There have been so many overhyped storms this winter, it was a shock when we ended up with more snow than predicted last weekend. How much? Close to 10″ here in Fort Atkinson. A day or two earlier, they were predicting 1-2″ tops.
And this morning, the icing on the cake: -9°. The wind chill was 20 below zero. January is going out with a bang.
It was pretty wild, seeing the Rock River freeze up again. These patterns in the ice were beautiful. They’re the result of strong winds Saturday night, combined with plummeting temperatures.
Mother Nature is quite the artist, eh?
Today, I needed a notary public for some paperwork I had to complete for my CenturyCo pension, so I got that done over lunch. Though I only worked there for two years, I ended up with a fairly decent chunk of change that I decided to roll over into a personal IRA. I could’ve waited until retirement and received $58 a month for life, but that hardly seemed worth it. Or, I could’ve cashed it in now and spent it on a wild weekend in Vegas that would’ve rivaled The Hangover, but that didn’t seem like the wisest course of action either.
God, being a responsible(ish) adult sucks.
The concept of a notary public is interesting to me. It’s not a profession, but instead, the ultimate side hustle. All you’re doing is checking IDs. Kinda like a bartender, minus the mixing drinks part and listening to people drone on and on about their problems.
OK, nothing at all like a bartender.
Tara was a notary public when we started dating. She was so cute, with her notebook and pen and that big stamp that made such a satisfying sound when she clicked down on it. Holding all that power in the palm of your hand must be a real rush. I get the appeal.
Now that January is all but over, Bloganuary is also all but over. While I did not participate, I hung onto a few of the more interesting prompts to answer later. Later is now, you lucky dogs.
Has a book changed your life? (Jan. 10)
Yeah, you might say so.
Growing up, my friends all wanted to be astronauts or firefighters, but my sights were set on becoming a writer. Specifically, a published author. I wrote my first novel, Beacon Rock, in my twenties. I followed that up with Stabbing Nature and Colored Red. Essentially, they were a trilogy following the same characters. There was a fourth, a semi-autobiographical thriller called The Lion in the Grass. I tried like hard to get these published the traditional way, sending hundreds of query letters to literary agents coast to coast. Had a bunch of requests for sample chapters and, a few times, full manuscripts, but all I got in return was enough rejection letters to wallpaper a small bedroom.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. A few agents were kind enough to send me in-depth critiques full of helpful advice. I took their suggestions to heart and focused all my efforts on the book I was most proud of and felt had the most potential, Stabbing Nature. I completely rewrote the whole thing, turning it into a standalone novel and changing the entire plot, characters’ names, and even the title. The only thing No Time For Kings had in common with the original was its premise: a group of eco-terrorists resorts to murder to further their agenda, and an intrepid female news reporter gets tangled up in their web.
On Aug. 15, 2011, I published No Time for Kings through Booklocker. Did fame and fortune follow? No, but that was never my point (even if I did secretly feel that Tommy Lee Jones would have made the perfect villain in the movie version, and Kate Winslet would have been ideally cast as my badass protagonist). Instead, I shared a piece of art with the world, and in the process achieved infamy. That’s something you can’t put a price tag on. Long after I’m gone, copies of my novel will still be floating around. That gives me great comfort.
I haven’t been nearly as prolific in the dozen years since publication; I’ve only churned out Dream Sailors since, and have made no effort to publish that other than on the Kindle Vella platform.
But that doesn’t matter. I will forevermore be a published author, and that’s all I ever wanted.
What’s a language you wish you could speak? (Jan. 26)
Woman.
Men and women famously come from different planets, according to a very popular book. I can never remember which one comes from Mars and which from Venus, but it doesn’t really matter. We do think differently. And look, I love women to death. None more so than my wife. But understanding them has always been an exercise in futility. If I were better at it, I’d have saved myself a lot of grief and heartache over the years.
What are the pros and cons of procrastination? (Jan. 27)
I’d tell you now, but I don’t feel like it. Check back with me later.
Mark My Words 
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