Magpie Novelwriting

 

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Saturday at 8:43am Pacific, I finished the first draft of my new (as-yet-untitled) novel. This is exciting, because the novel begins today, no earlier than 6:30pm Mountain (probably more like 9pm Mountain).

When I started the original short-story version of this tale in fall 2024, it was set in April/May 2025. The goal was to get it into the world before the events occurred.

But it never was a short story, so I’ve spent the last year expanding it into a novel that begins April 28, 2026 and ends Monday May 4, 2026. It had to be then (now) because the protagonists needed to graduate from BYU and get married before things start, as you can see from the first page of my MS:

Temples are closed on Sundays and Mondays. Can’t get them married then. And we need a couple days of action before the weekend hits. Tuesday, April 28 it is.

Pre-dating is standard operating procedure with me. Byuck takes place in the 2000–2001 school year. I started writing it in 1999 and finished the first draft in 2004. Just Julie’s Fine takes place fall 2005. I started in in 2004 and finished its first draft in 2012.

I guess I want my books to take place the exact same moment their first readers read them? If so, I haven’t pulled it off yet. And it would take a miracle for this book to appear even next year. Tuesday’s out of the question.

Anyway, at least I got the rough done before the novel starts this time. I’m feeling good about that. I’m undecided if I should dig into the rewrite immediately or follow Stephen King’s advice and sticking it in a drawer until I’ve written something else. We’ll see.

To celebrate draft one though, I wanted to share a bit of how the short story became a novel.

First, it always was a novel. It was apparent from go that I was trying to cram way too much into 6,000 words (ultimately almost 12,000, notwithstanding my efforts at brevity). But still—how did that grow into this?

(Incidentally, mystery novels should generally land between 70,000 and 90,000 words and I was aiming for the upper count. Nailed it!)

How did I get to 89,035 words? Well, of course, I filled in the parts that had gotten short shrit before. But another part of it was simply taking what surrounded me and shoving it into the novel. Here are some examples.

I probably stole more ideas from this book than I remember. I would already own my own copy of this (remember: I loved it) if Lady Steed wasn’t so freaked out by the cover. And, if I did, I could then thumb through its pages and see what else there is to admit to, but here’s one thing I definitely took from Chuck:

He said add a dog.

I added a dog.

I was at Stuff, gosh, two or three months ago? As per usual, alongside the LPs and tiki crafts and midcentury political buttons and funky furniture, there were piles and piles and piles of Playboys. On the top of one of these piles was an issue that didn’t look much like the other issues. For one thing, it didn’t star a buxom beauty on the cover. If I remember right, there was one of these but she was small and up in the corner of her issue’s orange-brown cover that otherwise was just a list of authors interviewed within. Ray Bradbury. Joyce Carol Oates. I think Normal Mailer and Joseph Heller were on there. Dozens of names.

I didn’t think much about it at the time—it was just one more Playboy in an antique consignment shop—but I kept thinking about the issue. And thus the issue came to play an important role in an extended flash back I intended to write. I wasn’t worried about being able to learn more about this issue when the time came because, as I believe I mentioned, there are endless Playboys in Stuff and this one had a particularly unsexy cover. It would still be there whenever I got around to returning.

Well, I didn’t get around to returning until I was ready to insert it into the plot. First, I did some looking around online but couldn’t learn the details I needed. In fact, I couldn’t even prove the issue existed. So I went back to Stuff and went through every single pile of Playboys without success. I took a deep breath and asked the proprietor and he was like, uhhhh, do you have any idea how many Playboys we have in this place? I took his point and went home sad (albeit with my wife’s birthday present in tow) (which I should mention is neither LP nor tiki nor politics nor furnishing nor Playboy) (and only cost me three dollars) (plus tax).

Anyway, back the internet. Searching and searching and searching. Playboy is a hugely popular brand and you can find anything you want. Except evidence that this orange-brown (special?) issue I saw with my own eyes exists in this timeline.

The issue was, gulp, out of the novel.

Yes, I could make up details, but that’s cheating. So now the two interviews I needed would have to come from individual issues. Wikipedia helped me out here, and luckily the interviews I wanted did exist and I did find them online. But now I had to rethink how the scene would play out. In the end, the differences weren’t that great and Playboy diehards will have fewer reasons to send me angry correspondance.

I didn’t read East of Eden recently (it’s been over five years), but I keep trying to capture its multigenerational epicness in shorter form. Now in the form of a mid-novel digression. I’m not sure what first gave me the idea but it may have been

Carla Kelly’s amazing novel about Utah coal mining or

a fascinating little article I read from a free magazine we picked up at Smith & Edwards last summer about prostition among said miners. (Ends up, I could’ve pushed the prostitution angle much longer than I did!) Both of those certainly had influece on my creation of Copper, Utah. But while they provided suggestions for the early years of my mini-multigenerational-epic, what would bring it into the present day?

