A Splintered Mind by Douglas Cootey

Some Days are Easier Than Others

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 01:38:51 PST

Hard day today. I had plans. Big, beautiful plans. Instead I spent the day ticking. Then company arrived and there went my plans like leaves in the wind.

I managed to check off two of the six things I needed to do today, but there was so much more that needed to be done. I was powerless and sat there stuttering, and twitching, and unable to be productive. Days like these try my will. It is so difficult to keep my spirits up. In fact, I'm struggling with Depression as I type this.

The first stage is to recognize that I'm depressed. The next stage is to decide if I have a reason to be.

Well, I had a reason. I blew time out the window like smoke while I sat there and ticked all day.

In the past I wrote about how one must, at this point, analyze whether one is feeling an appropriate amount of sadness. After all, it is perfectly human to feel sad after you lose a big game, get dumped, lose a favorite loved one or pet, get audited, lose your house in a freak sink hole, make a mistake that costs you your job, or discover you owe the government thousands of dollars because you failed to enroll for health insurance. If your mood rides high with your political parties success, then when you lose in the polls you are sad. If your mood waxes and wanes with the moon, then you can be guaranteed to be miserable on a regular basis.

There are a lot of things in life that make us sad—many of them completely valid, others not so much. The question is how sad is too sad? I believe the answer is you are too sad if you can't function.

There is a world of difference between being bummed and being devastated. If a family member dies, you are going to be devastated. If you get a speeding ticket, you're going to be bummed out. Depressives, however, react extremely to life's triggers. We are often devastated when we should only be let down—catatonic when we should only be heartbroken.

There I was. My friends were gone. I had hours ahead of me before I went to bed. I wasn't ticking. I should have been leaping to get back to that to do list. Instead, I listed aimlessly for an hour. I moped without realizing it. Fortunately, something on Twitter snapped me out of it. I thank ADHD for this. The ability to be distracted from being depressed has saved me countless times.

Still, I only realized I was depressed. It was a long way from wrestling with it and vanquishing it. Writing here was my first step in fighting it.

David Farlane once said that people with ADHD aren't generally equipped to be authors. He spoke from the experience of seeing author friends struggle with it. There needs to be a lot of internal focus and dedication to see a book through to the end. That puts people with ADHD at a disadvantage. He didn't mention at the time how Depression or Chronic Motor Tic Disorder affected the process. I can only imagine I have set out to accomplish a monumental task. I'm determined to be the exception to the rule, however.

So even though watching the latest episode of Legend of the Seeker might lift my spirits, or reading Bree Despain's ARC of The Dark Divine might distract me from my feelings, I'm going to work on my book instead, even if only for a few minutes.

I'm not an expert, but it seems to me that if we want to have joy in life we need to work for it. My disabilities are a pain in the neck, but I can either let them define me or I can push them aside and get busy doing what I want in life. And I want to be a published author.

Therefore, I am hereby stating that Depression will not defeat me tonight. I'll write despite my mood and hopefully see lifted spirits through the effort. Wish me luck, and I'll wish you luck in your struggles as well. Take a moment to let me know what you're up against so I know how to cheer you on.

Nutshells Don't Fit Very Much Life (or Free Books)

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 02:59:48 PST

This is a photo of my kitchen sink in all its chaotic glory. Fortunately for us, this is an aberration. How could we function with a sink like this on a daily basis? So glad it's only every other day.

Ha! You think I'm kidding.

No, now I'm kidding.

I must admit, however, that last night the sink looked just like this, except without all the artsy high contrast. And it wasn't so blue. At any rate, I discovered to my amazement that every utensil & cup in our home had migrated to the sink and gathered a sedimentary layer of sticky food on their journey. I had no choice but to run a load in the dishwasher.

As I braced myself for the tactile onslaught, I mused what it would be like if my life was as easy to correct as a cluttered sink. With a healthy dose of AD/HD, my world often looks just like this sink to the outside observer. Especially since I have that charming tendency to open my mouth and reveal far too much about my life than is comfortable for most people.

I recall a book signing recently where I was chatting with an author friend and mentioning in passing the high amount of drama I had been dealing with—referencing an earlier email. Fortunately, I hadn't planned on saying anything more than that, but I didn't move on before noticing the pained, panicked look in her eyes as she began to edge towards the exit, then the relief when I didn't say anything embarrassing.

