Writing as Resistance

Politically speaking, a lot happened since I left. I knew it would—I was traveling to the US on Election Day, after all—but the results are not what I hoped. (According to current voting counts, they're not what a majority of voters wanted either.)

It's been almost a month since the election, and people are still hurting. Still scared. Still anxious. And why wouldn't they be? We don't yet know what will happen next. I know not everyone believes the US is headed toward an autocratic hellscape, but historical precedent does us few favors here.

To those of you who are worried like me: It's okay to be anxious. Feel what you gotta feel. I'm still considering what I can do in the coming months and years, but here's one thing I do know:

We can write.

Stories give us hope. When the protagonist gets back up after being left for dead, it makes us believe we can do the same. When the heroes win against all odds—when Katara defeats Azula, when Sam carries Frodo to Mount Doom, when Luke strikes the Death Star's core—it reminds us that those in power are vulnerable.

Even the coziest stories give us joy and an escape, and these are every bit as necessary as hope. Stories also share the power of love and connection. They remind us what we are fighting for.

Stories give us symbols. Alan Moore inspired the face of Anonymous, and Katniss's three-finger salute has been considered cause for arrest. Symbols are powerful. They remind us that we are not alone. They terrify oppressors by reminding them how outnumbered they are.

Stories foster empathy. Empathy is the antidote to fascism. It is vital to creating a world we can all live in together.

No matter what you feel about the present time, even if you feel powerless, know that your stories matter and are absolutely necessary.

There's a reason fascist regimes always ban books.

It is the same reason we need to write them.

Personal Status

Some quick, personal updates for those of you who have been lacking such things.

As I said in July, my long-term gamedev contracts ended, and I am all in on the freelance train again. Honestly, I'm happy about that. I love editing. It lets me help authors (which I love) and maintain an incredibly flexible schedule (which I need). Only problem is I have to constantly find jobs.

Here are some burners I've got going to address that:

• I'm a contractor for Scribendi, Inc., editing everything from resumes to research papers to admission essays. It's not my dream job (and the pay is only okay), but it keeps me somewhat afloat (and has done since 2017; I'm very thankful for them).
• I'm now also a contractor for Cambridge Proofreading (because Scribendi work was sparse, but my daughter said, "Hey, aren't there other companies like Scribendi?"—turns out she was right).
• I have recently contracted as an editor/coach with KN Literary Arts. This is very cool in theory. Among other things, I love the idea of coaching, and this would let me work on novels and memoirs. It's still early days, though. We'll see how this pans out in terms of stability.
• And of course, I'm always seeking clients right here on the site. These are my favorite (and not just because they pay the best). I am always excited when one of you sends me an e-mail about helping you with something you've written.

All of this is slow going, but it's going. There was a time, years ago, when I was getting clients semi-regularly and also, like, streaming and playing D&D online and stuff. I hope to find some of that again.

The hard part is building trust and patience in myself. There's a lot (A LOT) to be said for predictable work and income. But freedom's pretty great too. If I can create some stability with it, that would be amazing.

What about writing?

That's happening, but it's very much back-burner at the moment. It's difficult to allocate time for it when I could be making money instead, but I haven't quit yet. Just seeking a bit more freelance stability first.

Ah, but I do have something new sitting with Broken Eye Books. Gotta wait for that, though.

Publishing, man. It's slow.

And the kids?

Well, a bunch of them have recently graduated high school or are about to, which is going to change my schedule in unpredictable ways. Theoretically, I'll have more time when they leave and/or take care of themselves, but we'll see what happens.

Like Master Yoda says...

One last administrative note: I'll be traveling for a couple of weeks, and the blog will be quiet during that time. I should return by December at the latest. Subscribe or watch my socials to stay up to date.

What Improvement Actually Looks Like

One of my favorite games of all time and one of the hardest high-precision platformers I have ever played is Celeste. This game asks you to traverse a series of deadly rooms through a combination of jumps, dashes, and wall climbs. Most rooms can be traversed in a matter of seconds, though you will often die dozens of times before that happens.

Some rooms are much longer. A successful run through the final room, for example, can take more than two minutes. Here's a clip if you want to see it (SPOILER):

I spent hours of trial and error trying to traverse this room. My kids watched sometimes, and I found an interesting phenomenon: Every time I said, "I'm getting better! Look how far I can get," I would immediately die several times on the early, "easy" parts that I thought I had figured out.

It was frustrating (and embarrassing). I felt like I'd learned nothing, like my previous successes had been luck, and I was lying to myself that I was improving at all.

That's because, like most people, I believed this:

It makes sense, right? Put the time in, and you will get better (and you'll never go back down to a previous level, because you can't! You're better now!).

But what happened to me was this:

I would get consistently better and then suddenly get worse—a lot worse, in places that I thought I had already figured out. It led me to believe that I hadn't gotten better at all. I became disillusioned, frustrated, and discouraged.

I bet you're familiar with this feeling.

This pattern—trying to improve, getting better for a bit, then failing more than we think we should—can be seen over and over again in everything: playing piano, learning to snowboard, writing more words per day, lifting weights, breaking a bad habit, improving ourselves through therapy, and on and on.

It can be frustrating when we feel like we've slid backwards, like we're not improving at all and will maybe never improve.

But if you keep going, you find a strange, new truth:

Improvement doesn't happen in a straight line. It has peaks and dips and plateaus and more dips, but so long as you continue, it always, always goes up—even when it doesn't feel like it.

Failing repeatedly in Celeste (while telling my kids, "Look what I can do!") helped prove this to myself. I wanted to finish the room, and I got frustrated every time I died. To succeed, I had to change my goal from "finish the room" to "practice toward consistency."

I would celebrate the small victories: when I did an early bit of platforming well, when I became more consistent at a part that used to give me trouble, even when I died in a way I never had before. I wasn't reaching new lengths in the room, but I was slowly improving and, perhaps more importantly, enjoying every run even though I died hundreds(!) of times.

This applies to writing too. Maybe I don't hit 1,000 words every day, but I can celebrate that I am hitting 500 every day—or 200! Or 50! I can even celebrate that I just sat down to write multiple days in a row. I can celebrate writing a sentence or even simply opening my document without fear.

And when I fail at these things, I can remember that's part of the process too. Improvement doesn't happen in a straight line, and I'm going to fail sometimes. It's impossible not to! But forward is forward.

All of which is to say: don't give up. So long as you keep going, you are improving, even when it doesn't feel like it.

Trust the process.