Tag Archives: writing

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing

Monday Musings: Here We Are

By David B. Coe By David B. CoeWe woke this morning to a snow squall, something that happened with ever-decreasing frequency during our years in Tennessee, as climate change made the warm South even warmer. Here in New York, during the winter months, snow is still the default when there’s precipitation, and I love that. I have missed snow and don’t mind paying the plow guy or dealing with snow on the walkways and driveway. The beauty of an early morning snowfall more than makes up for the inconveniences.

We have bird feeders up now, and they’ve drawn in a variety of species, including several species of sparrow, goldfinches and cardinals, chickadees and nuthatches and woodpeckers. They have also drawn the attention of local hawks, who seem to view our feeders as an all-they-can-eat avian buffet. We have a Cooper’s Hawk who frequents the yard, a pair of Red-tails who come around quite often, and, as of yesterday, a gorgeous Red-shouldered Hawk. Our turkey flock continues to wander through the yard now and then, as does a beautiful red fox. A couple of weeks ago, while driving past the farm that borders our property on the western edge, I spotted a young Peregrine Falcon perched on a telephone pole, hungrily eyeing a flock of doves.

I haven’t written in this blog for a few weeks, and in a way what you’ve just read is why. I am working again, we have settled into a routine of sorts. The house still needs a good deal of work, and we’re getting around to that slowly, steadily. We are enjoying this setting immensely. We’re eating fun foods and finding new stuff to stream. We’re spending lots of time with my brother and his family, who live close by, and lots of time with my college roommate and musical partner and his wife, who also live maybe 20 minutes from here.

Life is comfortable and peaceful and, I will also admit, a tiny bit boring. Not to me, mind you, but I can definitely see where it could seem that way to those on the outside. We traveled a lot last year. This year we’re planning to (mostly) stay put and work on our new place. The past several years have been full and fraught, difficult beyond words at times, and at other times so frantic as to be exhausting. This year won’t be like that. Not if we can help it.

And so, yeah, I have struggled to post. I don’t want to bore. I don’t want to repeat material from old posts.

I continue to grieve for my older daughter. I’ll never stop. But I feel I have made that grief part of my life, part of who I am now, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t feel the same need to write about it that I felt last year. And I think many grew tired of such posts. Grief is part of me, but it does not — should not — define me.

I don’t really want to think about the slow-motion disaster unfolding in our nation’s capital. This administration’s attempts to subvert the Constitution and undo a century of progress on Civil Rights, environmental protection, social justice, and a host of other worthy goals is not something upon which I care to dwell. I am too weary to engage in online flame wars with troglodytes and nazis. At some point, I’ll grow angry enough to write a political screed or three, but not now.

And at some point, I am sure, I will have much to say about new writing projects. For now, though, I’m merely editing, and enjoying quiet, productive days in my new work space.

All of this feels healthy, and deeply appropriate for this current stage of my life. None of it makes for exciting reading (or writing). I will do my best to post as I can, to come up with things to say that make something worth reading out of our mundane-albeit-cozy existence. But to those who know us and care about us, please be assured that we are doing well. Better than we would have thought possible a little over a year ago. Some days are harder than others. But we are where we ought to be, physically and emotionally. It’s hard to ask for more.

Wishing all of you a wonderful week.

Blogging, Case Files of Justis Fearsson, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, editing, The Chalice War, Thieftaker Chronicles, Winds of the Forelands, Writing

New Year’s Musings: Good To Be Back

The keyboard feels strange beneath my fingers. That’s how long it’s been. My typing is rusty — typos come with almost every word. But I am writing. Something, anything. I am writing. Again, finally.

It’s been two months since I wrote so much as a blog entry. I haven’t written a word of fiction since the earliest days of April. I haven’t started a book that was entirely my own (as opposed to tie-in/work-for-hire) in way more than a year. For a long time now, I have wondered if I am still a writer, or have become someone who used to write. On that last, I suppose, time will tell.

But for now, I am writing this, and I thank you for coming back to my site to read it.

The year just passed began with grief, in a dark, painful place that seemed inescapable. It ended differently, and while we all continue to miss our beloved Alex, we are, all of us, on a healing path.

Young male lion, Greater Kruger National Park, photo by David B. Coe
Young male lion, Greater Kruger National Park, photo by David B. Coe

Nancy and I traveled a good deal in 2024, including two epic trips, one to Italy and one to South Africa. We stayed with friends in the Pacific Northwest, visited Nancy’s family in Idaho, spent time with Erin in Colorado, and traveled several times to the Hudson Valley in New York for real estate purposes.

