As has been our tradition since our first year dating 10 years ago, my wife and I celebrate Valentine's Day by watching a Sylvester Stallone film, starting with the 1987 classic, Over The Top. (What, you too?) This year it was Rocky II. Why the audience cares about Rocky, and why he ultimately wins, comes down to heart. The idea of heart, and heartlessness, has been kicking around in my head since, and it seems to lay at the foundation of the divide in our country, and in my own mental and physical struggles.

Companies making machine learning and generative software aren’t just metaphorically ripping off books. In at least one case, they’re rather literally shredding millions of physical books to …

For 2026, as a form of literary cleansing and letting go, I’ve decided to go back though my old, unpublished efforts and either put them to bed, rework them for submission, or post them here. Finding the following piece - written some 21 years ago - is rather illuminating to my character. Fear has long been a constant - indeed, it may be the longest running constant in my life.

Like many people out there, I'm been struggling lately. And by lately I mean for years, but the recent months have been awful, full of health issues that have been rather debilitating. Things had been moving in a positive direction, but a recent series of events has put me back in it. In these days I've found myself feeling nothing from music.

For 2026, as a form of literary cleansing and letting go, I’ve decided to go back though my old, unpublished efforts and either put them to bed, rework them for submission, or post them here. The following is a story I wrote for my mom all the way back in 2007. It has no literary value whatsoever, but I tried my best to capture one of the times when I was happiest - baking cookies with my mom.

For 2026, as a form of cleansing and letting go, I've decided to go back though my old, unpublished efforts and either put them to bed, rework them for submission, or post them here. The following is the one and only time I tried to write a fairy tale. Admittedly, it's not very original, or "literary," but I still like it, especially as I wrote it for/about the girl I was then dating.

This year I have no inkling to start the year off with any sort of grand reflections or intentions. I just want to jump into it, so here goes. Back in 2005, I was finishing my last year of college, which, of course, is the ending and beginning of many things. At the same time, I was volunteering at a local retirement home, doing various things that the entertainment director asked me to.

I heard someone call this year the longest year in history. Considering the Covid years, that may seem ludicrous, but, even with how awful those years were, (during which I got so sick I thought I might not make it), 2025 has indeed been the year that won't die, thanks in great part to the election this patently absurd administration. Every day a whiplash and never knowing what is waiting around the corner, afraid to look away, terrified not to know what's going on.

Continuity Meets the Skip Intro Button “Snowing. Of course. It had to snow, didn't it? This is your doing, Broderick, yours. You know so long as it snows I'm trapped here, which means you'll never be alone, which lets you not give up for one more day. Tomorrow will come, honey, believe me, tomorrow will come for us all, and there'll be no snow to save us then.”

When I was in first grade I remember sitting on the floor of the classroom, having coloring time. I had a sweet Muppet Babies coloring book. One after another I kept breaking my crayons. Not on purpose but because I was pressing too hard, which I was doing because I hated seeing any white space show through. I wanted it to be perfect, ideal, with no room for anything else to exist.

Today would have been our cat Samantha's birthday. We don't know when she was actually born, of course, but it was seven years today we took her home from the shelter. Two weeks ago - very unexpectedly - we had to say goodbye, and had to be the ones to make the final call. The visceral nature of those final hours have softened a bit, but I remain heartbroken.

The supercomputer in your pocket is destroying you

Writing, books, cats, green tea.

The other night at work a tween literally called me old to my face. And, okay, in her simple concept of the world I am old. In the grand scheme of things, of course, my age is less than a blink, just like all of us. The point being, I'm fine with my age for the simple fact that it's my age – why pretend, why fight?

When I was in high school I started to collect quotes whenever I read a good book, it's a habit I picked up from my U.S. History teacher, Mr. Graham. Every day he would go through his collection of quotes and write a meaningful one on the blackboard. The internet was in its infancy then and there was so Googling to find quotes.