An early assist was given by Murderland. This gave me information about the end of the first era and it provided context for the decades preceding now. Stuff from Murderland fit in nicely with the already extant history of Copper and provided help building out the nature of the place—a place that now had a suitable number of red herrings.

But the middle years were still missing.

Red Harvest is incredible. Maybe my favorite hardboiled noir. The Continental Op is cold and dangerous but moral in his own strange way. But that much is true of all the noirs I’ve been reading of late. What Red Harvest did separate from the rest is provide a template for Copper during the same era the Continental Op. Copper isn’t identical to Personville but aspects of the Continental Op’s discoveries absolutely influenced the way the mini-epic plays out.

If the book were being published this month, I would have got some things slightly wrong. Nothing fatal, but man—the price of gas matters here!

In December, on our way back from the Charles M. Schulz Museum, we stopped to see the holiday lights at the Marin County Civic Center. And, as it ends up, visit a churro truck. And, as it ends up, enjoy rooms filled with the work of local photographers.

Straight into the novel.

Around the same time as the Playboy crisis (and possibly engaged in because I was avoiding the Playboy crisis), I decided to name a character who had not yet made her appearance (and would be appearing just moments before the Playboys). I looked around here and there for options. Nothing felt right. What about naming her after a Norse goddess? Maybe.

This page convinced me that both Freya and Skadi were deserving namesakes. But would this character prove more a “goddess of love, beauty, fertility, and at the same time, war and death” or a “goddess of winter, mountains, and hunting”?

I liked the name Freya better and it definitely would work for the little I knew about the character. But Skaði was more precisely accurate. Given the, like, two tiny traits I knew about her.

In the end, the name made a huge difference. I altered the name to Scandy (it may change again, but she will remain Skaði’s namesake regardless) and with this new name, she because someone quite different than I had imagined. Ho boy, but did things get interesting with a Scandy in the house. Don’t know how similar a Freya-based high-school girl would have turned out. And now we’ll never know.

Anyway. You pick things up. You set them down. Some of them work their way into the story. Some become vital.

And the same thing will keep happening in the rewrite process. Who knows what silly YouTube video will result in a completely new scene.

But I made it. Draft one done.

On we go.

700 words at a time.

Top Five X of 2001–2025: RomCom

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I have a few of these posts in various stages of incomplete (or dishabille, if you prefer). Each of them give different reasons for the project. As I work on them, I don’t know which will be posted first, so I’m letting their competing raisons d’être stand.

Anyway. Romcoms. Hard to talk about romcoms of this century coming, as they do, immediately after one of the great romcom eras: the 1990s. I also made my definition so strict that it became difficult to make it all the way to five:

‣ No kids in the romance roles. Ergo, no Moonrise Kingdom.

‣ Must have a happy, get-together-at-end ending of some sort for characters who were of primary importance throughout the movie. Ergo, no (500) Days of Summer, no Once I Was Engaged, no Love & Friendship.

‣ The rom must be the primary relationship of the movie. Ergo, no About a Boy, no Damsels in Distress.

‣ The rom must be the movie’s primary plot engine. Ergo, no Hundreds of Beavers, no The Muppets.

‣ The movie cannot be sold more as drama than comedy. Ergo, many 20th-century Jane Austen period-adaptations are out, no Anomalisa.

‣ I need to think of it as a romcom—other people thinking so is not enough—even if they are clearly correct. Ergo, no Fall Guy, no Eternity.

‣ Cannot be sullied by Rob Schneider. Ergo, no 50 First Dates.

Although I consider the romcom one of my favorite genres, I really haven’t watched that many of this new centuries’ entries. As I’ve worked on the list, I’ve discovered that I generally have low expectations for romcoms, even though many romcoms count among my very favorite movies of any sort.

Compared to some of the other lists I’m working on, my romcom longlist (fifteen movies) seems to have less issue with recency bias:

I thought it might have the opposite problem because the two movies that are absolutely inarguable came out in 2003 and 2004, but this looks fairly measured over time.

(Note, these charts might not match what follows. For instance, I decided Love & Friendship didn’t qualify—I think after I made the charts.)

One thing about romcoms is that they tend to be particularly rewatchable. But of the fifteen on the longlist, only six have I seen more than once (*), and some of those perhaps entirely because I sometimes show them to students (†). Because they haven’t been rewatched, I’m not sure I’m correct in my opinions. I’m relying on what I wrote at the time for some of them and hope I will agree with myself when given the chance.

In the end, I picked the movies because 1) I love them, 2) they are tippity-top rom, 3) they are tippidy-top com, 4) the rom and the com meld together in that wonderful way peculiar to the best romcoms, 5) I’m up for watching them again right now.

