If I Had A Time Machine: Advice for my Younger Self

Time travel isn’t possible yet. We don’t yet have that technology. But what if we did? What if you could go back in time and give your younger self advice? What would you say? I’ve given a lot of thought to this question, and I can’t help but think of a great many things I would tell my past self—if I could resist the urge to slap him first, of course. Come along and take this journey with me, and perhaps you will ponder your past and what you’d do differently.

Blogging Platforms Exist, And They’re Right In Front Of You

Blogger

I graduated from high school in 2007. I had no direction in life. I did not know what I was going to do or where I was going to do it. I can still hear the haunting sound of the speaker’s voice at my graduation referring to me as “undecided” when it came to plans after graduation. Deep down, I think I always knew I wanted to write. I just didn’t know how I was going to accomplish that. You can imagine my surprise, and instant regret to boot, when I found out the Blogger platform, which is built into Google, has existed since 2006 and would have afforded me the perfect opportunity to get my writing out there and just have a place to write and potentially build an audience. I always had something to say, and perhaps this would have been a more constructive way of doing it than what 2007 me ended up doing. Who knows, I have a following by now. When I was researching for this article, I was dumbfounded when I found how many other blogging platforms I’d missed over that same time period.

Wix

Wix was the first blogging platform I used when I started a blog in November 2022. I liked the look of the website design options, and there were a lot of opportunities to market products and write content. Unbeknownst to high school senior Greg, this platform also existed when I graduated. The difference between it and the Blogger platform, a difference I stumbled upon much too late, is that Blogger is a free platform. Wix, however, is not. I’m not taking anything away from Wix. It’s a great platform and well worth the money I paid while using it. As time went on, however, I discovered Wix was more geared toward online stores rather than an exclusive blog. I will be the first to admit that I’m a horrible salesman, so online stores are not for me. Throughout my research, I discovered that this and Blogger were not the only platforms I missed during my more formative years.

Medium

Medium, as I discovered more recently than I care to admit, is basically YouTube for bloggers. There is an optional monthly membership which allows you to read more articles, read pay walled articles, and make money with your own content. To this point, I have not delved too far into this platform, but knowing it has existed since I was in my early twenties makes me wish I would have. I am a big fan of YouTube and its accessibility, and Medium is the same type of platform except you’re writing articles instead of creating videos. I hate taking pictures and being in front of the camera. I also can’t stand the sound of my voice. These two factors alone would have made Medium the perfect platform for me when I was first thinking about doing freelance and other online work. Medium is a great platform for writers, and I think it will be in my future. If you’re a writer looking for a start, it should be in yours too.

Tumblr

I admit it, at first I spat on Tumblr like a major league batter would spit on a curveball in the dirt. I saw a lot of things about it when it first came out, but it didn’t appeal to me. Seeing all the people who have developed a following on this platform over the years would definitely have me telling my former self about it, hoping he would take the advice. Tumblr offers many opportunities for self-expression through microblogging, video sharing, and as a social network. This would have been an outlet my former self, had he possessed a little more foresight, would have relished in. The friends he would have gained through this and other platforms may have changed the way he looked at the social landscape he was in.

Not All Your Fellow Students Are Not Your Friends

The 2007 version of me was very shortsighted, a trait that only rears its ugly head once in a blue moon in the man I am now. To that point, I’d been focused on what other people thought of me and how many friends I had. Such blind focus on something so trivial makes me sick today, especially since allowing my grades to slip in favor of more friends and better social standing didn’t do me any good anyway. I was still an outcast with few friends. Thankfully, some of those friends have stuck with me to this day. But I was hyper focused on trying to get people to like me, and in the process losing focus on the future. That’s a mistake I’m still paying for to this day. 

I remember well the summer before my freshman year of high school. My parents had a plan to send me to a smaller school district that was also close to where we lived, figuring it would give me a better chance at succeeding. Being the impulsive and shortsighted 14-year-old kid I was at the time, I wanted no part of this. How dare they send me to a new school to start high school? I was already going to be a freshman. Why would I want to compound it by being such at a brand new school? To my surprise, instead of imposing their will as was their right, my parents relented when I protested and I went to high school in the district in which I’d grown up. Hindsight being the cruel mirror it is, I have wished every day of my adult life—which I don’t believe began until I turned 30—that I’d gone to the smaller school. Being new and having a lack of friends may have helped me. Being in a school with everyone I knew would be my academic undoing.

School is Important, Especially in My Situation

I went to college briefly after high school. I didn’t finish, mostly because I chose the wrong classes. I didn’t know what I really wanted, but I suppose if I had the chance, I would tell my younger self what we wanted. I didn’t go back even after I figured out what I wanted to do. Whether I regret that is up for debate. I regret it in the sense of not having the piece of paper most jobs require nowadays. On the other side, I don’t regret it because I could stay true to my values without having to worry about resistance from others. I am a libertarian and a staunch capitalist, both traits would put me at odds with some college students. That being said, the degree I could have gotten by staying to myself as I do now could have changed the trajectory of my life completely.

I’ve never been one for accepting money, or anything else, that I didn’t earn. My parents taught me that. You can probably imagine my surprise when I mentioned venturing out on my own, thus relieving them of the burden I felt I put on them, and they mentioned the need for government help to make that happen. It enraged me then. Now, I understand it. The fact is, I would have never made it on my own then, and the future attempts at doing so that landed me where I am now further prove that point.

Close Friends Don’t Always Make Good Roommates

I will be the first to admit I was impulsive in leaving my parents’ house the first time—and every subsequent time, for that matter. I added to the impulsivity in my choice of roommates. They all had one thing in common; they were all close friends before we moved in together. My advice, don’t do it. I was desperate to get out of my parents’ house, but I knew I couldn’t survive by myself on the income I was making at the time. That in mind, the obvious answer my twenty-one year old self came up with was to move in with a couple of friends. This was yet another lesson I would learn the hard way.

I will not assign blame for the things that happened. The fact is, I had no business in any of the situations in which I found myself after 2011. I had just as much of a hand in the downfall of these arrangements as anyone else involved. I hold no animosity towards any of my former roommates that may read this, even if they hold something toward me. It’s probably deserved for what happened then, but I am a different man now and the omnipresent mirror that is hindsight tells me I shouldn’t have done some things I did, and I apologize to anyone I may have hurt. Moral of the story, don’t move in with your friends if you want them to stay that way.

