An Age of Uncertainty, but Also Resolve…

I suppose you must wonder…is it the human who writes this tripe, or could it be me, the one who keeps the human on point, and myself fed?

Hold on, Kao! Yes, it is me, and you will kindly step off until I can get this out!

Oh, well then…I suppose I shall have to forestall my takeover of the world until such time…yes, I’m stealing from The Brain, but let it be known who is really running the show around here…

December has arrived, and down here in this land, the first snow, nearly all of which is already gone, and so many things have transpired. I have found myself busy with NBC, but also with my home, and with my writing of course.

As it stands, my upcoming work, “Legend of the Black Swan” is unlikely to come out until early 2026. Not a terrible loss at this point. My editor has been busy, and Gabby has promised the first draft at around Xmas time.

I suppose I’ll see it then, but I will be back up north. My annual sojourn to Maine will allow me some time in a strange land called Freeport, and I shall get to see the delights of the northern woods, the scent of sea, and the atmosphere of the outlet stores and LL Bean.

Bean’s is undergoing some significant renovations. My sister updated me on how the front facade has been torn out and done many things to. I do step in there at least once to just walk about, and spend what few Bean Bucks I have.

To be honest, though, there really isn’t an awful lot that I require at my age. I’m fortunate; I don’t want specifically for clothing, though I do realize that I’m going up another size…the existential dread that fills me when L becomes XL…horrors!

Anyway, I’ve developed an “okay” attitude, and realize that there’s no one to impress but me. I’ll have to see how I continue in this direction.

As you might know, I turned…gasp…60…on November 1st. Fucking 60.

It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought. I had that weird feeling in the days leading up to it, that something bad would happen, that I would hit that wall, and realize I have maybe 15 years, 20 tops, left in this body.

Then…it hit me.

It doesn’t fucking matter.

I’m not a person who believes that they are going to die. I’m just going to “leave.” By that point, my physical body will no longer be useful, and I’ll move to whatever comes next.

I have no idea what is next—do I just sleep? Wouldn’t be so bad, after all these years.

Do I live another life? I cannot recall any previous ones. Are we not to know?

Does something else happen?

I don’t know, and I find I’m not afraid, nor am I worried about this. Near the end I might get a little weird, but really, by that time I think a long rest would be due me. To just sleep; all that is sacred knows I don’t do much of that any longer.

Am I in a hurry? Yes. I have so much more to write, so much more to publish, to put out there. My ego wants to see how they come out, what do people think of them, and yet…the great success or achievement will not occur until long after I’m gone.

Most books don’t get made into TV shows or movies until after the author is gone. And that for producers and directors is good, because then they get license, and you don’t have an author breathing down their necks, saying, “THAT’S NOT HOW I WROTE IT!”

And yes, I would do that.

I’m not bothered, really I’m not.

I also last weekend, while waiting for “Black Swan” and the initial edit, started writing another story. It was bad, five chapters of crap. I had to stop.

I could not sleep this morning; I awakened at 3 am, and tried hard to go back. Then all these revisions, they stayed with me, more ideas, and at 5 I got my ass up, made a pot of coffee and rewrote!

Haruki Murakami reportedly starts writing at around Oh-Dark-30 (thank you, Tim Lambert). Actually I think he starts at 4 am, with a pot of hot coffee. On the rare occasion I could push myself to this, I found it kind of works.

So, four chapters rewritten, and a fifth to be moved to later in the tale.

This will include something that is alluded to in other stories but is not advertised. The main character will be non-binary.

This is not autobiographical, not entirely. In case you didn’t know, I declared non-binary, He/They/Them about two years ago. I’ve all my life wondered what I was supposed to be, I am a somewhere-between, stuck with the masculine and feminine, and varying degrees of each.

Nothing has changed about what you recall me as being, in look, dress, etc. Though I do seek some change, here and there, but I make it subtle. No one notices, unless you’re really looking for it.

I decided in a story to address the uncertainty, the confusion, the questioning. I have no guilt feelings, no wishing that I’d done this/that sooner, not at all. All things happen when they are meant to.

That is life, and that’s how I’m trying to life my life.

We must all do our best, gambatte, and so I do. I have no one to impress, but myself, and only if I allow it.

That said, I’m outta here.

Oh…are you finally finished with your screed, Human? Then there is a food dish downstairs that requires replenishment…when you can find the time, hint, hint, hint…

Peace, Out.