Which, if I were getting paid for this sort of thing, I definitely would have done first.

My top five, in order of topness:

 

Intolerable Cruelty (2003)* (thutopia)

I do not understand how many people—even fans of the Coen brothers—dismiss this movie which, for my money, is both one of their best films and the best romcom of the twenty-first century so far. The Coens’ trademark cynicism is not a sign that they hate of humanity, but that their cleareyed form of love insists on honesty and wit. Yes, these people are deeply flawed, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve love. We’re all flawed. But nobody needs berry spoons.

 

Win a Date with Tad Hamilton! (2004)*

We watched this movie so many times when it was new. And I still think that the central relationship is one of the best examples of friends that could be more. When I saw it, I wanted this team to adapt Byuck to film. Friends, confusion, hurt feelings, growing up, happy ending. Watch this movie, then count your beloved’s smiles.

 

Molli and Max in the Future (2023) (letterboxd, thubstack, thutopia)

This is the newest entry on the list and I am in love with it and I really really really need Lady Steed to sit down and watch it with me. Because of Molli’s brief pass through an alien sex cult (nothing explicit, just awkward) I haven’t wanted to watch it with the kids, but my wife needs to see this and have it be one of her favorites too. What is love if not sharing romcoms?

 

Stranger than Fiction (2006)*† (thutopia, thutopia)

This is the weirdest movie on this list by which I mean the romcom elements make up the smallest percentage of the whole—certainly less than half. It’s an existential nightmare and a commentary on art and a couple other things with a romcom. But to hit up an ‘80s classic, “Hey! Hello in there! Hey, what’s so important? What you got here that’s worth living for?” (“Truuuue looooove.…”) That’s something Stranger than Fiction believes as well.

 

Crazy, Stupid, Love. (2011) (thutopia, thutopia)

It was hard to make the fifth choice, but I went with the one I most want to rewatch at this moment. Even though I had mixed feelings about it back in 2014, I did dig it. I don’t even think the couple pictured is my favorite couple from the movie. But if you concentrate meetcute and mix it with tiny overcomeable tragedies and then bake to perfection, you get Crazy, Stupid, Love. Whatever its failings, when that’s what you want, this movie’s got it.

 

Honorable Mentions

Elemental (2023) (thubstack, thutopia)

Emma. (2020)*† (thubstack, thutopia, thubstack, thutopia)

Long Shot (2019) (thutopia)

The One I Love (2014) (thutopia)

Silver Linings Playbook (2012)

The Holiday (2006) (thutopia)

Pride & Prejudice (2003)* (thutopia)

Scarpetta

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I don't often write about television. A nonexhaustive search at the archives suggests I've only ever written about (chronologically) Planet Earth, Pushing Daisies, 30 Rock (in a post that has since fallen victim to entropy), Dexter, and, the only two recent enough to also appear on Thubstack, She-Hulk and Wednesday.

So the fact that I'm taking time to do this? Please take that as evidence that I feel strongly about this show, one way or another.

Let me start by admitting I don't watch a lot of tv. And even tv I like, I often abandon. To stick with the Amazon ecosystem for a moment, I watched the first two seasons of The Boys and all but the last episode of the first season of Invincible—and I liked them both—but I just reached a moment when I was done. And that was it. I've never been tempted to pick them back up.

TV's just a bigger commitment than I'm willing to make. And unless it's something Lady Steed and I want to watch together, I probably won't.

And then there's the fact that it's difficult to advertize to me. Even things I want to hear about, I often don't because I've set up my life to be nearly ad-free. I'm quite happy with my ad-free life, even though the movies I've missed because I don't see ads are...voluminous.

Plus, even if an ad were to make its way to me, I probably won't pay attention to it or remember it. I think I may have seen a little square or something on Amazon with SCARPETTA in big red allcaps, but beyond recognizing it was a Prime Video offering, I'm not sure I even noticed. Even with me actively noticing Nicole Kidman for a few decades now. (Probably since my friend made me watch Far and Away and certainly since she was in Batman Forever [in fact, one moment with her and maybe Jim Carrey's laugh might be all I remember about that movie now].)

So what caught my attention this time? Criticism. I was driving home from somewhere and David Bianculli's Fresh Air review of Scarpetta was riveting, compelling, fascinating, and kept me in the car a couple minutes after arrival to reach the end of his observations, which ended: "I realize this whole series structure sounds complicated, and it is. But it's rewarding, too. I've seen all eight episodes, and the plots and the characters really hold up.... There's a lot to applaud here and a lot to absorb. And the way Prime Video is streaming it, you can gobble it up as fast as you can to help keep things straight, just like a good novel—or two good novels."

Okay, David. I'm convinced.

I started watching it a couple weeks later on April 1st and finished April 22nd, which is a fast watch of eight episodes for me.