Venice. Photo by David B. Coe
Venice. Photo by David B. Coe

Those last trips bore fruit, and I write this today from my new computer table, in my new office, in our new home, in upstate New York. Since mid-August, we have been busy nonstop with travel, but also with cleaning, throwing away old stuff that we no longer needed or wanted, packing, moving, unpacking, painting the new place, and, of course, dealing with banks and title agencies, etc., etc., etc.

View of our new house from the back yard
View of our new house from the back yard

We are settling in, though there are still plenty of boxes sitting here and there, unopened, hiding things we need or want or simply have forgotten about. Our new house is smaller than the old one, and so we have downsized a bit (hence the culling of possessions before the move) and it is in need of a little TLC. But we like it very much, and we LOVE the setting — six-plus acres with a small pond, fruit trees, a view of Taconic Mountains, and plenty of open space for gardening. Nancy envisions a wildflower meadow up near the pond, a vegetable garden nearer the house, and flower beds all around. We have a pair of Great Horned Owls living nearby, a huge flock of turkeys that passes through the yard now and then, and a local Cooper’s Hawk who seems eager for us to put up bird feeders to bring in his next meals.

Erin came for Christmas and the start of Hanukkah and stayed with us for a week. We feared she would not warm to the new house. The one we sold was the only family home she had ever known. On the other hand, all of us found the old house too full of memories and sadness. We were all ready for a change. And it turns out that Erin likes the new place a lot, which made us very happy.

So, we have traveled, we have moved, we have grieved and processed and taken time to begin healing. What is next?

That’s a fairly easy question for Nancy, who, as of midnight on New Year’s is officially retired. She has so many interests and hobbies — gardening, knitting, making music, drawing, writing, reading, and — her latest — weaving. She will have no trouble keeping busy and enjoying this next phase of her life.

I have been asked repeatedly whether I am retiring as well.

I am not.

I miss writing. I miss diving into a new world, a new narrative, the hearts and minds of new characters. I miss my editing work. And after a year of . . . well . . . other stuff, I feel ready to get back to all of it. I don’t know yet what my next project will be. I know that I have spoken often of reissuing my Winds of the Forelands series, and I still intend to do that. I have spoken of writing new Thieftaker books. I would like to do that as well. I would love to return to the Fearsson and Radiants worlds. I have an idea for a new Chalice War project. And I have ideas for things unrelated to anything I’ve written before. And yes, I fully intend to begin taking on new editing clients in the near future.

With one exception, I don’t yet know what conventions I will be attending this year. The exception is ConCarolinas in Charlotte, May 30 through June 1. I will definitely be at that one.

I hope to see many of you in person during the coming year. And I hope as well to be blogging on a more regular basis now that we are settling into our new digs.

Happy 2025 to all of you. It’s good to be back.

DBC

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, editing, Writing, Zombies Need Brains

Monday Musings: A New Anthology and Submission Advice For Writers

By now you might have seen the posts across several social media platforms: There is a new Zombies Need Brains Kickstarter campaign underway. For eleven years now, ZNB has been publishing quality short fiction from teams of established professionals and new voices found through open calls for stories. We’re doing three anthologies this year, and before I get to the advice part of the post, I wanted to take a bit of time to tell you about them.ZNB Kickstarter image

The first anthology is Were- 2, and is edited by Joshua Palmatier and S.C. Butler. The original Were- anthology came out in 2016, and featured stories about were-creatures other than werewolves. This new anthology has a similar theme. I wrote a story for Were-, one I still love, called “A Party For Bailey.” For my were-creatures I chose bears, and that’s all I’ll say. I’m sure you’ll love Were- 2 — its anchor authors include Randee Dawn, Auston Habershaw, Gini Koch, Gail Z. Martin and Larry N. Martin, Harry Turtledove, Tim Waggoner, and Jean Marie Ward.

This year’s second anthology is Skull X Bones. It’s a pirate anthology that I will be co-editing with Joshua. We will be looking for speculative fiction stories of any sort (fantasy, paranormal, science fiction, horror), as long as they focus on pirates. Our anchor author lineup includes Rod Belcher, Alex Bledsoe, Jennifer Brozek, C.C. Finlay, Violette Malan, Misty Massey, and Alan Smale.

Finally, Joshua will be solo editing a follow up to the Ampyrium anthology that was published earlier this summer. Ampyrium is a shared fantasy world that debuted in seven novella-length stories written by Patricia Bray, S.C. Butler, Esther M. Friesner, Juliet E. McKenna, Jason Palmatier, Joshua Palmatier, and me. The new anthology, Ampyrium: Merchant War, will have anchor stories from all seven of us, plus another seven stories (or so) from an open call.