Well, this week has been that kind of week. Everything has been just on the verge of becoming a problem, but thanks to my ADHD super intuition powers I have snatched defeat from the jaws of victory, or something like that.

The same powers are coming to the rescue of this blog. You may have noticed I've been trying out a few new features lately. Some I'll keep; some I'll toss. The Free Money Monday was a great success, but now I'm broke so I'll be dropping that feature. 'Musing Monday was fun, too but didn't fit this blog so I'm moving it over to my Twitwall account. You can play along if you follow my @DouglasCootey account on Twitter.

Free Book Friday has been a success as well, but is in jeopardy of being dropped. I've had lots of new people drop by. I mailed out some free books which cost me shipping charges, and then the contestants never visited again. Yep. Super successful. Of course, it could be NaNoWriMo that has stolen them away, but since I was giving books away to generate comments here on the blog and instead saw a drop in comments this week, I wonder if offering strangers free books is a good use of my time. I can achieve the same results by tossing the books into passing pickup trucks out in my front yard.

At least my writing has been a success. I finished the rough draft for my "Secret Cat Project" last month. Now I've begun fleshing out the first draft, and I have to admit I'm fairly excited with my progress. Part of the purpose of this blog is to chart my success against the forces of Depression, AD/HD, and Chronic Motor Tic Disorder. Slowly, I am carving out a productive life for myself and maybe even finishing a project or two while I'm at it.

And that's my week or so in a nutshell.

For today's Free Book Friday giveaway just answer both questions. The lucky winner will be picked Monday night and announced on Tuesday's blog:

1) What is the most embarrassing thing you've read on this blog?
2) If you had to fit your life in a nutshell, which nut would suit you?

Icy still needs to respond with her address soon for "Heck Superhero". I suppose I'll make a new rule going forward. The winner has a week to contact me or the prize will be up for grabs again.

Putting a Spotlight on Seasonal Affective Disorder

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:53:55 PST

Almost exactly one year ago I made a discovery: I suffered from Winter Depression, otherwise known as Seasonal Affective Disorder. As I detailed in “I Wondered What Was Happening”, I had been on the lookout for a change in my behavior once Autumn rolled in. Then I forgot about it. (Ah, blessed ADHD)

When Daylight Savings Time began I had a rocky week. Most of us do. The shift in our sleep schedule is like experiencing jet lag without all the exotic scenery. At first. I thought I was just having a hard time adjusting as usual, but by the end of the first week I remembered what I was supposed to be on the lookout for: Winter Depression. I was moping, moody, miserable, morbidly sad…and all for no reason that I could think of. The only thing that made sense was that I was sensitive to the lack of light.

That should be an easy enough to prove or disprove, I thought. All I needed was more light. People online recommended visiting a tanning salon for treatment. I was skeptical, but decided to call a few salons. The following is a near exact transcript of the conversation I had:

“Hello, I’m doing some research on tanning beds and their ability to treat Seasonal Affective Disorder?”
[silence]
“SAD?”, I offered.
“Umm...”
“Depression?”
“Ooooh, we like have people come in here all the time for that,” the phone girl offered—obviously happy to finally have a mooring in our conversation.
“You do? That’s great. Can you tell me what types of lights you use? Are they full spectrum or just ultra violet?”
“Uhh, let me get you somebody who can help you.”
A moment later another young lady came to the phone. I began asking the same questions.
“We don’t have full...what was that called again?”
“Full spectrum”
“Yeah, I’ve worked here for seven years and like I’ve never heard of full, you know, uhhh..”
“Spectrum. You know how the sun has a full spectrum of...”

This wasn’t going to work, so I tried a different tact.

“The wavelengths of light from the sun spread from infrared all the way to ultraviolet. Full spectrum light is brighter, whiter. Like the sun? Tanning beds usually only focus on ultraviolet.”
“Oh! Like all our lights are like the sun. That’s how they like tan.”

I politely inquired about pricing, which was almost as complicated as our phone call, then I called the next salon on my list. That conversation was more baffling than previous ones, plus it was filled with more “likes” and “ums”. Now I know where all the cute, high school girls are employed in my state. If I was dating, or 25 years younger, that might be important information.