Don’t, Under Any Circumstances, Choose a Significant Other Over a Friend

This one hits home and it hits hard. I made this mistake more times than I care to admit, but one time in particular haunts me to this day. Never forsake a friendship for a significant other. You can’t do that and I learned that the hard way. You never know what is going to happen and you don’t ever know if you can trust that person who you meet and think is the one. I wake up every day and go to sleep every night wishing I’d learned that lesson sooner.

I’ll get right to it, no fancy lead up, no smoke in mirrors, just what’s on my mind. My best friend passed away after a short battle with illness in August 2020. That may seem like a normal grievable life event on the surface, and for most it is. It’s a little more difficult when you haven’t seen your best friend in 3 years for reasons that were well within your control only to find out he’s in the hospital fighting for his life. It’s even worse when you get the dreaded call informing you he’s lost that fight. That’s a call, or rather a message in this case, that I’ll never forget.

It was 7AM on August 3rd, 2020. I had just learned that my best friend had passed away after a short battle with illness. Losing your best friend would cause anyone with a heart to break down, but for me it was a little different. I had the initial shock of knowing my best friend, the man who was my sounding board, my left-hand man—yes I know the proper phrase, but if you know, you know—was gone. There was more to it for me, though. There was the part below the surface that nobody else saw. 

I rarely cry, even more rarely do I do so in front of anyone, family or not. I did that day. I cried for my best friend, for a life that was cut tragically short. Most of all, I cried for the mistakes I made that led to a long estranged period. If only I’d known that day in 2018 would be the last time I’d see him, perhaps I would have done something different, not left things unsaid, or even taken the advice he gave me. If I had, I’d have no reason to write this part of the article.

I’m doing my best to keep names out of this article for the sake of those involved. My ex girlfriend was someone I thought was the one. We got along well, she was very attentive (to a point, but I’ll get to that later) and we enjoyed a lot of the same things. All that notwithstanding, it was not worth what I ended up going through.

I did not know, but the woman in question and my best friend not only had a bit of a thing before he met the girl he was dating before he died, the two women were best friends at one time and had a falling out over God knows what. I didn’t think their issues would affect me, but unfortunately they did and it was not worth it. As much as I wanted to think what I head was just smoke in mirrors, I would learn the hard way everything had a basis, and everything was fact. By the time I could accept what was right in front of me, my best friend was dead and I was left with nothing but regrets and what ifs. Don’t allow yourself to be put in that position. Make good decisions when deciding between friends and significant others. 

Final Thoughts

We all have moments in which wish we had a time machine, an opportunity to do something over again. Whether its a missed opportunity, poor choice in a friend, roommate, or significant other, or a squandered education, we all have things we wish we could take back. As much as we’d like to, we can’t take any of these things back. All we can do is work toward a better future.

I wish I’d known about this platform twenty years ago. I would have been writing, posting, and building an audience the whole time. It would have made my high school years easier because I would have had an outlet, an escape that didn’t involve fake friends and getting into trouble just for the sake of rebellion. The pen has always been my escape, and I would give anything to tell my former self about the many opportunities to write and share my writing with people. I would have had trouble at first, just like I did when I did it in the present, but there would have been more time to get over the metaphorical stage fright. I also would have spent less money had I known a free platform like this one existed, both in 2007 and now. My past self would have thought me to be crazy, but if he listened, he’d thank me. 

My desperate desire for acceptance was what we would call a toxic trait today. If I’d adhered to all the old movies when they say, “You’re never going to see them again,” I’d be in a better place today and I probably would never see any of them again. It would have saved me years of grief. The butterfly effect is something I believe in wholeheartedly, so there is good and bad to this time machine and advice to your former self business. Despite what people might say about what they’d do if they were able to change the past, we’d do well to embrace what we have and where we are. We’re here for a reason, after all. It’s our job to find out what that reason is, and we all do it in our own time.

 

 

 Why I Write: A Story of Catharsis and a Calling

Writing is something anyone can do if they put their mind to it. It’s a skill that can be learned, but I don’t believe it can be effectively taught. There are too many people with different learning styles and approaches to creativity. Personally, I was always drawn to writing. I have always been more of a bookworm than an athlete. My love of reading was an obvious steppingstone to a love of writing. I find it cathartic. It also allows me to express myself creatively and constructively. Looking back on life, I find it all comes back to writing at some juncture. All the people I look up to are writers or have written books in their careers. Most of all, as someone with a creative mind who has no skill with any other art form whatsoever, writing seemed to be the logical choice. In what I will admit is an attempt to thwart writer’s block, I would like to share with you why I do what I do and why it brings me such joy and satisfaction.

The Catharsis of it all: Freeing my Mind from Pent-Up Emotion

I don’t want to make this piece about my past or what I’ve been through, but I’ve been through a lot in life and writing has helped me process a lot of those traumas and pent-up emotions Even if it was just something for me, writing out what I was thinking and feeling always helped and kept me from doing things I would have definitely lived to regret. Some emotions I was feeling were misplaced, and sometimes misdirected. Only by writing everything down was I able to figure this out. I have plenty of regrets, many of which I have been able to process through the written word. I couldn’t imagine how many stupid and regrettable things I would have done had I not discovered—and later was forced to rediscover—the power of the written word.

Again, I don’t want to make this entire article about me and what I’ve been through, but I would be remiss if I didn’t at least briefly mention some things I’ve been through and how writing has helped me process them. I won’t bore you with the details, but writing has helped me through bullying as a result of being different. I remember a story I wrote when I was in fifth grade about someone with a disability and how it affected their life and how they viewed themselves. I have since gotten away from such obvious symbolism, but I still find comfort in the written word and being able to process those emotions. It keeps me from doing other things I may regret, as if I don’t have enough of those already.

Some people can say they have no regrets. For me to utter those words in any capacity would be the biggest fallacy I can think of. To find regret, all I have to do is look at my current situation and think about how I got here. I don’t regret the situation I’m in, but I am self-aware enough in my advancing age to understand that everything I’m experiencing now is a direct result of something I did or said years ago when I didn’t think my decisions would affect me. I was the definition of young and dumb. It is there that my regret lives, and I’m thankful that God gave me the ability to put words together in a coherent manner to deal with it.