So, as a long-time ZNB editor (Skull X Bones will be my sixth ZNB anthology), and a longer-term ZNB author (in addition to those I have edited, I have written for a half dozen ZNB anthologies), what advice can I offer to writers hoping to sell stories to one collection or another? Each ZNB anthology receives literally hundreds of open call submissions. Usually we take seven or eight stories. So you want your story to stand out in good ways.

1) Pay close attention to the anthology themes. When we ask for stories written, say, about pirates, that doesn’t mean the story should merely mention pirates or have one corsair as a background character. It means pirates, of whatever sort, should be so central to the story that without them, the narrative does not exist. For an anthology like Ampyrium: Merchant War, you should probably plan to read some or all of the first anthology, to familiarize yourself with the setting and the themes of those original tales. Speaking as an editor, I can tell you that I reject more stories for not being on theme than for any other reason.

2) Read the submission guidelines. This is important for ANYTHING you submit to any market. All editors are swamped with stories and short on time. We want to find great stories, obviously, but we also want to get through our slush piles. When I get a story that’s written in a tiny font, or that is single-spaced (which makes a story MUCH harder to read), or has wonky margins, or a weird font color, I tend to start reading it with a negative attitude. The writer in question has already ticked me off by ignoring the guidelines, and now I’m looking for one more reason to reject the story and move on to the next one.

You don’t want that. You want to do everything right in terms of formatting and following directions, so that I read the story with an open mind, so that I accept or reject the story purely based on the quality of the writing and narrative elements. Follow. The. Guidelines.

3) Proof your story. Then proof your story. And then proof your story again. Look, typos happen. All of us who edit for ZNB are also professional writers. We all have typos in our own books and stories, and chances are we could read through them 100 times and still not catch every little error. But that said, again speaking as an editor, finding two or three typos on the very first page is much like receiving a story that didn’t follow the GLs (see above). It makes me wonder if the author of the story cared enough to edit. Taking pride in our work means, in part, making our manuscripts as clean as possible.

4) Think about your narrative — and how it relates to the theme — as broadly as possible. Joshua has said, in offering advice on panels, “Your first idea is not necessarily your best idea.” And he’s right. Sometimes, a great idea comes to us immediately. Those moments are magical, but relatively uncommon. More often, our first idea is the most obvious one, which can mean that it will be similar to the ideas of lots of other writers submitting to the anthology. Let your ideas for your story steep a bit. Give them time to take you in truly innovative directions.

5) Develop your ideas. My second most common reason for rejecting a story is that the idea of the narrative failed to move beyond just that: an idea. A story is more than a cool premise. A story is about characters, be they human or fantastical or alien. A story brings some sort of change or progress to the lives of those characters or to the world around them. If your synopsis of the story you’re submitting doesn’t include something about characters, their lives, and the way things change for them, chances are you need to rethink your story. And I would add this — generally speaking, if the word count of your story is under 2,500, it probably needs more development. We rarely take stories that are shorter than that, not because we want you to pad your word count, but rather because it takes time to develop a plot into something more than an idea.

The open call for stories for this year’s ZNB anthologies will begin soon after the Kickstarter ends. So, first things first: We have to fund the projects. We are already a quarter of the way to our goal, which is great. But we still have a long way to go, and we need your help!!

Thanks, and have a great week!

Baen Books, Bell Bridge Books, Blogging, Case Files of Justis Fearsson, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, The Chalice War, Thieftaker Chronicles, Tor Books, Writing

Monday Musings: Introducing the Toothbrush Principle

We have a Sonicare toothbrush — one of those rechargeable ones that vibrates, like, a trillion times per second and essentially buzzes plaque and tartar into submission. (That might not be exactly the science behind the technology, but that is certainly what it feels like.) The toothbrush has a built-in timer that changes the tone of the buzz every thirty seconds, to let us know it’s time to abuse a different part of our mouths (top front, top back, bottom front, bottom back, or whatever) and so we generally brush for about two minutes every morning and every evening. (Stick with me; there is a point to this.)

If we do the math, two times a day at two minutes per brushing comes to twenty-eight minutes per week, or 1,460 minutes of brushing per year. That’s twenty-four hours and twenty minutes. So, put another way, each year, we spend the equivalent of one entire day brushing our teeth. We can do calculations like this for all sorts of things. I do a workout each weekday morning before I take my morning walk. That workout lasts about forty minutes and I do it five days a week (except for when I’m traveling). So, that’s 200 minutes a week for, let’s say, forty-five weeks out of the year. That means I spend the equivalent of slightly more than six full days a year working out, just so that I can eat a bowl of ice cream at the end of the day and not feel too guilty about it.