Before I start talking about what I did and did not like, let's talk about how the show works.

As hinted at by David Bianculli, the show is based on two novels in Patricia Cornwall's 29-book (so far) Scarpetta series. One from the early years, the ’90s, when Kay Scarpetta is just starting out as a chief medical officer, and one from the recent past, when she has three decades of storied excellence behind her. I've seen Cornwall's name on many a massmarket paperback, but I'd never been tempted to pick one up. Although I've been making an effort to read more mysteries and thrillers of late, I have a natural antipathy to The Biggest Names Out There.

Because there are two time periods (primarily two, but there are flashbacks to even more) the characters are played by (at least) two different actors. For instance, ’90s Nicole Kidman is played by Rosy McEwen (in what must be a star-making turn) and ’90s Bobby Cannavale (most recently seen in Only Murders in the Building—which I really like and have not written about) is played by his son, Jake Cannavale. This is great. Nicole Kidman is beautiful but she doesn't look 29 or however old she's supposed to be in the other timeline. And letting two excellent actors work on the same character lets the audience triangulate the "actual person" in a way that feels somehow deeper than what even the most excellent actor can do on their own. As an acting showcase, Scarpetta shines. And the way the two plots work together to create levels of dramatic irony and offer different surprises than either plot would on its own is also impressive—especially considering this script is based on previously existing properties that go back thirty-seven years.

Which is a chance to offer props to Cornwall. Clearly, she is a master planner.

But now let's get to why I almost quit watching the show during and after each of the first three or four episodes.

The show is largely about cracking serial-killer cases, one in each timeline, that seem like they might be related. The show has very few qualms about showing us violent, sexually grotesque murders. We see women suffering awfully, tied up, stabbed, you name it. It does have a few boundaries it won't cross but they are indeed few. It's unpleasant stuff.

But Dr. Kay Scarpetta is dedicated to treating the dead with respect. She treats corpses with dignity and demands of herself, on their behalf, to discover and tell the truth about the dead for the dead—and for those who love them.

This is noble and fine, but the camera does not share this dedication. The camera in Scarpetta is much more like the serial killers than our hero. The number of times a mid-autopsy corpse is positioned so her nipple is just visible in the corner of the sceen is dispicable. I find it fascinating how perverse and cruel the camera is in this show. Scarpetta desires to make her space one of dignity for the dead. The camera can't stop gazing at them as if their corpses are starlets in a Russ Meyer picture.

But they're not like Russ Meyer's girls because they are dead. And since the camera has decided it won't show us certain elements of living intercourse, it subsitutes with penetration of the dead. Scalpels cut into the flesh, gloved hands dig around in severed necks, fingers push inside bullet holes. Frankly, it's gross. Recounting it for you, I'm amazed I kept going. Because, no joke, it's...just really gross. It feels like violation after violation that can only be justified because, listen up, this is Prestige Television.

The only thing that brought me back in those early episodes was the excellent character work and, later on, questions of plot and identity that became too compelling to ignore.

And this is where I'm throwing out a spoiler warning because now I'm going to start talking about important things that resolve (or do not) towards the end of the series. If you want to continue, resume after the image. Otherwise, feel free to skip down to comment-leaving.

did you know "scarpetta" means mopping up the sauce on your plate with bread?
so appropriate!

As you might guess from what I've already said, these questions of who did what and how does who feel about whom wouldn't matter if we weren't so invested in the characters. Kay and her sister Dorothy are fighting with a constantness I find wild, but they also have moments of deep connection. In both timelines. Their relationships with their husbands are complex and messy, and we're not sure, not consistently, how much we're rooting for either marriage to survive. Kay's niece / Dorothy's daughter, whom they co-raised (messily), is a precocious child then a suffering widow, who can't quite find her footing.

These things matter. Should Lucy be spending so much time with an AI version of her dead wife? Do our feelings change when we learn the dead wife invented the tech but did not approve of it and made Lucy promise never to use it? Does Pete actually love Kay more than his wife, Dorothy? What are his responsibilities to his boss versus his wife? does the longer length of the former relationship alter that math? Is Kay's husband a sociopath who uses his job as an FBI profiler to get men to confess to his murders? And hey—who killed the AI wife? Is Lucy safe with the grief counselor with a grudge against the family? Is that possible danger part of why she's there? Who in the world is Kay looking at in shock as her blood-spattered face stares off-camera in the final shot of the season?

Yes, the show ends on a cliffhanger. An excellent one. But still. Cliffhangers....

These questions work better because all these people are total messes. The heroes are screwed up in deep and painful ways. But this isn't really a matter of engrained cynicism. Kay's a mess but she genuinely is on a mission to serve the dead in righteousness. Ben really is a sociopath attracted to serial murder but he's also doing a good job not murdering women. (It's a higher bar for some people than others.) Pete probably could love Kay but he's mostly a gentleman. Even if he is a cop about to face consequences (for the first time) after beating a suspect.

