What Scares Me

Every year on October 31st, the world (or those in it that recognize such frivolous holidays) tries to frighten itself. Scary movies, ghost stories, spooky costumes, all part of the elaborate ruse designed to riff on one of the most primitive and powerful sensations in the human emotional lexicon: fear.

In honor of the approaching All Hallow's Eve, it's time to face my fears and blog about the things that scare me.

My Health

You might find this pumpkin or these bats scary. I don't.
I would face these guys any day over an awkward social function

Every time I get some strange new pain I'm convinced I'm dying. This is usually confirmed by Google when I plop my symptoms into their handy search bar. I figure Google employs some of the most brilliant people on the planet, so if they tell me I have a rare incurable disease, it must be true.

Flying Stinging Insects

Don't take this the wrong way, honeybees of the world, I really appreciate what you do for us. Pollination is pretty cool and all. But one of your kind (or any of your brethren like wasps or hornets) flying into my shirt and stabbing its thorax sword into my tender places is up there with a root canal and the stomach flu for things I don't want to experience today.

Awkward Social Constructs

The only thing worse than sitting awkwardly in a corner while people hurricane around you communicating freely and apparently enjoying themselves is when people notice you sitting awkwardly in the corner. I can get along with a surprising spectrum of people, but for inexplicable reasons I occasionally find myself turtling into a carapace of self-consciousness when thrust into certain social contexts.

My Imagination

Most of my fears are birthed exclusively from my overactive imagination. That rustle in the shadows was not some nefarious beast or bloodthirsty cacodemon. More likely it was a fluffy squirrel, more frightened of me than I of him. The echoes made by his tiny body were merely augmented into grotesque proportions by my own damn brain. 

Vanishing Global Intellect

It takes only a couple of laps through your favorite social media platform to understand exactly what I'm talking about. Forget mere spelling and grammar abominations, the tone of conversation in this 21st century has reached a new and disturbing ebb. Blame has been laid on so many parties: the internet, movies, video games and parents find themselves most often in the crosshairs. But the problem is too pandemic to stem from any singular source. What is there to be done? I suppose the only thing we can: combat this decline in yourself. Don't get your news from memes. Support science, arts, literature and education. Read books. Ban intellectual poisons from your diet and maybe we might have a chance.

The Most Terrifying Animal in the Animal Kingdom

I loved The Life of Pi and one of my favorite bits of imagery was early in the novel when Pi describes a display at his family's zoo, a curtain with a sign over it that read: "Do you know which is the most dangerous animal in the zoo?" Wondering what could possibly be worse than the lions and tigers and bears (oh my!) on display, people worked themselves into a nervous tizzy and ripped back the curtain with a gasp. What animal was revealed? A mirror. That's right. Humans are the most dangerous animal. No other creature in history (as far as we know) has been the author of a mass extinction (yes, scientists are now saying we are in the Holocene Extinction). We do amazing things, us humans. But we also commit some of the worst atrocities in world history and frankly that terrifies me.

A Mountain of Dirty Dishes

This might not look like much but for me it is the stuff of nightmares

Move over penicillin, rockets, the cotton gin, automobiles, the internet, and the wheel, clearly the dishwasher is the greatest invention in mankind's long history. There is nothing more loathsome then squaring off against a Mt. Everest of dirty, food-crusted plates, cups and silverware. Not only is handwashing dishes a smelly, unpleasant exercise in  futility, it sucks up precious hours of my day that could be spent doing other things, like writing blog posts about how much I hate doing dishes.

The Acceleration of Time

Each year the years get shorter. It's like some sneaky sociopath breaks into my life and pilfers precious minutes, or even hours, every day. Perhaps it is just a function of proportionality: as one ages, a month or a year becomes an increasingly smaller portion of his lifespan. I remember as a kid when a year passed like an eternity. I longed for milestones that approached at a sloth's pace: being 10, getting out of middle school, driving a car, turning 18. Now decades pass in a blink and I think back on things "just a little while ago" and realize they have drifted almost 15 years into my past. Can someone hit the brakes on this?

Typos
Nothing is worse for a writer trying to convince the ruthless world he's worthy than a typo. Well maybe a homonym error. No matter how many pages of semi-worthy writing I produce, vicious critics will write me off for a single lapse in concentration. A forgotten hyphen or a missing comma. Of course, I also scratch my head in wonderment at how such errors sneak into my work despite countless editorial pass-throughs. This is the most powerful of all my fears and hence lands here at the end of this terrifying blog post!