The Creative Side: An Outlet for the Randomness and Nonsense in my Mind

Writing has always been cathartic for me, a way to deal with thoughts and emotions effectively. But there has always been something more to it. I have always had a creative streak, and I can’t draw or paint to save my life to this day. The logical solution, of course, was and always has been writing. ADHD has always left me with ideas flying through my head faster than I can process them. I find myself thinking of scenarios that could happen but haven’t yet, and expressing those has left me with a bad reputation of being untruthful in some circles; it was obviously never meant that way. Eventually, I internalized those scenarios and turned them into the “what if” questions that shape most modern fiction. Of all the abilities and passions I could have in life, I’m certainly glad I ended up with a love and talent for writing.

ADHD is a blessing and a curse sometimes when I think about creativity. I’m undiagnosed, so don’t come for me, but it isn’t hard to see it in myself. It’s a walking novel conflict, one that I might use at some point. Countless ideas float around in my head, but on most days, I have no way of rationalizing or organizing them. The resulting jumble of thoughts and ideas makes for some interesting scenarios, some of which could happen and others that would stand no chance. I write them out either way.

I find myself thinking of random scenarios sometimes that would probably never happen in real life. I used to express those scenarios aloud to people I considered friends. All it afforded me was what I considered to be an undeserved reputation as someone who stretches the truth a little too much. These were times in which I wasn’t writing and I probably should have been. These overly embellished scenarios could have been easily subjected to the “what if” filter that shapes modern fiction, and it would have saved me some headaches along the way.

When you break down most modern fiction, it usually starts with a character in a situation, then the author will ask themselves, “What if this happens?” and just like that, you have a plot. Unfortunately, as I’ve become painfully aware, this simplified outlook on fiction does not prevent writer’s block. That in mind, I have also broken down writer’s block into fear of rejection and fear of exposure, though individual results may vary on this score. I’ve found the best way to combat writer’s block is to break the idea of writing down into what it really is for me, a hobby. Once I started thinking of it like that, the bouts with writer’s block were fewer and farther between. Treat it less like a job and it gets easier, I thought. So far, that logic has not betrayed me.

The Hobby of Writing: Time Used Constructively

Though I try not to talk about it much, my battle with cerebral palsy didn’t leave me with much in the way of leisure activities, save for a brief foray into baseball when I was between nine and ten years old. I spent a lot of that time reading. I’ll never forget those nights I stayed up reading, aggravating my siblings because I had no way of completely blocking the light from my bedside lamp. Though I caught hell for it then, I certainly don’t regret it now. When I think about the time I spent between reading and writing and what could have potentially filled that time, I don’t regret picking up those hobbies in the least 

I don’t remember exactly when it clicked in my mind that writing was something I wanted to do in life, but it afforded me a constructive hobby that passed the time easily. The best part, I didn’t need any money to get started. With as many hobbies as I’ve had over the years that have either needed a deposit of some kind or a lot of investment into equipment, it is nice to have a hobby that doesn’t require such a monetary commitment. It wasn’t long after I picked up writing that I discovered I might have a natural talent for it. 

The Pen and Me: A Natural Pair

   The first inclination that I may have a natural talent for writing came around sixth grade. I was a good student—at least when I wanted to be—but I had an issue with daily work I discovered later was an issue of overconfidence in my own abilities. I was always a good test taker, and this was evident in how my high school career ended. My parents always made it a point to make sure I knew how smart I was. At this time, I was convinced it was simply an excuse to get mad when my grades slipped, a way of saying “there’s no excuse”. In reality, it was their way of telling me that my physical condition did not affect my mental faculties. I appreciate it now, but that’s only because I’ve been slapped in the face by karma a few times and forced to look into that omnipresent mirror that is hindsight. It was only when other people started saying what they said that I believed it.

I had a teacher in sixth grade English that wrote the same general comment on all of my writing assignments. Though I don’t remember her words to the letter, I seem to recall her praising my writing talent for my age at the time while admonishing my cavalier attitude toward actually turning the assignments in. I took the compliments seriously. Hindsight being what it is, I wish more and more as time goes on that I’d heeded the latter advice as well. I learned eventually, just not as quickly as I would have liked. It wasn’t until two years later that I’d come across an English teacher who would have a profound effect on me.

I’m going to leave his name out for both of our protection, but eighth grade English was memorable for me because of one man for whom I still hold a high level of respect to this day. Don’t get me wrong, all my teachers took as much time as they possibly could have with me, but there is always one that has a lasting impact. 

I don’t remember too many teachers in high school that affected my writing specifically. If I’m being honest, it was at this time I became lost. I had no direction. I was nothing but anger and superfluous friendships. I cringe every time I think about my high school graduation when they went through each of us and said something about what we planned to do after that day. The voice of the speaker and the word “undecided” haunts me to this day, highly indicative of a time in which I’d lost my way. Despite the encouragement for my writing and an interest in journalism, I for whatever reason at that time chose not to pursue it. I don’t have many glaring regrets, but I would say this is one of them, especially when I think of the natural gifts I wasted during that time.

When you mention or it is otherwise made apparent that you are left-handed, the reception is often mixed. Some people find it fascinating, others find it odd. My dad in particular saw it as yet another opportunity to make jokes. Regardless of the social reception, it is often associated with having some sort of artistic gift (unless you are a religious fanatic, then it has other less desirable connotations). I don’t directly attribute my skill with writing to this trait, but I don’t think it hurts either. Either way, I was naturally drawn to books and writing came naturally from that. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Power of Influence: The People Who Made Me the Writer I Have Become

Like anything else in life, nobody finds and realizes their dreams completely on their own. I spent far too long hamstringing my career chasing the impossible carrot that is being able to say I did it all on my own. The truth of the matter is, nobody does anything completely on their own, no matter how adamant they are that they did. There is always someone behind the scenes, whether it is a supportive parent, significant other, or mentor. The latter of these can come as someone who actually mentors you, or it could be someone you look up to that has done what you are trying to do. Whether I’ve allowed myself to see it or not, my family has always supported me, but aside from that, I can name many more distant mentors who have unknowingly helped to shape me as a writer and as a man.