All people are a mix of good and bad. You have to see both to tell the truth about them. And, in melodrama (even with good lighting and acting, this is still melodrama), the good and the bad need to be n-times greater.

That's what Scarpetta offers.

For all my reservations, in the end, I think I loved it.

(I wonder if the second season will arrive quickly enough for me to return?) 

Accountability challengean invitation to harrassment

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The events of the novel I’m currently writing begin the evening of April 28, 2026. If you’re good at calendars, you may recognize that date as next Tuesday.

What I have left to write:

• two embedded short stories

• the climax

• the closing scenes

The good news is:

• the first embedded short story is completely outlined and parts of the end are written

• the climax and closing scenes exist in draft form, but they have to be rewritten to officially count as part of the completed first draft

That second short story is in a maybe 300-word shape when it should be between five and ten thousand words and I don’t really know what it’s about yet. Thus, I anticipate it being the biggest remaining hurdle to a complete first draft.

My time is not entirely free between now and the evening of April 28 but I think I might be able to finish that first draft before the novel begins, Tuesday evening.

I’m gonna go for it.

Wish me luck.

ps: the post that will arrive here tomorrow was written and scheduled yesterday before I saw the cosmic necessity of this firstdrafting plan

Alas, teacher training (a poem)

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I found this poem folded up in a book published in 2018 written on a piece of paper from a teacher training that’s dated 2018–2019. So I suspect we date this work of art to some meeting at which I was bored right around that time. It also had notes for some unrealized variation on my dystopian-literature assignments, which I will include as a bonus after the poem To illustrate this post, I went to Pexels and typed in three key words from the poem and chose from the first page of results.

“Reflection’s the Heart of Induction”
   At least, I hear, that’s what they say
But applying the art of deduction
   I think it could also be hay

If hay were the heart of induction
   Then horses could teach—yes! it’s true!
We’ll feed them; they’ll begin instruction
   And our state scores will go through the roof.

*  *  *

dytopian angles

language
sex
love
reproduction
thought
association
communication
technology
choice
distraction
violence

Annotating Draft2Digital’s “Important Updates to Your Draft2Digital Account” (Are you solving the problem you intend to solve?)

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April 14th, Draft2Digital sent out an email to those who use their services when publishing books. I first learned of them in 2024 when I was asked to make an account by Lintusen Press when they published my story “The Hunger of Ghosts” in their anthology Ghostly.

I was impressed. Draft2Digital made it easy for a small press to split revenue with its authors. This is why, in 2025, when it came time to see what happens if Irreantum packages a special bonus issue more like a book than a magazine, I decided to use Draft2Digital’s services. The result was Eternities of Cats which, I’m happy to hint, is receiving awards consideration (details to follow as they become public).

Later in 2025, I decided to print use Draft2Digital to make my silly little art project Thubrina.

Anyway, a week ago, as mentioned above, Draft2Digital sent an email out to its users. My comments italicized within brackets.

Dear Eric W,

For the first time in our history, we’re introducing account activation and maintenance fees. For many existing Draft2Digital authors, especially those with regularly selling books, these fees do not affect you.

Here’s how they’ll work...

Activation Fee for New Accounts

If you already have a D2D account (if you’re reading this, you probably do), the activation fee doesn’t apply to you. New accounts will include a one-time fee of $20 (USD). This activation fee, combined with our verification tools and human reviewers, will help us maintain a secure, high-integrity publishing environment.

Like many platforms, we’ve seen a significant increase in automated and low-quality account creation in recent years. This onslaught from automated content farms threatens reader trust in indie titles and risks indies being associated with low-quality “slop.” A modest activation fee can make a real difference and allow our team to stay focused on supporting genuine authors like you.

[This ties in nicely with something I was reading in The Atlantic yesterday (guest link will expire in one week); a slight barrier to entry (eg, having to apply for a card to use a public restroom) can keep out nearly all bad actors. And, as you know if you’ve spent much time looking for things on Amazon lately, is a real problem in the media landscape. Most of what AI has managed to offer us so more is crap—but in volume! This is absolutely a problem Direct2Digital should be focusing on. I think I feel that a $20 entrance fee is reasonable. I hope they’ve done research on what is large enough to keep out sloppers but low enough to keep their goal of democratizing publication feasible. But, as we’ll see more clearly below, I have questions.]

Annual Maintenance Fee

An annual maintenance fee of $12 (USD) will apply to accounts whose earnings from book sales, meaning your net proceeds after D2D’s commission, total less than $100 over the preceding 12-month period. If you earn $100 or more from your book sales over 12 months, you will not be charged this fee.