But for the purposes of this post, let’s stick with the toothbrushing example. Assuming, of course, that you’re still reading. Certainly by now you’re wondering what the hell this is about.

Allow me to explain.

Speaking with beginning writers at conventions (as I did at ConCarolinas a week or so ago) I often hear that they are ready to start work on a novel, but they worry about carving out time in their already-busy lives for a big project. Such an endeavor feels overwhelming, frightening, impossible.

The Loyalist Witch, by D.B. Jackson (Jacket art by Chris McGrath)And in part, this is the fault of professionals like me, who talk about our work habits and, perhaps, create unrealistic expectations that writers with less experience then apply to themselves. I write full time. I demand of myself that I write 2,000 words per day. I am asked often how long it takes me to write a book, and the honest answer is that it takes me about three months, which is pretty quick, I know. Writers who are at the outsets of their careers should not necessarily expect to do the same.

Because I didn’t always write this fast. For the first ten years of my career, I was pleased to complete a book a year. And that pace is much easier to maintain than you might think. Let’s do a bit more math.

The Chalice War: Sword, by David B. CoeWe’ll begin with the assumption that the book we’re writing will come in at around 100,000 words, which is the approximate length of most of the Thieftaker books, the Chalice War books, and the Fearsson books. Epic fantasies tend to be somewhat longer; YAs tend to be shorter. But 100K is a good middle ground.

Let’s assume as well that at most we can afford to devote an hour a day to writing. And in that hour, we can only expect to write one page — about 250 words. That pace may sound way too slow, and you may be saying to yourself that at that rate we’ll be writing forever.

Well, no. At that pace, even allowing for missed days along the way, we can be finished with our 100,000 word novel in a little over 13 months. If we can up our production to five hundred words a day just on weekends, we can be done in closer to eleven months, under a year.

Feeling more ambitious? Say we can write for ninety minutes each weekday, and can manage to average 500 words a day, while taking our weekends off to recharge. Well, now we’re writing 2,500 words per week, and that novel will be done in less than nine months. Willing to write on weekends, too? Now we’re down to seven months.

I can go on, but by now you get the idea. Applying the toothbrush principle — which says simply that small efforts on a daily basis add up quickly — we can transform the very idea of writing a novel from something daunting — a challenge that feels too huge to tackle — into something manageable, doable.

Now, to be clear, I am not suggesting that anyone exchange brushing their teeth for writing. The day is long enough to get both done. And four out of five dentists surveyed tell us that the world will be a better, fresher place if we all continue to brush our teeth . . . .

Have a great week!

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Thieftaker Chronicles, Writing

Monday Musings: “What’s Next?” Well, How About Some Big News?

“When I ask ‘What’s Next?’ it means I’m ready to move on to other things. So, what’s next?” — Jed Barlet, THE WEST WING

Yeah, I will seek out almost any excuse to quote from The West Wing, it being my favorite television series of all time. But as it happens, this is a question that’s been on my mind for a while now. In the show, “What’s next?” was more than a change of topic or a jump to the next agenda item. It was also used to turn the page after a setback, to refocus the staff after a triumph, even to look for a new beginning after tragedy.

As is the case with so much that happens in the course of the show’s seven seasons, the quote has long had great significance for me, and this is especially true now.

I know better than to think I can “turn the page” or “move on” from the past year. And even if I could, I’m not certain I would. But I am ready to restart my life, to venture back out into the professional and personal world, to find a new routine that makes room for all the emotional complexity of the new reality my family and I face.

In some ways, I have already started this process. I finished a book a few weeks ago, one I started back in January. It was sort of a work-for-hire, tie-in book, but it was fun to write. The plotting and character work proved absorbing, and because I started it later than I intended, the deadline kept me focused, motivated, and, yes, just a little manic. If it seems like I am avoiding telling you anything specific about the book itself, that’s because I am. Sorry. For now, I can’t really talk about it. When I can, you will all be among the first to know.

I have also written a novella for a new shared-world anthology that will be released this summer by Zombies Need Brains. And, as some of you have seen, I am again accepting clients for my freelance editing business. At the end of this month, I will attend ConCarolinas, my first convention since DragonCon last September. Baby steps. But steps forward, which is the point.

Today, I can also share some news about What’s Next that I think will please a good many of you.

First a little background.

Many of you will have seen my blog post about the trip Nancy and I recently took to Italy. If you haven’t, you should check it out. For the photos, if nothing else. While we were in Venice, I fell in love with the city’s narrow lanes, ancient bridges, and gorgeous architecture. It is, visually speaking, the loveliest city I’ve ever seen. And there are no cars — all travel within the city is by boat, by foot, or by bicycle. Walking the streets was like a journey back in time.