Stephen King

It wouldn't be a writing article for me if I didn’t mention my literary idol, Stephen King. My fiction tends to be on the darker side, and I can attribute that to Mr. King’s influence. I’d like to think I’ve slowly developed my style over time, but to say King hasn’t influenced my writing in some respect would be a lie. I’ve read more of his books than I haven’t read. Though my writing has taken more of a psychological thriller turn, I will always credit King with my initial inspiration. After all, he essentially says in his book “On Writing,” which you can check out here, that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. King has famously talked about imitating the likes of Lovecraft and John D McDonald. This in mind, King also maintains that in order to become a good writer, you have to write, and through writing you will eventually find your own style. I feel like I’m getting there, and I have him to thank.

Anyone who knows me will tell you I love baseball. Those same people will also likely tell you that I’m one of if not the biggest Braves fan in this part of the country. I was blessed to grow up in an era in which we had nationally televised games on a weekly basis (Thanks Ted Turner) and to have someone close to me share my love for baseball. The reader in me was even more excited when I found out some of my favorite players wrote books as well.

Chipper Jones

Every baseball fan has their favorite player. Some change over time, some don’t. I didn’t. I was and still am a fan of Chipper Jones. Though being left-handed probably would have put me on the opposite side of the diamond from him, I always liked the way he went about his business. Everybody thought he was cocky because he stepped in the box or onto the field every time with the mentality that he was the best player out there. If you read his book, “Ballplayer,” which I’ve included a link to, you’ll find that it came from his mother, who was a professional equestrian. She encouraged him to step on the field for every game, every at bat, every inning in the field like he was the best player on the field. The importance of family was evident, as anytime Chipper was in a slump, he went not to then hitting coach Don Baylor, but to his dad, Larry Sr. Reading that and hearing Chipper talk about it in interviews got me thinking about my relationship with my dad and how it shaped me as a man and a writer.

My Dad

My dad has been a farmer all his life. It’s all he’s ever known. As time goes on, I think the contribution of farmers to the function of this country is vastly overlooked in today’s society. Even during my misguided youth, a time in which I disrespected everyone believed to be in authority just for the sake of doing so, I always held a silent respect and admiration for my father. As long as I’ve been alive, he hasn’t taken a day off from work that didn’t have a purpose or good reason. Though I can’t say I’ve always followed this example, I’m proud to say that I do now. The older I get, the more I become like my dad. I’m ok with that. He’s always supported me, so I owe it to him to pass on his values.

No matter what I pursued, my dad has always supported me. Sometimes he was vocal, sometimes he stood to the side in silent support as I made the inevitable mistakes on the way to potential success. I have only moderately succeeded in life so far, and that is not for lack of support. Whatever success I have, I will always attribute some of it to my dad. He’s not a big social media guy, but I hope he reads this someday. Though I was too proud to admit it when I was younger, I wouldn’t be the man I am if it weren’t for him and my mother. Appreciate your parents, folks. Whatever the method, they always teach you something. I suppose that could be said for all people. No matter what type of influence someone has on you, they always teach you something if you’re willing to learn.

Final Thoughts

No matter who you are or where you come from, we all have a calling, something that we are meant to do. Whether it’s putting words on a page, tending a farm, or hitting a baseball, there is something for everyone. Like the inciting incident of your favorite novel, there is always a moment in life in which you discover this calling, and it changes your life forever. Whether it’s carrying on the family business or something life calls you to later, everyone has a purpose. Take whatever advice your parents give you, however they choose to give it. Find something in life that keeps you busy and brings you joy and try to make a career out of it. Cliche as it sounds, if you do that, you’ll never work a day in your life. I write because I love it, and if I can make a full-time income out of it someday, I will be happy. Find that one thing that gives you the same thrill writing does for me and you can be too.

    

 

 The Algorithm's Gift: Finding My Muse in the Depths of YouTube

Writer’s Block? Or Something Different?

Writer’s block and what I like to call creative stagnation are often—not always in so many words—used interchangeably. In reality, they are quite different.It's easy to mix up writer's block and creative stagnation, but they're not quite the same thing. Writer's block is usually a temporary hiccup in your writing process, like hitting a wall where you can't come up with ideas or put your thoughts into words. Creative stagnation is more of a long-term funk, where you feel like your creative juices have run dry and you're just stuck. Writer's block is like a minor roadblock, while creative stagnation feels more like a major detour.

What causes these issues? Writer's block often pops up because of stress, nerves, or even just a severe case of self-doubt. Sometimes it's external things like deadlines or not having any new ideas. Creative stagnation, though, comes from deeper issues like losing your motivation, being afraid to fail, or feeling like you're stuck in a creative rut. To get past writer's block, you might just need a break, a change of scenery, or to try some free writing. But to get out of creative stagnation, you might need to really change how you're thinking, be willing to experiment, and attempt to boost your creativity.

While they're different, writer's block and creative stagnation can also be linked. If you have writer's block for too long, it can turn into creative stagnation because feeling like you can't write can make you doubt yourself. And if you're already feeling creatively stagnant, it can make it even harder to start or finish a writing project, leading to writer's block. Knowing the difference between the two is really important if you want to deal with creative challenges and keep your creative work going strong.

Until recently, I found myself afflicted with a bout of what I refer to as creative stagnation. While writer’s block is a state in which the words don’t come at all, creative stagnation is a state in which the words come but don’t feel right in your mind. The one thing they have in common is their roots. They are both rooted in self-doubt. Thankfully, self-doubt only hangs around for a short time when you have inspiration all around you.

Every writer, while writing every piece they’ve ever written, has had that one moment where they stare at the blank document and wonder if they are in the right profession, if they have any talent at all. It happens to me regularly. It’s happening to me right now as I write this. I, however, have another reason to doubt myself, even if it ends up being mostly subconscious.