My next step was to look up light therapy on the internet. This yielded very interesting sites that dabbled in light machines for clearing acne and depression, plus giant chunks of salt rock with interior light bulbs that produced negative ion flows. Perhaps the ions mingled with the salt and made the light more savory?

Clearly, my only other recourse was to contact a psychologist to inquire about light boxes, but I was hesitant. From what I understood, and I’m being technical here, the way light boxes work is that you stick your face in the things and look at a special lightbulb for a set amount of time—every day. That sounded dreadful to me. Surely there was a way to get the light I needed without torturing my ADHD brain with a very boring light show? On top of that, the light boxes were very expensive.

If all I needed was fuller spectrum light, couldn’t I install full spectrum bulbs into my ceiling lights and benefit that way? I thought about which rooms I spent the most time in then bought six daylight spectrum CFLs. Four went into the kitchen and two went into the studio.

What an amazing difference they made.

I held off blogging about them until I could test their results over the winter and through the next Autumn DST transition. I can report to you now that full spectrum light bulbs were miraculous for me, and because they were CFLs they are still burning strong today. They removed Winter Depression from me last year and smoothed the transition through Daylight Savings Time this week. To think I used to be miserable throughout past winters—wondering why I was having such a hard time staying upbeat.

Most amazing to me was how simple the solution was. I can’t speak for everybody, but they were the perfect solution for me. I would definitely recommend full spectrum daylight CFL bulbs if the lack of daylight brings you down. Analyze your symptoms, work with an expert, and find relief today.

What do you do to treat SAD/Winter Depression?

’Musing Monday - Doorways

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:53:21 PST

Here is a creepy photo I took with my iPhone. I love how menacing a common school hallway became with a bit of a tiltshift effect and toy camera coloring. Continuing the creative writing practice I started two weeks ago, I invite you to play along. The photo practically begs you to ask the question: What danger is awaiting at the end of this hallway?

I'll start:

Stewart gripped his Glock tightly as he slipped up the stairwell to the fifth floor. Today he was going to end it. He'd take back his life and put an end to the people who tormented him. He had it all worked out. He'd burst through the door like a ruptured pipe and spray hot metal at everything that moved. Nobody would blame him. People might even thank him. Who knew who else these ratbags had been torturing.

Six weeks of Youtube abuse. Video of Stewart picking his nose. Video from the ceiling of Stewart taking a dump. Video of Stewart striking out with Aimee. Video of Stewart striking out with Beth. Video of Aimee and Beth sniggering about Stewart. He had had enough.

Apartment 5G was up ahead. He wiped sweat away from his shiny forehead with an already wet sleeve. The gun felt slippery in his hands. He rubbed his hands on his pants, then continued down the poorly lit hallway.

His notoriety was so bad that even his 67 year old computerphobic boss had seen the videos. He couldn't show his face in the lunch room at work. He couldn't frequent his favorite pub. Even his mother wouldn't be seen in public with him, which was the only upside from the humiliating ordeal. When he found the camera behind his bathroom mirror he couldn't believe his luck. The ratbags had tagged it with their street address.

This was it. The letters "5G" caught the flickering fluorescent lights in the hallway.

Stewart kicked down the door and burst into the room in a semi-automatic storm of bullets. Shards of vase and wood flew everywhere as he straffed back and forth. He had taken out a cat and a large fishtank before finding two elderly ladies huddled behind an overturned coffee table. He had been set up.

Stewart fell to his knees and stared blankly at the terrified ladies. A churning sickness was beginning to grow in his stomach.

And all the while a camera continued filming.

Don't Let Hardship Be a Pain in the Butt. Get Out and Live.

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:52:45 PST

Congratulations, Icy. You’ve won an autographed copy of “Heck Superhero” by Martine Leavitt. Send me your mailing address via email and I’ll wrap the book up and send it to you.

With one last Halloween hurrah I'll share some photos with you. I'll be changing the colors here back to their normal greens and blues later today, and Halloween 2009 will be officially over for me.