Street sign in Venice: "Rio Terra Dei Assassini"
Street sign in Venice: “Rio Terra Dei Assassini,” which means, basically, “Street-That-Used-To-Be-A-Canal Of The Murderers.”

We took tours of the Doge’s Palace and Saint Mark’s Basilica (both were spectacular), and one of our tour guides mentioned that while Venice is a very safe city today, once upon a time it was anything but. And as proof of this, she said, we should pay attention to some of the street names. “Street of the Dead,” “Lane of the Murderers,” “Street of the Head” (that’s not a typo), and more.

And, of course, this set my writer brain in motion. One thing led to another, and I can tell you now that I am beginning work on a new Thieftaker universe series set in 18th century Venice. I don’t know yet if it will be a spin-off or will feature Ethan throughout. I don’t even know how I am going to get Ethan to Venice, though I have some ideas about that. But I have already commenced my research for the books and I am totally jazzed. One publisher has already expressed interest in seeing a series proposal, so that’s good as well.

Thieftaker, by D.B. Jackson (Jacket art by Chris McGrath)What about the rest of my life? What’s next in other realms?

Well, we’re about to start doing some work on the house — I won’t say it’s overdue, but it comes at a good time. We have more travel planned for later in the year and several weddings to attend this summer and fall. We’ll see Erin. We’ll see other family and many friends. I’ll be at DragonCon late this summer. And we’ll continue to heal, even as we also look for ways to honor Alex’s memory and celebrate her life.

I look forward to crossing paths with many of you in the months to come. We have some catching up to do.

Have a great week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing, Zombies Need Brains

Monday Musings: It ALWAYS Feels Good To Finish a Book

I could have ended this post at the title. That really is the point. I have been writing fiction for close to thirty years. I have finished more than thirty novels and as many pieces of short fiction, and yes, each time I complete the first draft of any story, it feels great. Kind of like completing a good workout or reaching the summit on a lengthy hike.

So, what is this new, just-completed novel about?

Well, I can’t really tell you that. I am co-writing with someone — a person of some celebrity who came up with the story concept but left much of the writing to me. Someone who, I will be honest, paid me rather well. And someone who, for now, would rather I said less than more about the story, the book, and our partnership.

I’m fine with that, but it does mean that I can’t answer questions. I’m sorry to keep secrets. Really.

I can tell you that finishing this particular book has felt better than most. In part, that is a consequence of all that my family and I have been through. I finished a novella for Joshua Palmatier at Zombies Need Brains earlier this year, and I’m pleased with how that came out. But this more recent project felt big when I started it. I didn’t know if I was up for writing a full novel.

And it is always a challenge to write in someone else’s world, bringing to life someone else’s characters and plot lines. (As it happens, the Zombie Need Brains story was written in a shared universe, so both of the things I’ve worked on this year have been not entirely my own.) On the one hand, when writing in someone else’s sandbox, I want to honor the creative vision of the person or people who conceived of the world and characters. I feel a sense of responsibility to the original idea and source material (in this case, a script). At the same time, though, I also NEED to feel some ownership in the project. I want to have a creative stake in what I’m writing. Otherwise, the work has no emotional or artistic appeal, and my writing winds up sounding flat.

As many of you know, about fifteen years ago, I wrote the novelization of a script for a major motion picture (I would rather not be more specific . . .). It was a difficult and, frankly, unpleasant process, in large part because I was given no freedom to create. I had to stick to the exact dialogue and narrative presented in the script. I could do some internal monologue, but that was all. This new project was VERY different. My co-writer gave me a good deal of freedom to write the story as I thought it should be written. As this person pointed, movies and their books are often very different. They were fine with that being the case here.

As a result, the book proved to be a great way for me to work my way back into writing after last year. A good deal of the emotional content was already spelled out in the original source material, meaning I didn’t have to do a deep dive into my own emotional world, which I am not yet ready to do. But I could add in some new content, some different characters, some different points of view. And in so doing, I could put my own creative stamp on the finished product. Which I did, quite well, I believe. The resulting story really is a collaboration, a blending of artistic visions.

What’s next for me professionally?

I’m not sure yet. Nancy and I have some travel planned for this year, as well as some long-deferred work on the house and yard. And so I think I will probably take a little break from writing fiction while we tend to other parts of our lives. But that is not to say I don’t have ideas for new stories. I do. I have Thieftaker ideas, I have an old series that I still intend to reissue sometime fairly soon, I even have Fearsson ideas. And I have ideas for stories in universes not-yet-created-or-explored. So, stay tuned.

And thank you for your patience.