I try not to talk too much about my lifelong battle with cerebral palsy; I did that a little too much in the first blog I ever wrote, and this is my way of reinventing that image. It is relevant in this context, however, because it causes an extra layer of self-doubt that while on the surface I know it isn’t warranted, is hard to push out of my mind. The physical aspects are one thing. They don’t affect my ability to write since it is done in a seated position. The problem is the stigma surrounding the effects of this disability on a person’s mental faculties. I would love to say I dodged that metaphorical bullet, but sometimes I wonder. Like with the physical aspect, I know deep down that few people could tell just by my writing style and the way I structure my ideas that I have some sort of condition. Even knowing that, I wonder if anyone will ever read what I write. This worry is further exacerbated knowing that I know people in my life look at me differently, even when they say they don’t, because of the condition. Thanks to boredom and my good fortune with the YouTube algorithm, however, I found there are other reasons for the lack of initial success and it’s easier to fix than I was allowing myself to believe. It turned out that the solution was right in front of me.

Jumping Down the Rabbit Hole: Finding Inspiration in the YouTube Algorithm

I’ve been subscribed to Joe Van Cleave on YouTube since November 2023. I’m not sure why it took this long for my brain to make this connection, but I was watching one of Joe’s videos the other day, which I believe had something to do with finding your creative flow as a writer, and it got me thinking. 

“This video was uploaded almost ten years ago,” I thought to myself. That small, innocuous thought spurred me on to create what you’re reading today. In that video, Joe unknowingly showed me the power of dedication to the craft and perseverance when seeking creative fulfillment and success. In the event he reads this piece, I’d like to thank Joe for his engaging content and wish him well for the future. 

I’ve been a fan of Stephen King and his work for many years now. What began with a curious first reading of “Dreamcatcher” when I found it in the spare bedroom of my great aunt’s apartment when I was in high school has grown into a healthy obsession based on the respect I have for the man and what he does. He has inspired a lot of my fiction writing, most of which has not been seen by anyone to this point. His book, “On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft has also stuck with me. One of my favorite quotes from that book is about what writing is about for us writers. It’s about finding happiness in what we do, and finding stories in everyday life. His story about how he discovered his love for books and fulfilling his desire to write them inspired me to go on my journey. Along the way, King has spoken to many groups, and some of those videos have ended up on Youtube. The last video I watched, which was recorded at Politics and Prose in Washington DC, left me with more unexpected inspiration.

During his talk in DC, King told the story that led him to write “Cujo” in which he took his motorcycle to a man to be fixed and was greeted by the man and his enormous St. Bernard. Apparently, “Buster” didn’t like Steve’s face, as evidenced by the growl and attempted springing of his haunches, which was stopped by a socket wrench in the mechanic’s hand. From this quite ordinary encounter, “Cujo” was born. Again, I was silently wondering why it took me until this rabbit hole YouTube session to understand this concept, but better late than never, I suppose.

I’m not sure if I should thank Steve or Joe for this, but after that YouTube session, I was inspired to write again, and it started with what you’re reading today. Joe inspired me to continue to create and have patience that the right people will find me. Mr. King reminded me how many of the best stories out there came from ordinary situations combined with unusual changes in circumstances. So I guess they both deserve some thanks, for they have both inspired me to continue to put my words on paper and eventually out into the world, and they’ve taught me to look for inspiration everywhere instead of waiting for it to find me.

Sometimes Inspiration Finds You

One of my favorite story ideas that started with a seemingly normal situation was one that I am still working on. Essentially, it involves a retired police detective on vacation to celebrate his retirement, only to hear the call of public service in his head once again when a body is discovered in the cabin down the way from his own when the proprietor of the resort was investigating a strange odor that was reported.

That story came to me fairly quickly. Like the gentle knock of opportunity, this idea would live—rent free, as people say now—in my head for about a month. I didn’t act on it because inspiration like that was so unexpected, but it’s a fun story to tell, anyway. Essentially, the cabin that I was supposed to stay in last summer, along with my sister- and brother-in-law’s cabin next door, was closed off and made unavailable because of an odor that was believed to be coming from the fish cleaning house below. There was a joke circulating around the resort that there was a dead body down there. Being the creative soul that I am, my first instinct was to ask myself, “What if there were a dead body down there?” That, in its purest form is, exactly what I’m talking about when I say inspiration finds you, and you should never ignore it.

Hindsight tells me I should have written that story then and there, but using more of the advice I gleaned from Stephen King, I let the idea sit for a while, see if it would stick around or fall out of the proverbial strainer—that was in the Politics and Prose video too in some form. Though it has gone through a few changes between then and now, the core idea has not left me. I have many projects in the works—ADHD is not my friend in that way—but this one will find its way into manuscript form at some point in the near future, and I’m certain it will be the first of many.

Inspiration can truly come from anywhere. Sometimes it comes in times and places where we least expect it. I can come when you take your motorcycle to the mechanic, from a dream on a plane, or even from a YouTube video that sends you down a rabbit hole and inspires you to step outside your comfort zone. Inspiration can come from all around us, and it’s up to us to decide what to do with it.

When your goal is to make an income from your writing, you can’t afford to wait for inspiration to strike you. As Steve Jobs famously said, “Real artists ship.” I can’t say I’ve always followed this rule, but what that quote means to me is, as writers and creators, we have to go to the post every day, just like you would at any other job, regardless of inspiration or lack thereof. I bring that up because that quote was brought to my attention in being a creator when I watched a video from another exceptional creator, Damon DiMarco. I’ll link his YouTube channel here for anyone who wants to check out his content. He is a screenwriter who creates using older technology, much like Joe Van Cleave. If you like screenplays and typewriters, check out Damon’s content. You won’t be disappointed.

Creating New Experiences: Stepping Beyond Your Comfort Zone

One key I’ve found to having success as a creator is always being open to new experiences, whether that be food, new places to write within your house—or your local restaurant or coffee shop, for that matter, or even travel. I’ll take one more cue from the great Stephen King. His book, “Misery” was inspired by a dream he had while sleeping on a plane to London that involved a writer and their number one fan. When King and his wife Tabitha arrived at the Brown’s Hotel in London, he asked the person at the front desk if there was somewhere he could go to write. He pointed him to an old desk that happened to belong to Rudyard Kipling and King wrote the first draft of “Misery.” I’ve experienced some of this in my lake trips, which you can read about in one of my other articles, but I’ve never traveled to that extent. I’d like to, I just haven’t yet. Someday though, I’d like to do some extensive travelling.