[I have three books (as far as I know) that have passed through Draft2Digital on their way to market. One is from a small, indie Canadian publisher; one is from a 26yrold literary journal serving a niche audience; one is a weird little ziney thing that would not exist otherwise. All three were human-centered project. And I don’t think it will shock anyone to learn that in the approximately nineteen months that I’ve been connected with Draft2Digital, I have not made $100.

[Now, Draft2Digital is not a charity. And perhaps it’s fair to call me a “hobbyist.” But what I most certainly am not is peddling AI slop. All three projects have been deeply human and, imo, have done intesting work that deserves space in the marketplace of (human) ideas. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the email.]

Draft2Digital is primarily supported by earning commissions on book sales. For accounts that earn less revenue, a small annual fee helps offset a portion of the steadily rising costs we pay to maintain those accounts, including compliance, security, and infrastructure upkeep.

[The reason I expressed minor skepticism about the the $20 is the reason I’m deeply skeptical of the $12. But I appreciate Draft2Digital giving us their second reason.

[Reason one: Keep out slop.

[Reason two: Make the little guy pay for his lack of hustle.

[In short, I think their research (which I do assume existed) that landed on $12 had nothing to do with keeping slop out. The $12 is chosen to be as minimal as possible in order to keep those who don’t make $100/annum into subscribers. Because that’s what Draft2Digital is about to become: a subscription service. If you want to believe in yourself as a “writer,” pay for the privelege.

[I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, Draft2Digital is turning into a traditional pay-to-play vanity press. They’re no longer a disrupter; they’re a vanity press. They’ve found a new way to do this but it’s the same old scam.

[On the other hand, having a bunch of people putting up unedited rough drafts because it makes them feel writerly is not something they should have to subsidize.]

Maintenance fees will start going into effect in 30 days, on May 14, 2026, and will be based on your account anniversary date. We’ll always notify you in advance.

[Which I think means I have to move Eternities of Cats and Thubrina off their services. Which is a shame. I like knowing you can get the books from your library, for instance. For all its imperfections, Draft2Digital really is (was) the best way for the little guy to publish small-audience work that I knew.]

The Bottom Line

Our goal is to keep D2D a place where authors can publish with confidence. [This is a good goal. But it’s also a tad disengenuous. Because the nature (and especially the details) of their solution says either that ain’t true or “authors” is a category that only includes people who sell $100 per year. Which, I grant you, is not a huge number. But in this world it excludes everyone who isn’t bigtime hustling. Make it your job or go away, is the message they’re sending—loud and clear.] That means continuing to invest in our tools, maintaining strong relationships with retailers, and protecting the legitimacy of indie authors and the trust that readers place in indie books. [Again: true. Especially with retailers, keeping slop out will be a success or failure tied to the Draft2Digital name. And rejecting people who sell in small numbers won’t hurt them with retailers either. But relationships with authors? That’ll take a real hit. It’ll make more people give up before they get to that $100/ann threshhold; it’ll keep more niche writers away from their more niche readers. A book written by one and sold to three lesbian Pakistani autistic Airbnb landlords might be doing as good as it can. That had worth.

[I understood Draft2Digital’s raison d’être to be this sort of big-tent, people-matter, democracy-actually-means-δῆμος desire. And maybe they’re losing money like crazy and charging the writers is their only way to survive. Or maybe they’ve moved on to thinking more about quarterly reports than those they serve.

[Maybe the ethics of publishing are changing.

[I suppose corporations can levy regressive taxes all they want. Because, in the end, this is a business, not a democracy. Regardless of good intentions, if we don’t make them money, screw us. That’s capitalism, baby.]

If you have questions, additional details can be found on your Account Status page, or you can read our updated terms of service. You can also reach out to our support team via our contact us form at any time.

[If you’re wondering, no, I haven’t done this. I’m undecided if I should. I’m not mad, as they say, just disappointed.

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A svithe on “recognizing god’s guidance in our lives”

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I’m preparing this to post about eighteen hours before I’ll be presenting it which means I might make some changes still. I had a hard time writing this one and I really didn’t decide this talk was the talk until this morning. And even now I’m not sure if that’s because it’s the talk or because I’m out of time. But, as I mention below, maybe that doesn’t matter.

Part of the reason this talk was hard to write is because the topic was so similar to the one I gave in January (the one that’s forthcoming at Wayfare). I’ll admit I did cannibalize one bit which is something I do not like to do—even when the talks are given to different wards. But they were just too close together in time and topic….

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And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:

And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so.

And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.

And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth, and to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.

And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

The fourth day was good, but there is some stuff about it we don’t really buy anymore. For instance, we no longer think there’s a firmament—a dome covering the earth—to which these lights are attached. It would have come as a great shock to the Artemis astronauts if they’d suddenly crashed into a firmament!