Have a great week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing

Monday Musings: How Am I? Well, It’s Complicated…

Back in November, just a few weeks after the death of our older daughter, I wrote of the difficulty I regularly encountered answering the question, “How are you doing?” At the time, my emotional state was a moving target. I didn’t know how I was doing. Not day-to-day, not hour-to-hour. I was as changeable as mountain weather, as fragile as ancient parchment, as vulnerable as a newborn. I was all over the place.

David and daughter AlexIt has now been nearly five months since we lost Alex. I still get the same question — and to be clear, I don’t mind being asked. Not at all. It’s just that I still don’t know how to answer. My friends tell me that five months is nothing, that there is no reason I should have a handle on my emotions already. My therapist says the same. I suppose I should listen to all of them. But I grow impatient with myself. I make my living with words and with emotions. The core of my art is conveying the emotional state of my point of view characters. It’s practically the definition of what a fiction writer does.

And I cannot manage to put into words what I am feeling. Worse, I can’t even explain it to myself. I had a birthday this past week. And birthdays, holidays — those can be tough when grief is fresh. I will always miss hearing from Alex on my birthday, but this was the first one without her, and the sense of loss was particularly keen. (Alex’s birthday is in early May, and already I dread its approach.) But I also had a good day. I had wonderful conversations with family and friends, a lovely dinner with Nancy. And yes, I had comforting memories of conversations with Alex on previous birthdays.

How was I doing that day? I have no idea. Great. Terrible. Okay. Not so well.

I wrote about grief just after New Year’s. Actually, I’ve written about grief a lot in the past year, but in that post in particular I wrote in praise of grief. “We grieve because we have loved,” I said. “We grieve because we remember. And while the ache of our grief dulls and lessens with time, we never stop grieving. Nor would we want to.” I hold to that still. But neither do we want to become mired in our grief. Is that what’s happening to me? I don’t know. Helpful, right? Maybe now you’re starting to grok my frustration.

In the older post I mentioned in the opening graph, I worried about those moments — fairly frequent — when I felt numb. At times more recently, I have felt as though I am emerging from that numbness. And then I’ll find myself back there again, and I’ll have no idea how I got there or when it happened. Memories still ambush me, surprising me with their vividness, stealing my breath, leaving me unable to do much of anything. No, I don’t want to stop grieving. Except when I do. Because, yes, there are times when I wish I didn’t have to grieve at all, when I’m just so tired of feeling this way, whatever “this way” might be. And then another memory warms me, brings a smile, reminding me that grieving really is better than forgetting.

I don’t think the problem is that I haven’t made any progress. I’m not sure there’s a “problem” at all. As I say, friends, family, and people who should know tell me my state of mind is pretty normal for what is an extraordinary circumstance. And then they remind as well of what I already know: There is no “normal” for something like this.

The point of all this? Well, one point is, please don’t stop asking how I’m doing. Really. I appreciate the love and concern behind the question. And the other point is, when I answer with a shrug and an “I’m not really sure,” know that I’m not being evasive. I’m being honest.

Finally, the greater point is that the answer to “How am I doing?” is as complicated and long as a novel, as a relationship, as a parent’s love for his child. I am doing all right, except on those days when I’m not. I am getting work done, except for those times when I can’t. I am eating well, exercising, taking care of myself, letting Nancy take care of me, and doing my best to take care of her. I am not curled up at the bottom of an empty bourbon bottle. I am not spending eighteen hours a day in bed. I am not paralyzed with loss and sadness. But neither am I the embodiment of emotional health. If I was, I think I’d have cause to be worried.

How am I?

I’m okay, thank you for caring. How are you?

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing

Monday Musings: The Power of Dates, the Power of Memory

Alex Today is the 22nd of January. It’s been exactly three months since our older daughter passed away.

I didn’t used to care about the 22nd of any month (my apologies to those with a birthday on one 22nd or another — nothing personal). Now, I can’t help but notice every one.

I have a head for dates. Maybe it’s a byproduct of having been trained as a historian; I don’t know. Many, many years ago, on a June 5th in the 1980s, I think, my father told me that day was the anniversary of his first date with my mom. I have remembered this ever since, and on that day, I find myself thinking of them, of how cute they were together, of the different silly ways they expressed their love.

Some in our family have made things a little easier in the date-remembering regard. My grandmother on my father’s side, who adored my mother 99% of the time, died on my mom’s birthday. Coincidence? Perhaps. A final act of passive aggression from a mother-in-law? Also possible. And so maybe it wasn’t all that surprising that my mother died on the birthday of my brother’s wife, whom she adored. Yeah, that coincidence thing is looking a little less likely now, isn’t it . . . ?

