Sometimes when I sit down to write, I remember Seth Godin’s line that “We’re not normal. We’re weird. All of us.” And honestly? That explains my entire drafting process better than any productivity app ever could. Writing, for me, is basically choosing to be professionally weird on purpose. Godin says the weird “insist on making a choice,” and that’s exactly what writing feels like: choosing to put words on a page even though your brain is offering 47 alternative activities, including reorganizing your sock drawer or researching the history of Belgian zoos. And the best part? Writing is the one place where weirdness isn’t just tolerated — it’s the whole point. You get to build your own tiny tribe of readers who think your particular flavor of strange is “normal,” and suddenly you’re not just typing… you’re leading a miniature cultural uprising from your keyboard. So here’s my takeaway: If mass‑market thinking says “write something everyone will like,” Godin’s manifesto says “nah — write something your tribe will love.” Weird is the strategy. Weird is the brand. Weird is the plot twist. And honestly, if being weird is the requirement, then I’m already over‑qualified.

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I love writing, reading, and speaking — in roughly that order. Turning 50 brought a surprising clarity: I’ve spent my entire life writing for other people. Ghostwriting, bespoke pieces, marketing plans with no byline — I’ve genuinely enjoyed every bit of it. But now I write for myself, on my own terms. I write because I love the English language. Studying it is one of my greatest hobbies, and I balance my practice between analogue notebooks and digital tools. I share my work online because I enjoy the reciprocal energy of feedback — the way a single comment can spark a new idea or sharpen a sentence. I’m always on the hunt for new books, and I love helping other writers strengthen their voice. How may I help you today?

“…how long had those tablets moldered inside that chest, waiting for eyes to read them? While I’m sure you will doubt the truth of the outlandish events they relate, my dear niece, in my transcription, I do not leave out a word.” 2021 “Cloud Cuckoo Land” Anthony Doerr Scribner Fiction FICTION NOVELS First Edition September 2021 This quote comes early in the novel’s framing device, where Antonius Diogenes addresses his niece while passing on the discovered ancient tale of Aethon. My Take: Doerr beautifully captures the quiet miracle of writing and storytelling — the idea that fragile words (etched on wood, paper, or tablets) can survive centuries of decay, neglect, and doubt to reach a new reader. It’s a loving nod to how stories outlive their tellers, especially fitting for a novel that weaves together ancient manuscripts, besieged libraries, and future preservation efforts. The act of faithful transcription becomes an act of hope and defiance against time.

“Leave the door open for the unknown, the door into the dark.” From: 2005 A Field Guide to Getting Lost — Rebecca Solnit My Take: The quote reminds us that the things we most need — transformation, clarity, reinvention — rarely arrive through control. They come when we loosen our grip, when we stop trying to predict every outcome, when we allow a little darkness to exist without immediately reaching for the light switch. The unknown isn’t a threat; it’s an invitation. A threshold. A place where the self can expand in ways certainty never allows. Most people try to avoid the dark. This quote shows that you can learn to walk into it on purpose.