my hands, my eyes, and of course my patience.

The first thing I built was a dragonfly.  I didn’t know what I was getting into. But piece by piece, and bit by bit, it took form. I toiled. The pieces were small, but I had tools.

The directions were easy to follow, the assembly not so much. 

I got frustrated at points, and took a break. Patience was working. The process was different, I took breaks; something I rarely did when I wrote books, or went through the publishing process.

I was re-learning, unlearning, and making new things.

And within several hours the dragonfly was born. 

As it was completed I felt a renewed sense. A renewed sense of what? I wasn’t sure then, and to a point, I’m not sure now. But the feeling of being renewed was there. So I bought another insect, this time it was a Gatling Bee. Not sure what a Gatling Bee is, but when I saw it on Amazon, I liked it. 

The process wasn’t as smooth. It was easier but difficult in a different way.  I recognized my excitement was real excitement. Kind of like a kid getting some legos and being too overstimulated to put it together correctly. I ended up rigging a portion of it; not super proud, but honest enough to say it. (I ended up naming the bee "The Whore's Vagina"...because it's kinda loose)

I was learning more about how to put things together, re-learning some patience, and also understanding that everything isn’t perfect. Life isn’t perfect. But that’s ok. I’d found something to revel in other than writing. 

I ended up buying and building three more insects, two spiders and a scorpion. But this time I was more strategic about them. It was the holiday season, and I needed something to do to occupy my mind. Let’s just say holidays are not my jam, and I didn’t want to spiral out of control during that time. 

The two spiders were easy to assemble. I had a rhythm and flow to building these models.

However the scorpion was different. The materials were metal, but sharper, thicker, slightly bigger, and not so intricate.

It was needed. It wasn’t easy, but it was the challenge I required to get past the holiday season.

Model building is great. It’s a good getaway from passions one has, and the responsibilities one is responsible for. For me, it re-taught me a different kind of patience. It gave me a break from my passion and that passion flame is beginning to rebuild itself. My biggest takeaway is to learn something that gives you a break from your passions and responsibilities. 

I will always be a writer. Financially successful author???...eh..?? But a balanced human is something I think we all strive to be. Will metal model building be the answer for all of us, doubtful. 

However I hope you find something that reignites your soul when your passions give you more gray hairs than you can handle.

Until the next time.

Cold, Vices, Family and Writing Files

I’m in Lorain, OH because my last and oldest aunt has passed. Aunt Dot. A smile creeps along my face as I just type her name. The last of my dad’s sisters, the last sibling. There were 10 of them. 5 boys, and 5 girls; for every girl there was a boy, and for every boy there was a girl.  This is history, this is family, this I had to do.

To take my mind off of that, but not off of that, I started looking at my vast #vss365 file. It’s now 165 pages, dating back to 2020.  2025 is 63 pages by itself. Note: the #vss365 file is a file of poems, and short stories. ie vss Very Short Story

I really want to publish these pieces.  There are multiple reasons.

Last year, I was kicked off of Twitter, and that’s where many of these poems were housed other than this file I’ve kept between my phone, laptop, and G-drive. 

I really want to publish another anthology of poems. I’m a poet dammit, what can I say?

Shouldn’t I be looking for indie publishers and agents? ::sigh:: and yes. Shouldn’t I be buying author copies of the books I do have for in person events? ::sigh, again:: and yes.

However I’m not. I’m in my hotel room, and just now realized I’m like on Lake Erie and I want to get frozen water pictures like I did in Chicago on the pier.  

Writer stuff. Family stuff. Avoidance at its peak. It’s also 22 degrees outside, and smoking a cigarette is a vice, but that cold is a key.

The poems are good though. I want to catalog them and box them in to make sections for a book like I did with Fire Molten and Ash, but not like that. But at least put them in an order that makes sense for this moment. 

This is 2026, the beginning of a new year; still that same writer. Procrastination to a point, avoidance to a certain extreme, but still writing, still improving. And I’m off topic, way off topic. I did start writing another poem on the plane out here.

Back to the topic. Staying focused is difficult. I have at least three manuscripts that I’m working on for the year.  Ambitious? Sure, let's go with that.  But somehow, someway, another anthology of poetry is coming out.

Like I said, I’m a poet dammit.

That’s it for now.  Thanks for reading, thanks for sticking with me.  

Hey, if you want to help fuel the next anthology, or put in for the cigarette fund, pop over to payhip.com/StoriesAndSound and buy a book, or get some music.

Thanks ya’ll-~~deuces

ps…Happy ‘26

Fail Forward

Well, we kinda shit the bed as it came to our “12 days of xmas” posts.  Final count 6 posts from December 15th-December 23rd.  Meh, I can live with it I guess. It’s now New Year’s season (funny how that changes in a week’s time.)  

The goal for the remainder of the week will be to buy some author books, plan the final posts for the end of this year, plan the first three for ‘26 and then begin the hunt.  I need to finalize my manuscript and find indie publishers and agents to send them out to. 

As I’m doing that I also need to find some in-person author events, and plan my own. I would love to plan an event in Colorado Springs with two other Black authors.  It does seem extremely daunting, but it’s only that way because it’s on paper with no action, currently.

How am I feeling about the end of 2025 and the beginning of 2026? I would say a little better than last year.  This year was a big writing year for me; I completed and published a free ebook, and recorded my first audio book.  So yeah, I’m pretty hopeful about continuing this journey. I’ve learned that posting on social media can be overwhelming, and I need to back that up with more in-person stuff.

On a side note, this time last year I was preparing to leave teaching and had some doubts. But hey, I’m still employed and things seem to be moving in an upward fashion.

So this is it for now good faithfuls, I’m heading over to the Ai room to start the journey of creating at least 3-4 post to end this year out on.  

Until next time good folk–duckies!

AM Morning Poem, that Went off The Rails

 Roll call

roll up

just roll out’ta bed

We ain’t rollin’ up

no weed, 

we sippin’ coffee instead

Tryin’ to hit goals

on a Tuesday morn,

but the pen is 

rough stuck, 

like we not even born

Able mind

able body

ableism is a thing

kind of hard to spell

as ageism stings–

Lower back, lower town

we drownin’ in pain,

pop 2 Advil,

so the poet can sang

Sang a song

hit the bong

old Nick is here, 

don’t call him saint

because my X’s a bitch

it didn’t rhyme, fuck the crime

Some will cry &

crash

this is just an attempt 

at A.M. madness 

mash the gas

pass the stash

find the hash

hold the ash

steady the hand

handle the pain

suck up the tears

for some seeds

you plant will just 

grow crooked

But can’t camp out 

at Fort Whimper & Whine 

straighten & stiffen

your spine, as your 

coffee cup begs for wine

at 8:03 am–

It’s the 23rd slim

and you got 48 

to strangle;

Do your best 

not to

suffocate or hate

this time of year

just because you stopped 

believing in the 

fight

8:04 am—

fuck you.