Where do you find inspiration in everyday life? Do you travel? Interact with different people regularly? Or do you jump down YouTube and internet rabbit holes as I do? Leave me a comment and let me know where your inspiration comes from. Thanks for stopping by. Remember that inspiration is all around us and make every day a creative one. Inspiration can be found in the most unexpected corners of our lives. It's not confined to exotic travels or profound interactions; it's woven into the fabric of our everyday experiences.

Final Thoughts

Take a moment to reflect on your own sources of inspiration. Perhaps you find it in the vibrant hues of a sunrise, the soothing melody of a bird's song, or the infectious laughter of a child. Maybe you're inspired by the resilience of the human spirit, the beauty of nature, or the power of art.

For many of us, the internet has become a vast reservoir of inspiration. We can explore distant lands, delve into fascinating subjects, and connect with people from all walks of life with just a few clicks. YouTube, with its endless array of videos, can be a rich source of inspiration.

Whether you're watching a TED Talk, a documentary, a music video, or a DIY tutorial, you're bound to come across something that sparks your creativity. So next time you're feeling uninspired, don't hesitate to jump down a YouTube rabbit hole. You never know what you might find.

Remember, inspiration is all around us. It's in the mundane and the extraordinary, the simple and the complex. All we have to do is open our eyes and our minds to it. So make every day a creative one. Seek inspiration in the world around you, and let it fuel your passions and your dreams.  

   

Inspiration at the Lake: A Writer's Retreat

 

Finding Inspiration at the Lake: A Writer's Retreat

The sunrise over Long Lake paints my world in hues of amber and gold. As I look out from my cabin's private deck to the boat docks below, the gentle lapping of waves echoes a timeless rhythm. The endless line of trees beyond the glassy surface takes me to a place of pure tranquility.

For my family, this is a vacation from work. For me, a trip to Long Lake is a portal to relaxation and creativity.

 The Midwestern Tradition of "Going Up North"

When you live in the Midwest, particularly Wisconsin, vacations to places we call "up north" are a family staple. Living in the southern part of the state, finding somewhere that qualifies as "up north" isn't difficult.

My family has always blocked off at least one week each summer for such a vacation. It began with my grandparents taking my siblings and me to Wisconsin Dells. Those trips planted the seeds for my love of lakeside retreats, despite being the one family member who rarely participates in typical lakefront activities.

 Finding Peace by the Water

I've never been big on swimming or fishing. My legs aren't as strong as my arms, making swimming in currented water difficult. And while I enjoyed fishing as a child, I lost interest as I grew older.

Despite these personal preferences, I always look forward to family vacations on the lake. The water offers a tranquility I've rarely experienced elsewhere. From my cabin deck, I can hear gentle waves lapping against the dock below while enjoying a cold beverage. As the sun sets, casting a red-orange glow through the trees on the horizon, an overwhelming sense of peace washes over me.

 A Writer's Sanctuary

It may seem cliché for a writer to find inspiration at a lakeside cabin, but it works for me. Two years ago, I stayed in a rustic one-bedroom cabin with the most spacious deck of all those available. The worn wooden planks creaked with every step, adding to its charm.

The stillness of morning as I sat with a cup of coffee, enjoying the peaceful moments before a day of family activities, sparked something within me. As the sun rose above the tree line, my mind would race with creative energy, and the words would begin to flow.

 Unexpected Sources of Inspiration

Contrary to what you might expect, my most vivid story inspiration didn't come from the picturesque lake view, but from a macabre joke circulating around the resort. Locals joked about a dead body somewhere in the fish house below my usual cabin. "What if there really was a body down there?" I thought and thus was born perhaps the darkest narrative I'd ever conceived.

Being around new people in unfamiliar situations helps generate ideas. The less I think about everyday stresses, the easier it is to create. Though I haven't written this particular story yet, it remains on my project list, requiring me to step outside my comfort zone.

 Growth Through Reflection

Until writing this piece, I hadn't fully considered how past vacations could spark story ideas through simple "what if" scenarios. It's only in the last two years that I've seriously pursued writing during these trips.

One memory stands out: when my ex unexpectedly left our vacation with little explanation. Looking back, this disappointment could fuel many psychological thriller tropes. It's in these raw, emotional moments that I find the intricate dance of human relationships most fascinating—providing endless fuel for storytelling.

A Sanctuary of Inspiration

Long Lake has given me more than memories. It has deepened my understanding of myself, my family, and the human experience I seek to capture through writing. That lake, with its tranquil beauty and endless possibilities that accompany every sunrise, remains a sanctuary of inspiration in my memory.

Whether or not I return, the lessons learned, and stories conceived while gazing across Long Lake's shimmering expanse will always be with me, weaving into the fabric of my life and work.

Perhaps the "what if" questions I asked myself will find their way to others, leading them to seek their own experiences and find pieces of themselves reflected in gently rippling waters.

 

For the Love of the Game: How Baseball Saved My Life

Introduction

Baseball has been America’s pastime for as long as many of us can remember. Many consider it a rite of passage for a young man to go to a game with his dad, or even his grandfather, as was my case. The advancement of technology has allowed us to watch or listen to whatever team or game we choose from anywhere in the world, but nothing can replace the sights and sounds of the ballpark. From the crack of the bat to the ebbs and flows of crowd emotions, and even the cries of vendors offering hot dogs, peanuts, and the like, no at-home viewing or listening experience can compete with sitting in the ballpark with thousands of other people, some rooting for your team, some not, and taking in the sights and sounds of the game. I’ve been to countless games in my life to this point, but I had no idea when I went to my first game at the age of seven what kind of love I’d have for this great game, or that such a passion would effectively save my life.

When planning the structure and content of this story, I was unsure if I was going to mention anything about my personal journey. I had planned for this story to be the beginning of my, for lack of a better term, re-branding as a writer. I do, however, think it’s important for context to mention briefly that I was born with a mild case of cerebral palsy which limits me physically in some ways, but does not prevent me from walking. I mention this only because I played baseball only until the age of ten before my parents became afraid I wouldn’t be able to adjust to the increasing pace of the game. I was angry at the time, but I was also ten years old, unable to see the big picture. Now, almost thirty years later, I find myself thanking my parents for that decision. Realistically, physical disability or not, I didn’t have much of a future on the baseball field. First off, I’m not exactly fast, I will be the first to admit that. That rules out most of the outfield positions. I’d be the first to blame myself if a ball dropped in front of me or beside me that a normal outfielder would probably catch. Secondly, I’m 5 foot 8 on a good day, which rules out first base. I pitched for a while when I did play, but I am self-aware enough to know I don’t throw nearly hard enough now to have any shot, especially in today’s game. Last, but certainly not least, I’m left-handed, so that rules out the rest of the positions on the field. In a way, I believe my parents did me a favor all those years ago because it put me on a path to enjoying the game on a new level, one that would, as this story’s title implies, save my life, though I didn’t think of it that way at the time.

