I’ve been quiet. Too quiet.

Sometimes you’re a noun, and sometimes you’re a verb, and boy howdy, do I feel trapped in the did, done, doing, does conjugation of “to do.” Partially, it’s the time of the year: holiday, birthdays, snow days, and OMG last chance to pick up my leaves days. The rest of my treadmill is winter gardening, painting, sculpting, and entering a couple of art shows while editing my latest installment in The Admiral Inn series – in the wee hours of the night. And then there’s applying to university on behalf of my “Youth Ambassador to Germany” daughter posted in Europe for 10 months. (Fingers crossed she’s accepted Early Decision and I’m “done.”)

To the outside world, I must look chaotic, unfocused, undisciplined, and truthfully, my Aunt Eunice voice croaks the same criticisms inside my head, but humans aren’t one-dimensional. And every other human knows this but somehow we feel compelled to control our self-narrative, to simplify, dumb it down, and make palatable all that we are. “I’m a taxi driver,” “I write,” or “I’m retired,” say so little about all that we are. These quick elevator pitches only serve to give the other person a comfy handle, an onramp into getting to know us but shrinking ourselves to become more knowable seems the opposite of, well, being knowable.

Sure, sure, sure, with so many craving attention on social media, it doesn’t seem like hiding our light is a thing in this society. If anything, ceaseless crowing about how special we are, amazing our talent, brilliant our opinions, or lucky that we just happened to record that escaped AI circus bear juggling three jack-a-lopes while sleeping on our porch swing might be, is writ large across the ones-and-zeros heavens. However, exploiting ourselves such that we may be judged worthy is not the same as being comfortable in our own skin.

Of course, you ARE special, talented, brilliant, and lucky, but I think the difference comes down to the “judge” part. How much do I care what strangers think of me? Honestly, I have to judge first how well they know me and then take exactly that percentage of their opinion to heart. Nothing more. Nothing less. I mean, as creatives, we have to put ourselves out there or we aren’t communicating anything. Otherwise, we’re just entertaining ourselves and demanding the world like us.

I won’t lie, that juicy sales report or an amazing review or just one thoughtful comment can fuel my writing for days. Go ahead, take that inspiration into your soul. Roll around in the bathtub of “You Like Me, You Really Like Me!” Run with the indulgent moments of narcissism like they be scissors. But let there be balance. You don’t create for the applause. You instigate conversation. While absorbing your surroundings, you synthesize what you’re learning, and start a new dialog. Rinse and repeat. That’s an artist, writer, musician, actor.

And with that, go back to work. The world needs you more than you need it. If you’ve read this far, thanks to all who sent me birthday wishes. Not that one guy. There always has to be one, right? “Hey, sweety. What you doing right now?” I don’t care where you stick the bow, that’s not a sincere greeting. All said, here’s hoping A Wolf in the Shipwreck, the 10th in The Admiral Inn series, releases the first week of December. As always, thanks to all who read my books. You are the embers I carry back to my desk.