Cower in your closet terrified of ghosts and ghouls or innocuous monsters like bats and spiders if you want. I won't blame you. But come Halloween night, if a dreaded typo comes knocking at my door I'm calling the friggin' cops.

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If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not paralyzed in fear of everything from my own shadow to a dirty pan that housed last night's lasagna, I write about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph in a novel to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. You will get a once-a-week update on my blog posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

A Slytherin? Really?

In a blog post a little while back, Twitter friend A.S. Akkalon discussed being sorted into Ravenclaw by the Pottermore website. In a comment, I proclaimed that I was also part of the Ravenclaw club. We congratulated each other's high degree of nerdom and moved on.

Why Ravenclaw you might ask? Well, frankly I'm not quite personable enough to be a Hufflepuff, not nearly brave enough to be a Gryffindor, and certainly not evil enough to be a Slytherin. Besides, "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure" is a motto I could get behind any day.

If you aren't a fan of Harry Potter, this entire post will probably
seem like nonsense. I apologize in advance for that

As time went on, I was intrigued by the notion of being sorted. My declaration of belonging to Ravenclaw bore no official sanction. I was yet another in a sad line of "self sorters" who were, in fact, nothing more than pretenders.

What Potter fan hasn't wondered and even fantasized about what their time at Hogwarts would be like? Would I be a quidditch captain and seeker and end up in front of thousands of cheering witches and warlocks at the Quidditch World Cup? Would I be a troublemaker and romp the castle grounds, probing its every secret passage like Fred and George Weasley? Would I be a clever, clandestine wizard, poking through the restricted section of the library and creating innovative and original magic?

Knowing there was a website, and one officially sanctioned by J.K. Rowling which seemed to lend it some credence, that would actually sort me into my Hogwarts house, how could I resist? I found myself visiting Pottermore for the first time, greedy to discover something of my Hogwarts future.

So the sorting quiz began...

"Your worst nightmare consists of..." "Which animal would you bring to Hogwarts..." "You most want to be remembered as..." The questions rolled on. Though sometimes I found myself stuck between answers (if I interpret it like this I would answer ___ but if I interpret it like that I would answer ___), I provided the most honest answers possible.

Otis is black but he resents even the implication of evilness

At last I reached the final question: "Black or white?" Hmmm... But what does that mean? Historically black is (perhaps unfairly) correlated with evil, and white with good. From a personal style perspective, however, I am not a fan of white clothing. I am much too adventurous and prone to staining for anything lighter than a tan-ish shade of brown. My closet is lined with black t-shirts. I always wear black sunglasses. My dog is black and, unless I'm even a few minutes late feeding him dinner, it seems hard to label anything about him as evil.

This strangely vague question of black or white seemed laden with gravity, like my entire Hogwarts experience might hinge on simple semantic interpretation. If it was meant to be figurative, a stand-in for the moral condition of my soul, then of course I would choose white. I like to think of myself as a person of good-intentions. I always side with the hero, not the villain. But from a simple electromagnetic spectrum standpoint (and the three simple words in the question's phrasing gave no indication it was anything else) I would have to say black fits me better. 

After too-long deliberating, I chose black and reluctantly hit submit.

The quiz was complete. My Hogwarts schooling career was about to begin. The time had come to find out to which House I belonged.....

SLYTHERIN!!! The Sorting Hat projected into the Great Hall. What?!? How could?!? But I...

I was aghast. I was angry. I was ashamed. Such a torrent of emotion did I experience that I leapt to my feet and paced around my living room until the shock wore off. It had be wrong. There must be some mistake. Somebody hacked into my computer while I was halfway through and supplied some devious, misleading and inauthentic answers. But after a amount of time spent feeling angry and disenfranchised, I had to accept the truth:

The Sorting Hat's decision was final. Like it or not, I was a Slytherin.

My new family crest, I suppose. The evil-looking snake
does nothing to assuage my fear of how I will be
received by my Hogwarts colleagues. As a member
of another house, would you still be my friend?