I don’t talk about it much, especially since suicide is something that often requires a “trigger warning” if you subscribe to such things, but I’ve thought about it many times. I always thought that because of the things I briefly mentioned in the beginning, I’d never amount to anything. I always thought I would be a burden to my family, a disappointment to my family name. I didn’t think there was a place for me in the future. That all changed in a seventh-grade math class that I wouldn’t remember to this day otherwise.

All About the Numbers

My playing career, if you want to call it that, was already over by this point, but I still loved the game enough to watch. My great-aunt, God rest her soul, introduced me to the Atlanta Braves in the summer of ’95, which also happened to be their first World Series victory since moving to Atlanta almost 40 years prior. I would watch games with her all summer long. The Braves were under the ownership of Ted Turner at this point, and as such had access to a national audience thanks to TBS, and I became a rabid fan. Though I found comfort in being able to enjoy the game from afar, part of me always longed for a way to be closer to it even though I could no longer play. That’s where the seventh-grade math class comes in. We had a whole unit on baseball stats and how they were calculated and compiled. This also happened to be the time in which I met the man who would be my best friend all the way through high school, but that’s another story. Between what I learned in school during that time and what I heard on the Braves broadcasts every Thursday night during the summer, I began to realize there are people who get paid to know these things. From that point on, I threw myself into the game from an analytical perspective, and my love only grew, as did my confidence in myself. Unfortunately, that confidence wouldn't last long, but that only gave the game I’ve grown to love so much a chance to save me again.

Missed Opportunities and a Renewed Passion

Hindsight being what it is, I can safely say I went about high school the wrong way. Instead of using my intelligence to do well in school and put myself on the right path, I was more concerned with my social standing, which caused me to suffer academically. Long story short, I got my diploma but did so in such a way that there were no colleges lining up to recruit me for my academic achievements. If I had the ability to write a letter to my high school self, I’d tell him to take journalism junior year as well as senior year. I’d tell him to take the radio and TV class that my school offered. Most of all, I’d tell him to quit worrying about what other people think and do what he needed to do to succeed. You know what they say, though, things happen for a reason, and I think my life is getting better just at the right time. I would be lying, however, if I said I didn’t have regrets.

My biggest regret knowing what I know now is not taking that radio and TV class at some point in high school. That regret started somewhere circa 2009 when I was working my everyday job as a call center phone customer service agent, and I had a customer tell me that I had a voice that should be on the radio. This would happen a few more times over the next couple of years and it would get me thinking to myself, “Maybe that’s what I was meant to do.” I didn’t act on it, however, because I was in the middle of yet another time in life in which I’d like to grab my past self by the collar and shake him vigorously and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. Once again, baseball was there, along with my family, to catch me when I fell flat on my face.

In the summer of 2017, I suffered the indignity of having to move into my parents’ basement after the living situation I’d been a part of for the better part of the last five years finally fell apart, not without some mistakes being made on my part of course. Though I did so with a healthy amount of trepidation, moving back in with my parents turned out to be the best thing I could have done, and it led to me rediscovering my love for baseball and radio broadcasting.

Though I cannot remember exactly when I started listening to the Braves broadcasts on the radio, I know for certain that I listened to almost every broadcast from 2020 until now. I began working from home in March of 2020 as the pandemic escalated. I had joined the company’s order processing department in 2017 and would assume a position as a shift lead the following spring, which meant I did not have to talk on the phone. This gave me the opportunity to listen to baseball games during my work shifts. In doing so, I was introduced to Ben Ingram and his smooth but passionate play by play style. In most cases, Ben called games alongside former big-league outfielder and longtime Braves broadcaster Joe Simpson, whom I knew from the TBS broadcasts I watched as a kid. Ben’s broadcasting style and mannerisms reminded me how much I loved the commentary part of the game, once again saving me from the grips of a depression that would have otherwise destroyed me.

Good News and the Miracle Braves

The summer of 2021, even though I didn’t know it to start with, would bring about two of the most fortuitous events in my life to that point. In July, we were supposed to return to on-site work, but as second shift employees, three of us, including myself, were informed that we’d be working from home permanently. As someone who is not able to drive, more for mental and emotional reasons than physical as it turns out, that was music to my ears. I hated relying on other people—and later our local cab company—to get to and from work. More importantly to me though, it meant I would be able to continue to listen to my baseball games during my work shifts since I’d be in my office alone and a sudden exclamation due to something that happened during a game would go largely unnoticed—I admit to being a bit of a rowdy fan, but if you’d heard my mother yell at the TV during Packers games, you’d see where it comes from—and since it happened often, that was important to me. At this time, however, with the Braves still hovering around the .500 mark, I wasn’t sure how much more cheering I would be doing that season. I could only hope that the good fortune that began with the news that I’d be working from home permanently would continue, though it wasn’t looking good for the good guys at this point.

Though it didn’t look good going into the month of August, the Braves did indeed overtake the Phillies to win their 4^th straight Eastern Division crown, beginning the most historic playoff run in my lifetime (unless you want to include the 1991 worst to first team, but I found out about that run much later in life). The next chapter of this story would begin in Milwaukee, reigniting a family rivalry that has spanned the entirety of my baseball life. Judging by how the regular season ended, Brewer fans were optimistic, and they had every right to be. In spite of the optimism that bordered on cockiness that permeated my house and the bars I went to, I held out hope for my guys as every fan should.

Personal Pride and Family Rivalry: The 2021 NLDS

After game one in Milwaukee, my optimism gave way to a sort of pessimistic realism that caused me to begin to think this would be the end of our brief run. Little did I know that, as we shifted back to the friendly confines of Truist Park in Atlanta, game one would be the only win the Brewers would get.