I must say that I was disappointed. I posted all those photos and a writing excerpt and you people were off gallivanting around in costume instead of sitting around reading my blog. You have some nerve. Don't worry, though. My family hasn't read any of it either.

I have to admit, it was the most enjoyable Halloween since my Leprechaun was born in 1998 on October 30th. We brought her home in a trick or treat bag. (If you're lucky, my wife will let me post the photo here for you to see.) Then Halloween 2009 arrived and she turned eleven, pierced her ears, and dressed up as Laura Holt from Remington Steele. Isn't she cool?

Coolest of all was that I went out with the kids for the first time in a few years. I seem to traditionally get a cold or have a ticking episode every Halloween. This year I still had a small cold, but neurologically I was in tiptop shape. I decided to drive the family around. I got to see firsthand my eight year old Goblin wear a smile all evening as she ran giggling from house to house gathering her booty, and I was there to watch my gorgeous fourteen year old Elf help her mother and take some spooky photos with my iPhone. The seventeen year old Pixie was off with friends, but we had fun earlier that week carving pumpkins.

In the end, my cold took a turn for the worse, but I wouldn't trade that evening out with my family for an armload of moistureless, warm evenings.

I say on bolder days that you've got to live life as if you're going to suddenly be hit by a bus. With so much wrong in my life, with so many things wired wonkily in my noodle, I am so glad I've trained myself to get out and live instead of staying home suffering as I used to do.

Staying home depressed is boring. Staying home ticking is even more so. But even with this attitude I still have improvements to do. My ADHD still remains a blemish on my otherwise smooth backside. I have full confidence, though, that one day I will master all my problems and live blemish free.

Happy Hallow's Eve

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:51:48 PST

Here is a discarded prologue from my novel in progress. It reveals too much about the beast too early in the story and wastes all that emotional involvement from the reader on a secondary character. I will most likely rewrite this part to feature my main character, Meridee, and place it later in the novel. However, I thought it set a perfect mood for tonight's festivities even if the fog here is white instead of smokey black…

A black, smokey fog roiled at Laurana Brady’s feet as she scrambled through the brush. The fog rushed along the forest floor as if searching for the twelve-year-old, hiding all it passed from view. Looking back, she saw blackness where trees should be; smoke where there should be sky. The fog spread out from the blackness like dry ice over a stage as she ran with all her strength. Then suddenly she felt pain as she slammed into a fallen tree.

Laurana pitched forward and somersaulted onto her back, letting go of her Grandfather’s tinwhistle that she had been clutching tightly. Looking upward she could still see the overcast sky. Swirling fog as thick as paint began to roll over her. A panic deep inside began to swell in her chest and became a scream.

“Keep moving! Keep moving!” she shouted to herself as she clambered off her back onto her knees. Desperately she flailed around for the tinwhistle, fingers grasping at leaves and twigs on the unseen forest floor. Finding it off to her right, she gripped the thin rod with whitened knuckles.

Laurana stumbled forward and began running again. The air clung to her clothes in the muggy heat and matted her short, brown bangs with sweat. The fog had gained on her and was up to her knees now, pooling around her legs, but she was more concerned about what was in the fog.

Far behind her she could hear something — a high pitched growl — almost song-like but not any song she would pump through earphones. Frantically, she whipped her head left and right looking for a familiar landmark, but she was too far into Hoxie Hollow to know where she was. All she saw where the murky silhouettes of trees.

The sky began to darken, and the rain that had finally let up after three days began to fall from the sky again in a misty drizzle. Still she kept running. The forest began to slope upward giving her hope that she was escaping the hollow.

Looming out of the fog ahead of her was an ancient stone wall, one of many that littered the forests of New England. As she cleared the wall and headed further uphill, the fog crashed against the wall in waves, spilling over the top and ruffling towards her.

Perhaps sensing that its prey was escaping, the beast within the darkness growled keener causing a surge of blackness to pounce over her. In complete darkness she struggled up the hill, hearing the scrabbling of claws behind her. Branches lashed her face and scraped her bare limbs. Small hillside trees tripped and bruised her. Then suddenly she was falling as she stepped off of the hill into open air.

A steeper slope greeted Laurana as she hit the ground, falling out of darkness and into day as she tumbled downward through trees and over stones. A flash of white pain silenced her panicked thoughts, and her limp form continued its way down the hillside. As she came to a silent rest against another stone wall, the drizzle became a downpour.

