It was a dark and stormy night. A porch chair blew into the yard. The wind made unholy noises. The house creaked and moaned. It was a disconcerting evening since the house is clad in stone and has always felt sound and sturdy. I longed for a wind gauge, but I’ve long since given up on electronic weather stations. And this all happened in advance of the red and yellow on the radar that said, here comes the rain. In the end, I trusted the construction of the house, and found sleep. And when I woke, there was rain, and the house still stood.

I went to get a document notarized the other day and met a woman who knew my great-grandmother. Making polite conversation she asked where I lived. When I told her she started talking about Ms. Cammack and Ms. Pruett who used to live there. She knew them because her folks ran the grocery store just down the street in town, and that’s where they shopped. It’s the first time since I moved to my dad’s hometown to ever meet someone who knew his grandmother. Surreal.

Commerce. The bane of all artists. The pit in which they must slog. How to do what you love and make a living. It’s a conundrum. Early in my life, I took my love of words into the world of in-house publications in the oilfield, traveled through the world of book publishing, and eventually ended up editing drilling and completion manuals. It wasn’t Dickens, but it raised three kids and gave my family a good life. Early on, I tried my hand at science fiction on the side and did some magazine freelancing, but eventually they slid away.

Wow. I just had a moment. Prepared my coffee. Hit brew. Stood looking out the window. Realized there was no cup. Whoops! Inexplicable madness? Nope. Distracted. I realized I’d made an error setting up a product in my storefront, and each cup ordered was costing me money. Not a ton, but enough. I’m not looking to become an oligarch with these mugs, I just want to publish a book. I’ve been busy this morning making corrections.

I’m in an odd spot. I write this blog almost every day. And it’s free. And I feel like I know almost all of my readers, and I consider them to be my friends. This happened because the first posts were basically Facebook posts. Then Facebook decided to add a blog type feature, and I started using it. Then they cancelled it, and I moved to an independent website, GatewoodPress.com, set up a business page on Facebook, and voila, the blog continued to appear on Facebook. I did this to facilitate the publication of my book in 2021, The Caregiver’s Tales: The Long Goodbye, about my wife’s dementia.