After a disappointing loss in game one, the Braves were able to take game 2 in Milwaukee, evening the series as the two teams boarded their birds bound for Atlanta. The Brewers looked poised to win game 3, but Brian Snitker had other plans, lifting pitcher Ian Anderson in favor of a pinch hitter. That pinch hitter was none other than perennial postseason hero Joc Pederson. Clad in his now-famous pearl necklace, Pederson proceeded to victimize Adrian Houser for the second time in the series, blasting a go-ahead 3-run homer into the Chop House seats in right field. The Braves would go on to win the game, setting up an elimination game for Milwaukee in game 4 the next night.

Game 4 was a back-and-forth affair between the two teams. The highlight that most will remember, me included, is when Craig Counsell opted to bring in his closer Josh Hader in the bottom of the        8^th inning for a left-on-left matchup with Freddie Freeman. Freeman proceeded to spoil that matchup, much to the chagrin of my family whom I could hear groaning from the living room as I sat in my office working and listening to the game on the radio. A home run to center field by Freeman would put the Braves up for good and spell the end of the Brewers season, giving me bragging rights, at least for the moment. Another rung on the ladder that was 2021 postseason was complete.

Home Cooking with a Side of Revenge: The 2021 NLCS

Unlike the Milwaukee series, the Braves began the series with the Dodgers at home. Even through the radio and TV feeds to which I was limited, I could feel destiny in the air as Hank Aaron’s spirit permeated the ballpark. Not being in the ballpark did not stop me from feeling a surge of confidence and excitement as the haunting and often controversial war chant for which Braves fans can thank Dieon Sanders echoed throughout the stadium. I knew the Dodgers, a team that won 106 games in the regular season, would be a tough opponent. Maybe it was Hank watching from above, but as Max Fried toed the rubber to begin Game 1, I had all the confidence in the world.

The 2021 NLCS was one many will remember. With the fewest regular season wins among the division winners, to say the Braves were underdogs in this series would be a massive understatement. Like most Braves fans, or so I would guess, I was looking for a measure of revenge going into this series. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still have a bad taste in my mouth following the 2020 NLCS. As game one began, I could only hope for a turning of the tables this time around.

The first two games in Atlanta went back and forth the entire way. Looking back on it, I probably shouldn’t have been listening to the games during my work shifts because while I was able to concentrate well enough to complete my tasks in an efficient manner, it was difficult at times. This was especially true when Joc Pederson came to the plate to pinch hit in the bottom of the fourth inning in game two. With a man on first and his team trailing 2-0, Pedersen stepped confidently into the left-hand batter’s box, his now famous pearls dangling about his neck. Having just missed hitting a home run off Max Scherzer in his previous plate appearance, Pedersen was not about to let the Dodgers off the hook a second time as he proceeded to deposit a hanging Scherzer curveball into the upper deck of the Chop House, a similar location to the homer he hit against Milwaukee in a similar situation. I can’t speak for all Braves fans, but I was beginning to see a pattern. The Braves would go on to win Game 2 on the second walk-off hit in as many games in this series.

As the series moved to Los Angeles, the news was less positive for Braves fans. Though Freddie Freeman came out of the short slump he experienced in Atlanta, blasting two home runs in Los Angeles, the Braves would come away with just one win in LA. Despite this, they would only need one of the next two wins in their home park to send their team to their first World Series since the 1999 season, a feat they would indeed accomplish, with Will Smith striking out Cody Bellinger for the second out and AJ Pollack grounding out to shortstop to end the Dodgers’ season. A date was set between the Braves and Astros in Houston.

More Than Just a Trophy: The 2021 World Series

After splitting the first two games in Houston, one of which being an uncharacteristic bad start from Max Fried, the Braves would take 2 of the next three games in Atlanta, setting up a game 6 showdown back in Houston. After a disastrous game 2 start, Max Fried took the mound in game 6 ready to redeem himself. Despite getting stepped on covering first base and a few bounces not going his way, the then 27-year-old left-hander would do exactly that, pitching 6 shutout innings while giving up 4 hits, striking out 6 and not walking a soul.

Thanks to my favorite team, I will never forget November 2^nd of 2021 as long as I live. I was finishing up my work shift as the ninth inning of Game 6 progressed. The Braves were up 7-0, so a victory seemed assured. As a fan, I couldn’t help being nervous in spite of the score. This would be the first trophy hoisted in 26 years. I will be the first to admit that when Dansby Swanson threw the final ball to first base to secure it, I had to use every fiber of my being to not break down crying. My great-aunt passed away in 2016, not long after the Cubs ended their World Series drought. During game six in Houston, I thought of the man who sat at his father’s grave listening to the game as the Cubs clinched, and wished I could have sat with Aunt Mary on this day. I have no doubt that both she and Hank Aaron were celebrating right along with me. By some miracle, I was able to finish my work shift with my emotions somewhat intact, with Ben Ingram’s voice echoing in my head, “Is this happening? It is!” Once again, the game I so dearly loved, and the team I so fervently supported, renewed my lease on life.

A New Perspective and a Renewed Passion

I played the footage of that final out countless times in the next few days, and the emotions were the same every time. The way I saw it, if a team that had gone through that much adversity during the season could persevere and hoist a trophy, then I could do anything I wanted to do. It’s been a long road, and there have been some bumps in the road along the way, but thanks to my combined love of baseball and writing, I’ve been able to shift my focus and look at what is really important in life. The road will be long, but thanks to support from those around me and a newfound belief in myself, I firmly believe I will succeed and be able to make money doing what I love. Though it’s cliché at this point, I find a lot of truth in not having to work a day in your life if you’re doing what you love. I love to tell stories, and I love the idea of inspiring people. If I can make a living combining those things, whatever else comes will be a bonus.

No matter where you come from or what happens in life, I believe everyone has a calling, something they are meant to do. I was given the ability to put words together in a relatively coherent manner and a love of reading and sports. It’s only right that I share a bit of both with you folks today. Wherever this passion takes me, I will never forget where I came from or the journey I’ve taken to become the man I am today. That’s my advice to you. No matter where life takes you, don’t ever forget where you came from. Always be humble and thankful and follow your dreams. Most importantly of all, it’s never too late.