I was stuck with a vision of myself, wary in the corner of the shadowy Slytherin common room, on the fringe of a pack of snaggletoothed Crabbe and Goyle lookalikes, trying not to draw attention while simultaneously trying not to look like I was trying not to draw attention. Somewhere nearby a Malfoy-figure was holding a gathering of the wizarding world's version of the Alt-right and I felt obliged to voice my occasional disingenuous agreement simply in order to ride my broom under the proverbial radar.

Perhaps, however, if while the Sorting Hat rested upon my head, magically penetrating parts of my mind I didn't even know existed, I should have implored it "Not in Slytherin. Not in Slytherin" and it would have taken enough pity on my cause to throw me in Ravenclaw anyway.

I was consoled somewhat by the letter from my new house welcoming me into the noble line of Slytherin. The great wizard Merlin, the letter informed me, was a Slytherin. This is good. I liked the Sword in the Stone. If we are talking about the same iteration of Merlin, I could potentially get behind that.

So do I have some hidden evil in me that the Pottermore Sorting Hat sensed that even I am unaware of? Or perhaps is it that Slytherin gets an unfair reputation based on a few bad examples? Or is it just a silly website and I shouldn't take it so seriously? I never actually put on the actual Sorting Hat, after all. This quiz that functions as a Sorting Hat stand-in surely is little more than a cheap imitation.

Despite this reasonable logic and my numerous appeals to the magical kingdom for justice, however, I had to accept that I was sorted as well as an American muggle can be.

I am a Slytherin.

NOTE: After this blog post was written, I returned to the Pottermore website, created a different account and re-took the sorting quiz and was sorted properly into Ravenclaw as I was supposed to be all along. But was this cheating? Actual Hogwarts entrants get no such second chances.

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If you enjoyed this post, consider signing up for my mailing list. When not dreaming about becoming a wizard, I often write about all sorts of crazy, educational, entertaining, and occasionally funny topics from what makes an effective first paragraph in a novel to giant redwoods, medieval sailboats, the ancient Mayans and more. If you do sign up, you will get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these works in progress that are constantly haunting me, I might send out an email letting you know. In the meantime thanks for reading.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions 

Everything I Needed to Know About Happiness I Learned From My Dog

Otis, the poster boy of happiness, in his element

My dog Otis, that ear-scratching, butt-sniffing, stomach-with-legs, dander factory is probably the happiest creature I've ever met. Sometimes I envy the peaceful simplicity of his life. Eat, sleep, love. That's about all that matters. And maybe a few hikes and games of Frisbee in-between.

But seriously, there are valuable lessons that can be learned from our pets. Things we can apply to our lives in order to live happier and be more content. 

A few readily applicable tricks I've gleaned from my dog that will enhance your life:

Enjoy the little things

An no-holds-barred roll in the snow or frolic through the grass is a great way to create the experience of pure joy. Just let everything go, damned to anyone watching, and indulge yourself in something simple and invigorating. A life lesson with no bottom to its practicality. Who cares if people think you're crazy? You probably are anyway.

Digging a hole in the sand is a surprisingly
fulfilling way to kill an hour

Love your people, no matter what

One night I tried to act like my dog when my wife came home from work, wiggling my butt, leaping up and down incessantly, whirling in circles. She nearly called the doctor. But seriously, the pure joy of a dog every time they greet you is one of the most endearing things about their species. No matter what degree of ugly your day turned out to be, it is hard not to smile when your dog races out the door with its tail whipping like a pinwheel to greet you. A dog rarely gets mad and even when he does, he'll recklessly forgive and forget.

Sprawl out on the floor

Pick a spot on the floor (preferably in a crepuscular shaft of sunlight spilling in from the window) and just sprawl out for a few minutes. Nap on if you need to or just enjoy some worry-free moments letting your troubles bleed away into the carpet. When you roll back to your feet, I guarantee you'll be refreshed and ready to return to your full agenda of problems.

Be a messy eater

Perhaps best avoided when you are company at somebody's house but when it's just you and your people, don't be afraid to dig in to your dinner and get dirty. Probably not recommended to leave your wife to clean up the pieces (just because she's happy to do so after your dog doesn't mean she will be for you) but there is an argument to be made for pure, reckless eating.

Chasing a ball on an Alaskan beach is something to howl about

Live in the moment

Though dogs lack the tongue dexterity required to form human speech (and thus can't really tell us what they are thinking), I have a strong suspicion that Otis rarely worries about the choices he regrets not making, or wastes a day fretting about his job or finances. Otis enjoys the chewtoy in front of him and lets the rest fall into place.