But the ancient Hebrews who passed down this story never thought it was supposed to be a science textbook. Reading Genesis “literally” wasn’t invented until we discovered evolution and geology and the concept of billions of years and were, frankly, kinda freaked out.

The Bible I chose for my study this year has a footnote every few dozen chapters that points out the ancients didn’t try to understand the world analytically like we do—the scientific method and all that—but analogically. When you sacrifice an animal, you separate its organs from it’s fat from its muscle and skin—three layers. When you enter the Tabernacle, you have the inner sanctum, the curtain, and the outer areas—three layers. While Moses enters the Lord’s presence on Mount Sinai, Aaron stays hallway up the mountain, and the people stay at the bottom—three layers. Three examples of three layers—each an analogue of the other. I bet you we can think of other things in three layers—the endowment, the afterlife, the land–the sea–the firmament. Anything we learn about any of these, Moses might tell us, will help us understand the others.

Anyway, back to Genesis and things we might be less sure of in 2026.

God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs—

For signs?!

But—but—but I make fun of horoscopes! The stars are in the sky to give us signs?

I mean—that is how the magi found baby Jesus so I guess I believe in the stars, but I haven’t the foggiest idea how to get information from God via the stars myself. If that’s a spiritual gift, it’s not one I’ve been given. And I’ll admit I’m pretty skeptical that the stars can provide daily updates. They seem pretty set in their positions, at least from the scale of one human lifetime. Unless Orion draws his sword, I’m not looking to the stars for information on what’s for dinner.

But I certainly do believe God guides us. So where do I see God’s guidance in my life?

Joseph Smith received a revelation that taught us that we “all have not every gift given unto…[us, but! Each and every one of us] is given a gift by the Spirit of God. And all these gifts come from God, for the benefit of the children of God.”

Two weeks ago, Elder Bednar told us that “All individuals who receive the gift of the Holy Ghost” get spiritual gifts which, get this, “are…essential to…coming unto the Savior, being blessed with His attributes, and ultimately becoming more like Him.”

Part of maturing as a spiritual person is figuring how to listen to the Spirit, figuring out what our own, individual spiritual gifts might be. Because we don’t all hear the Spirit in the same way. Consider this story of the resurrected Christ visiting Bountiful:

Following the great destruction and darkness, the people were gathered at the temple, discussing their miserable experiences, when they heard

a small voice [that] did pierce them…to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn.

I’ve always thought of that moment like this:

There was a small voice and they, each of them, every person at the temple that day, felt pierced and quaked and burned.

But that’s not quite what the Book of Mormon says.

That might be how it was.

But it might also be that when that voice spoke to them, some of them were pierced and some of them quaked and some of them felt their hearts burn.

It’s okay for us to experience the Spirit differently. If we pay attention, we’ll get better at recognizing what’s being given to us.

Thomas S. Monson told a heartbreaking story from his time as bishop. He was in the middle of a meeting. The stake president was speaking and, as bishop, wasn’t it part of his job to listen to the stake president? So when the Spirit told Bishop Monson to go and to go NOW, he waited until the stake president was finished speaking. Then he rushed to the hospital to enquire of a friend. But his friend had died—asking for Bishop Monson, his bishop, till the very end.

This is when Bishop Monson decided never to hesitate when a prompting arrived. The rest of his life, he strove to act as soon as a prompting arrived.

I think he told this story not so we could analyze it but so we could consider analogs in our own lives.

President Monson’s insight is probably the key insight I’ll share today: Act when prompted. Act. Then it will be easier to recognize the next prompting. And when you act on that one, you’ll be all the more prepared for the next. And so on and so on till that final day.

But how do we hear that first prompting?

Again, it’s probably different for all of us. But I’d like to share an experience of Richard G. Scott’s that he said taught him how to gain spiritual guidance.

I know he died only eleven years ago, but eleven years is long enough that, say, our elders probably don’t remember Elder Scott’s unique way of speaking in General Conference. He would prerecord his talks then play them in his ear, speaking alongside the recording he’d made. Because of this, he didn’t use the teleprompter. And because he didn’t use the teleprompter, he could look directly into the camera in a way no one else does. When Elder Scott spoke at General Conference it was like his eyes were locked onto yours and you dared not look away.

Anyway, this is his story. Pretend I’m Elder Scott and talking very slowly while staring directly into your eyes instead of flitting between my paper and the vague middle distance as I talk way too quickly.

