Howdy!

I’ve been quite busy the last couple of months, managing somehow to publish a new beta chapter of Greycross: Twilight at Primrose, and cracking the 80,000 words mark on this debut novel.

It’s really fucking good, and I’m immensely proud of what I’m creating. Once I get it out in front of the world, it will no doubt stand shoulder-to-shoulder with all the fiction I love so much. I’m sure some people will think it’s trash, but I think some people are trash, too.

I’m getting my head wrapped around the inevitable confrontation between myself and the world of book marketing, but at the end of the day, I’m a 40-year-old self-published author with nothing to lose, so I’m coming out swingin’!

Outside of writing, the myriad responsibilities in my life have recently been demanding nearly all of my attention, from holding down the household while my wife takes more frequent business trips, to enduring a grueling 3 hours of commuting per day into Atlanta for my job.

However, I had a small reprieve in that I was able to accompany the Missus on a trip to San Diego, California. In a rare alignment of cosmological forces, the two of us were able to go without our kids (thanks, Mom!), which meant we didn’t need to plan a rigid itinerary designed to entertain infinitesimal, pre-teen attention spans.

To be honest, we missed the kids a lot.

Gaslamp Quarter

We stayed in the Gaslamp Quarter, a historic district central to a wealth of sightseeing, eateries, and hangouts. Everyone we interacted with was abundantly friendly and easy going, a welcome contrast to the denizens of Atlanta who have little patience for other warm bodies taking up valuable space.

California does indeed have an obvious homeless problem, but the destitute on San Diego’s streets minded their own business for the most part and seemed a damn sight more “content” than those in the underpass encampments of my home city. Perhaps it’s the proximity to the ocean, which has been indicated in some studies to strongly correlate with improved mental health.

Or maybe everyone was so mellow thanks to the nearly ubiquitous cannabis smoke on the streets of San Diego. I’m talking Cheech & Chong levels of marijuana miasmas and second-hand whacky weed that could rival anything at a 311 concert. I told my wife one so inclined to the Devil’s Lettuce wouldn’t even need to buy any of their own stash, they could just sit on the corner and get high on the collective supply.

Whether it was bystander munchies or not, we did some good eatin’, enjoying some excellent Mexican food and local beers in the Gaslamp Quarter, then picking up some desserts whilst strolling through the quaint Seaport Village.

Balboa Park

Balboa Park is an open space arts and culture center adjoined to the famous San Diego Zoo. Although most of the buildings were constructed in the early 20th century, the gorgeous Gothic Revival and Spanish Baroque architecture effectively time-warps you to Middle Ages Barcelona.

I love old world, European aesthetics wherever I find them, so I went coocoo snapping photos of all the amazing stonework and friezes adorning the many edifices. I could easily pass the photos off as having been taken in authetnic, historic Spanish cities.

Oh, yeah, and I saw probably the biggest tree I’ve ever seen in my life, the Moreton Bay Fig Tree. The photo I took does it little justice, however.

You could spend an entire day in Balboa Park perusing the museums, walking around the gardens, or checking out a theatre production. There was also a funky little Spanish Art Village, with colorful pueblo-style gift shops and galleries showcasing local art.

Sunset Cliffs

We capped off our final afternoon in SoCal by driving up the coastline to the Sunset Cliffs, exploring its many vistas and picturesque rock formations. Several coves, caves, and keyholes were scattered along the coast, and since one would risk varying degrees of death and dismemberment trying to access them, we simply enjoyed their beauty from afar.

I spied a few brave surfers taking to the waters, and was a bit disappointed I didn’t catch a sighting of the rare and illustrious Jocko Willink in his natural habitat (but he is usually out there at, like, 4:30 in the fucking morning after deadlifting an aircraft carrier, or what not.)

Something I found very pleasant about the Pacific Ocean was the fact that the sticky humidity of many coastal areas was nearly non-existent there. Our usual beach spot is the Gulf of America (fuck, yeah) on the Florida panhandle, and in peak summer months you feel as though you’ve stepped into a sauna when you arrive and exit the AC of your car.

I could have easily spent a week or two in San Diego and still not scratched the surface. Had we more time, I would’ve loved to have visited the old Spanish missions, a few more beaches, and hiked through some of the badlands.

As the former Governator of California once said, I’ll be back.