I know — I’m bouncing all over in this post. I started off with a very somber remembrance of my lost, beloved daughter, and now I’m cracking wise about mothers-in-law. Grief and humor. To my mind, we can’t survive the former without the latter. And, the fact is, speaking as a creator, while death is often tragic, it can also be a wonderful source for cathartic humor. Have you ever seen the Chuckles-the-Clown funeral episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show? If not, do yourself a favor and watch it. Brilliant stuff.

As I said before, I have a mind for dates. But we also live in a society that remembers. December 7, 1941. November 22, 1963. September 11, 2001. Specific dates insinuate themselves into our lives, taking on significance in a variety of ways. Birthdays of family and friends, wedding anniversaries, days of loss, days of joy. I made the mistake once, when setting up my LinkedIn account, of choosing a date on which I began my writing career. I don’t know if it’s the right one. The site asked, I remembered the month and year, and so I threw in a day. Now, I get flooded with work anniversary notifications from LinkedIn on a date that has absolutely no significance for me.

At times, if, say, I’m on a highway and I see an accident by the side of the road, I can’t help but think that, for the people involved, this will forever after be “the day of the accident.” A weird way of thinking, I suppose. It’s my writer brain. There is a story there, a spiral leading to the crash, and then continuing beyond it into the aftermath. The accident might have been the result of random chance occurrences, but we are creatures of narrative, and it’s quite possible that in the minds of the accident victims, those random occurrences will, in hindsight, rightly or wrongly, be seen as a storyline of interconnected events.

Sometimes events become confused by perspective. I remember the day (and time) on which Alex informed us of her cancer diagnosis. But she actually needed a couple of days after that fateful conversation with her oncologist before she could tell Nancy and me. So the actual date of the diagnosis itself is not the day I remember. It doesn’t matter in any way. And yet, the dates themselves, and the very existence of that small gap, carries significance. It is a symptom of her fierce independence and her desire, even under those extraordinary circumstances, to protect us, to deliver this painful news with her composure intact, so that she could put on a brave face and thus cushion the blow a little.

Dates tell a story.

I have no greater point. Not really. I call these posts musings for a reason. It’s the 22nd, and this is what I’m pondering today.

I will close on a more positive note, however, and in doing so will echo my father. Of course I remember my wedding anniversary, and the anniversary of Nancy and my engagement. But I also recall, and always remark upon, the anniversary of our first date. Sort of. We had two first dates, as it happened. The first didn’t take. The second one, the one that counts, was February 24, 1989. Yes, there’s a story there as well. Another time, perhaps.

Have a great week.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe

Checking In and Saying Thanks

It’s been a little over three weeks since Alex, our older daughter, lost her two and a half year battle with cancer. It feels like more. It feels like less.

We have had celebrations of her life in New York City and in our little home town in Tennessee. Both were crowded and loud and fun. Both were filled with laughter and tears, music and good food, and lots and lots of remembrances of our brilliant, funny, beautiful child. (Yes, she was 28. Still, she will always be our child, our first baby, our darling little girl.) We have been overwhelmed by the love shown us by friends and family near and distant. By the generosity — spiritual, emotional, material — of so many. Cards, gifts, flowers, food, phone calls, and texts. And yes, comments by the hundreds on social media posts. We are humbled and grateful beyond words for every expression of support and sympathy. Thank you a thousand times.

At this point, the celebrations of her life are over. Guests from out of town have left. Erin has gone back home. Nancy is starting to work again, and I am gearing up to do the same. We are, I suppose, stepping back into “normal” life. Except there is nothing normal about it, and in ways that truly matter, in ways that will remain with us for the rest of our lives, it will never really be normal at all, ever again.

How do we navigate this path? I honestly don’t know. It’s a terrible cliché, but I guess we do so one day at a time, one moment at a time, one breath at a time. In and out. Take a step. And breathe again. Rinse, repeat.

It’s a good thought, I suppose. It feels inadequate to the task. Already, in just these few weeks, I have reached for my phone more times than I can count, intending to text Alex, or check for a text from her. I want desperately to hear her voice, to know once again the music of her laughter, to ask her questions about her work, or the new restaurant she’s tried out most recently, or the music she currently has on looped-play. And each time, reality kicks me in the gut.

I watch TV and am shocked by the number of times some character, on-screen or off, is said to have cancer. There is no escaping it. We hear news of a celebrity passing away — cancer again. News of lost children assaults us from all corners of the globe, wars claiming their collateral toll, gun violence here in the States stealing more innocent young lives. These tidings were always awful to hear, but they were abstract in some way. Anonymous. Not anymore. Children are lost. Parents grieve. We are members of a club no parent wants to join.