Greet everyone as if they are your friend

Otis bounds toward every human or canine he meets with tail-flapping enthusiasm as if they were a long-estranged buddy. I, however, am a self-disposed, mistrustful, and preoccupied creature who tends to treat strangers like potential irritants or obstacles. If perhaps we as a species made a little more eye-contact and employed a few more friendly intentions, we might make slightly faster progress in the aim of making our world a better place.

Swim in that creek

Humans are so afraid of getting wet. We should just jump in that glacier-fed creek, damned to the consequences. Have one of your people throw in a stick for you to chase if that helps. Cold water is cleansing and invigoration. Just shake off afterwards and enjoy warming back up in the sunshine.

Clearly, a dog enjoys many perks to life humans are too stuffy and conceited to consider. The carefree simplicity of rest and love. The pleasure of reckless eating and the company of our people. Some may argue for the great advantages of being human. Like opposable thumbs and abstract thought. Reading books and pondering the nature of existence. But what really have any of those things done for us? They come with the terrible burden of civilization: anxiety, depression, jobs, wars, laws, etc, etc, etc. 

If you ask me all I have wanted all along was simply to curl into a donut on a basket bed and close my eyes for a nap....

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When not dreaming about becoming an animal, Brian occasionally writes about other, sometimes more serious, topics like the consequences of building fences between us and our neighbors, or the potentially damaging effects of social media on our culture. He is also a news reporter and essayist and spends as much of his free time as possible working on one or more of his unfinished novel projects which he hopes to one day see on your bookshelf. You can sign up for his mailing list and expect the full expression of his gratitude. Don't worry, all you will get is a weekly email updating you on his most recent musings.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions

Ten Signs You've Taken Your Writing Obsession Too Far

Every writer knows the blessing (or curse, more accurately) of writing. The superpowers of world creation. The pure joy of instant escapism into a world completely under your control. The exhilaration of being puppet master for both your characters and readers. The vicarious ecstasy of slipping into the role of both handsome hero and clever villain.

But like anything, even writing, needs to be dosed in moderation. Here are ten signs you’ve taken it too far:

1. You accidentally call your wife by the name of your novel’s heroine. 

Depending on the particular circumstances of the mistake, this could be a marriage breaker.

2. You are still in your pajamas at 5 pm on your day off. 

Just one more chapter turned into five more hours.

3. You dream a brilliant plot and scramble out of bed at 2 am to write the outline. 

Usually doesn’t sound as good in the morning as it did in the middle of the night.

4. Your friends have stopped calling and it took you three months to notice. 

The only friends you need are in Middle Earth anyway.

5. You conflated your boss with your story’s villain. 

Oh well, the character was probably based on him, wasn't he?

6. You have more empty coffee mugs on your desk than rejection letters. 

And there are a lot of those.

7. You work on three manuscripts, four short stories, a platform, a query letter, an author bio, a front cover, and a blog all in one day.

And somehow you still find time to read fifty pages of the latest fantasy epic from your favorite author.

8. Your book budget is nearly as high as your rent.

Yes this is actually my keyboard. Good thing I don't need to
look at it to see where A, S and E are....

And you still refuse to get rid of your old books. It's okay, Gollum, I know they're precious.

9. You correct the grammar of the local newspaper.

Where do they get these hack writers, anyway?

10. You’ve typed so much you can no longer read the letters on your laptop’s keyboard. 

Yeah, A, S, E, and O are all invisible on mine, and C, D, and L are close behind.

Don’t worry, quirky, obsessed writer you. You are not alone. Maybe someday it will pay off. Or not, in which case you better enjoy it.

I am in-debted to my readers. Without people to endure the words on my pages, I will vanish like the dodo. If you liked this post, feel free to comment below. If you didn't like it, feel free to comment below. I'll be your friend forever if you consider signing up for my weekly newsletter. You'll get a once-a-week update on my posts and NOTHING ELSE! No spam, no selling your email to third parties. Okay, if I ever get around to publishing one of these numerous books I've been working on, I might send out an email letting you know about that, but that's it! In the meantime thanks for reading.

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All writing is the original work of Brian Wright and may not be copied, distributed, re-printed or used any form without express written consent of the author. Find out here how to CONTACT me with publishing and/or use questions