Life Its Ownself: the value of words or Zach on Writing

On Saturday night, we went to a networking event attached to a new writer’s association. I like networking events as much as most of my readers like Sundays without football. The point of the event was to have people talk about what they’re working on, as this group is supposed to be in support of people trying to get published. I have no writing project, but I remember what it feels like.

One of our friends is a published author and she has the glamorous job of an adjunct professorship to show for it. She brought two of her students to our mini after party, which for me consisted of fried ravioli and a lovely beer called Trois Pistoles that I first sampled the day we had to put a cat to sleep. One of the students carried a small notebook and each page was littered with prose. I remembered what that felt like.

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Last night I attended an Oscar party. This friend opens his house up and dresses in an actual tux like he’s on the red carpet and we do our best. Due to my recent workout regimen I fit in my suit pants, and the touch of a Party City-purchased pink bow tie was the capper. I drank beer that was probably a bit too boozy for a work night and we enjoyed an event that had I watched it alone, I would have changed the channel. Friends made the event.

I sat next to my friend Don, who is the only person who watches my weekly youtube show as far as I can tell. He also had on a pink bow tie. We sat a foot apart and texted each other for the next three hours. Talking is so 20th century.

It was a good beer night, as I unveiled two bombers that had been gathering dust in my “beer closet”. The Coastal Empire Red Wine Barrel “Midnight in the Garden” was a combination of two beverages I enjoy on their own, red wine and a dark ale. Would they mingle together like peanut butter and chocolate? I have to say it was a nice, complex beer that was high on the alcohol but a smooth ride all the way through. My second choice, Blue Point’s Imperial Stout with Sour Cherries, had a little less cherry than I would have liked but it was a nice finale for the evening.

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I think about writing, a pastime that has been less of a passion of late. I wrote two ebooks that sold fewer copies than I have beers in my house. I did nearly 150 interviews, blogged for years about real and fantasy football and covered the draft once for Bleacher Report. There are three unpublished novels clogging up my hard drive along with various short stories. I remember getting up an hour early to write and it was something I had to do. Now, I get to work early or try to sleep in when the kittens aren’t trying to devour my toes as a call for breakfast.

If it weren’t for that first novel, a thriller called Infatuation that I started writing after a shift at a Little Ceasars during my college years, I wouldn’t have been invited to a local book group by my brother to have total strangers read and critique this tome. One of those people, and I’m 100% sure he didn’t read a word of the book, was mister Don Funk, and we’ve been friends for almost 20 years and fantasy football rivals. If I didn’t meet Don I wouldn’t have met his friends who open their house up for the Oscars and give away a trophy to the person who picks the most winners.

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