Alex’s death hit so many people so hard, and in one sense that was a product of her amazing personality, her magnetism. But I am wise enough to understand that there is far more to it than that. The outpouring of love and grief from her friends comes in part from the simple truth that, for many of them, she is the first of their contemporaries to die. Tragedy has breached their generational line far too soon, and they are shell-shocked. The outpouring of love and grief from our friends comes in part from the recognition that this is every parent’s nightmare. Losing one’s child is unthinkable, unimaginable, unendurable. It happens, of course. Too often, actually. That club has more members than we ever knew. Several have reached out to me to say so, and to offer support and guidance. But for so many, our loss is a terrifying echo of their deepest unspoken fear.

Another truth: After Alex’s diagnosis in March of 2021, I found myself imagining the worst all the time. I couldn’t stop myself. Therapy helped some, but not completely. I lived with the constant dread of this ending, with the unrelenting awareness of the odds against her, of the near inevitability of her decline. Unimaginable? Hardly.

These days, I’m often asked, “How are you doing?” I don’t know how to answer. My emotions are in constant flux. At times I feel okay, and I can see a way forward. Other times I feel numb. And still others I am as fragile as spring ice. One wrong step and I’ll shatter. This is normal, I know. Grief is not linear. It can’t be prescribed, and while breaking it down into stages might appear to clarify the maelstrom of feelings raging around me, the construct strikes me as artificial and less than helpful. I know better than to be seduced by those moments when I feel as though I have a handle on my loss. I sense that I will get there eventually, but I’m not there yet, and won’t be for a long time. I also know better than to panic when I feel out of control. That will pass as well.

The numbness, though — that bothers me. I want to feel. I want to weep for my child or laugh at a golden memory. I want to feel pain and love and loss and connection, because those keep my vision of Alex fresh and present. Numbness threatens oblivion. Numbness makes the loss seem complete, irretrievable — and that I don’t want. Not ever. Better to cry every day for the rest of my life than lose my hold on these emotions.

And so I stumble onward, trying to figure it all out, hurting and remembering and loving most of all. I don’t know when I will post again. Soon, I hope. I believe writing this has helped, and I am certain I will have more to write in the days, weeks, and months to come. Thank you for reading. Thank you for your sympathy and friendship, and also for your continued patience and respect of our privacy as we attempt to find our way.

Hug those you love.

Blogging, D.B. Jackson, David B. Coe, Writing

Professional Wednesday: DragonCon and Professional Community

I am back from DragonCon, and I have a shortened week in which to get done a great deal, so today’s post will be fairly brief. Mostly, I want to say thank you — to the convention organizers, who did a wonderful job — yet again — with a near impossible task: keeping 65,000 people happy and safe throughout a weekend of fun, spectacle, and, for many of us professional networking and promotional activity. I want to thank the track chairs who once again welcomed me into their programming, treated me with respect and courtesy, and guided my colleagues and me through productive and interesting discussions. I want to thank the fans who came out to listen to us speak and buy our books. Without you, we writers are just a bunch of people with word processing software and voices in our heads.

And most of all, I want to thank my friends, of whom there are too many to name, who made me laugh, who engaged me in wonderful conversations — some silly, others fascinating, the best ones a combination of the two — and who expressed concern and support for me and for my family. This was a fun weekend for me, but also a hard one. At a time in my life when a part of me wants to retreat into my work and interact with no one, you all made my interactions feel safe and positive and comforting. I’m grateful to you all.

I often write and speak about the solitary nature of the writing profession. Most of us work in relative isolation, crafting our stories, polishing them, and venturing onto social media to promote them. Conventions like DragonCon offer us opportunities to emerge from our shells and reconnect with people we care about, people who understand the unique challenges of a publishing career, people who are witty and intelligent, passionate about their art and compassionate with their friends. I love to write, but I was reminded this week that I also love being a writer and having a diverse and committed creative community.

As part of my professional activity this weekend, I gave a series of brief mentoring sessions for aspiring writers. During each one, and also in several extracurricular conversations with writers seeking to break into publishing, I found myself asking them if they had Beta readers, people they could ask to read their work who would then give them honest feedback. Most of them had some, but clearly needed to widen their circle of such friends.

Since these Professional Wednesday posts are usually geared toward writing advice, I will close with this: cultivate those relationships. Find fellow writers with whom you can share your work, with whom you can talk shop, with whom you can commiserate over disappointments and celebrate successes. They are more than people who can help you improve your writing. They are your future colleagues, your convention friends, the people you will see year after year, picking up where you left off at the end of the last con that you attended together. They are your moral support and your sounding boards, your partners in goofiness and the emotional undergirding that will sustain you for the rest of what I hope will be long and fruitful careers.

Keep writing!