Okay. Ready? He said:

One Sunday I attended the priesthood meeting of a Spanish branch in Mexico City. I vividly recall how a humble Mexican priesthood leader struggled to communicate the truths of the gospel…. I noted the intense desire he had to share those principles…. He recognized that they were of great worth to the brethren present. In his manner, there was an evidence of a pure love of the Savior and love of those he taught. His sincerity, purity of intent, and love permitted a spiritual strength to envelop the room. I was deeply touched. Then I began to receive personal impressions as an extension of the principles taught by that humble instructor. They were personal and related to my assignments in the area. They came in answer to my prolonged, prayerful efforts to learn. As each impression came, I carefully wrote it down…. I was given precious truths that I greatly needed in order to be a more effective servant of the Lord. The details of the communication are sacred and, like a patriarchal blessing, were for my individual benefit. I was given specific directions, instructions, and conditioned promises that have beneficially altered the course of my life.

I suspect Elder Scott, decades later, didn’t remember the specifics of what the man was teaching. When you think about it, I’m that important in your story today. The words I’m saying just don’t matter all that much. You will almost certainly forget each one of them.

But let Elder Scott tell a little more of his story:

Subsequently, I visited the Sunday School class in our ward, where a very well-educated teacher presented his lesson…. It seemed to me that the instructor had purposely chosen obscure references and unusual examples to illustrate the principles of the lesson. I had the distinct impression that this instructor was using the teaching opportunity to impress the class with his vast store of knowledge. At any rate, he certainly did not seem as intent on communicating principles as had the humble priesthood leader.

Let me just interject here that I feel very seen by Elder Scott in this anecdote, if not in a good way. But I’m happy to say the story has a happy ending:

Strong impressions began to flow to me again. I wrote them down. The message included specific counsel on how to become more effective as an instrument in the hands of the Lord. I received such an outpouring of impressions that were so personal that…I sought a more private location, where I continued to write the feelings that flooded into my mind and heart…. After each…impression was recorded, I pondered the feelings I had received to determine if I had accurately expressed them in writing. As a result, I made a few minor changes to what had been written. Then I studied their meaning and application in my own life.

I find this story remarkable. And a bit relieving. The fact that I wanted to be clever, starting this talk in the stars, might work out okay.

Elder Scott then went on to pray about his jottings and was sent a feeling of peace. He thanked God for what he had written and asked if there might be more—there was, so he wrote those feelings down as well. He asked again if there might be more—and again there was.

He ends the anecdote by describing the results of that terrible Sunday School class as

some of the most precious, specific, personal direction one could hope to obtain in this life. Had I not responded to the first impressions and recorded them, I would not have received the last, most precious guidance…. I believe that you can leave the most precious, personal direction of the Spirit unheard because you do not respond to, record, and apply the first promptings that come to you.

Elder Scott admits that, yes, absolutely, the Spirit can come in moments of desperation. And, yes, promptings may arrive when you’re not looking for them. But, he adds, the Lord will not force us to learn from these experiences. We have to decide to listen. We have to decide to act. We have to decide whether we’ll write it down and ask if there’s more.

Then, when that surprise guidance comes, we’ll be all the more ready for it.

But paying attention is not easy. In another talk, Elder Scott once compared the Spirit to a grape. Delicious, but its taste is soft and sweet. And in our online, AI, earbuds-in, zangwow, lookitme-lookitme-lookitmenow world, we are trying to taste that grape while simultaneously sucking on a jalapeno.

Not easy.

But: the Spirit’s a grape? That’s a useful analog.

What does your grape taste like?

When and where and how do you gather grapes?

And what are your jalapenos?

Here’s my favorite Moraga story:

St. Mary’s College.

October 17, 1989.

The campus chapel.

The middle of mass.

The priest is giving a homily about the beheading of John the Baptist when the Loma Prieta quake begins to shake the chapel.

The head of the John the Baptist statue is knocked off its body and rolls across the sanctuary and down the altar steps.

There’s no reason to analyze that story. It’s just a funny thing that happened.

But it did happen, right here in Moraga. And maybe, for you, there’s an analog in it somewhere.

Or maybe not.

But the only way to know if the Spirit is talking—whether through the stars or in a piercing small voice or a silly story or a humble teacher—is to learn the taste of grape.

Accept those promptings when they arrive—because they will arrive—and then act on them. And then remember. And then, maybe write it down? And then: be prepared to act—again and again and again and again.

If you’ve been baptized, you have the gift of the Holy Ghost. And that means you have spiritual gifts. We all have different gifts, but they all come through the Holy Ghost and they all give us the opportunity to be prompted, to act, then to be prompted again as we “[come] unto the Savior, [are] blessed with His attributes, and…[become] more like Him.”

So: Let’s listen for grapes and touch stars and see voices. Whatever unique way God has chosen to communicate with you, that’s the gift of the Holy Ghost he covenanted to give you. And he certainly will. We just heard it in a prayer:

As we always remember him, we will always have his Spirit to be with us.

Listen.

Act.

Remember.

Repeat.

In the name of, etc.

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previous svithe on thubstack
previous svithe on thutopia