High above, something inside the dark fog wailed and screeched towards the sky.

© 2009 Douglas R. Cootey

Avid Avian Fans of Our Halloween Array, Or Something More Alarming‽

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 16:00:06 PDT

Rows and rows of blackbirds sat on the wires, collecting silently. Across the street dozens of them sat in a dense flock of foreboding.

We knew they were watching us. We could feel them staring deeply into our home.

For the time being we were safe, but no one dared to go out and get the mail…

Halloween Decorations Restored

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 15:20:18 PDT

After an early snowstorm undid our festive decorations, they hung droopily in the cold October wind for a few days until yesterday afternoon—just in time for my Leprechaun's birthday party. This time we took a few photos just in case Mother Nature wanted to redecorate again.

I hand painted the door, but the spider is still my favorite touch.

Halloween Snow

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 13:06:47 PDT

October this year was spent being sick or caring for the sick, but it wasn't spent preparing for Halloween. Now that the spooky day is upon us, we're finally well enough to quickly do something about it. I hope to share some photos with you throughout the day that will lead up to sharing an outtake from a story I am writing. It's a middle grade horror/fantasy/mystery that is probably too big for me now, but I'm enjoying the process of growing into it.

Here's the first photo of the day. We finally put up decorations last Sunday when two days later Mother Nature thought a dusting of snow stirred with heavy gusts of wind were the final touch our display needed. I strongly disagreed with her, but like most of the women in my life, she poohpoohed my input and did what she wanted anyway. Our display hung in tatters until yesterday.

In Which Douglas Thought of Haunted Asylums & Giving Away a Free Book

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:51:22 PST

Spectre by Meredith Farmer.

I had meant to post this on Monday, but it feels better rising here from the crypt on a Friday pre-Halloweeny eve.

The week was busy, but whose wasn’t? I did manage to write. Yes, it’s true. And I may possibly finish my rough draft by tomorrow if I can foil my family in their dastardly & nefarious schemes. Then I’ll finish up the Seasonal Affective Disorder article I plan on posting this Tuesday. I think you’ll like it.

Before I move on to the weekly contest, I wanted to share this li’l gem with you.

Clinton ‘Asylum Of Terror’ Haunted House Angers N.J. Mental-Health Advocates

Every year it seems someone somewhere feels the need to whine to the press about how haunted houses based on mental wards are doing irreparable damage to the cause of Mental Health. This year New Jersey pulled the fuzzy lollipop out of the candy bag.

“So many people white-knuckle through mental illness and don’t realize how it’s impacting their life,” [Celina Gray, executive director of the Governor’s Council on Mental Health Stigma] said. “There could be people out there in the audience who are struggling with a mental illness and will not come out and say a word to anyone now.”

You have no idea how many times this has happened to me. For instance, there I was wincing and gingerly walking through a haunted hospital when a pimply-faced proctologist leaped out from behind a counter and snapped a rubber glove at me. I’ve never been to a hospital since. Those crazy doctors… I’m going to die of prostate cancer because of them. Don’t get me started on the haunted car repair shop and its Hydraulic Lift of HORROR. Now I’ll be endlessly forced to drive around with bad breaks because of those heartless hacks.

As a man whose life is slapped around and kicked in the nether regions by mental health issues almost every day, I wish these do-gooders would back up their whambulance and head on back to Trenton. People aren’t made of egg shells. They’re tough and a lot smarter than experts credit them. Besides, who is this strawman who confuses real psychotherapy with a group of kids in gore stained smocks waving rubber knives around?

Silliness.

And now for the contest. I have one signed copy of Martine Leavitt’s “Heck Superhero”—a story about a homeless boy and his search for his mentally ill mother. He copes with his fractured world by imagining he is a superhero. (The book was almost in the running for a Newbery.) Just tell me who is greeting you in the creepy photo above or tell me something scary about yourself.

I’ll start:

After climbing out of Hell’s basement, I discovered to my horror that Hell was heavily scented with artificial cinnamon. I was allergic to it, of course. A short-winged aromatherapist awaited me with a tray of delights all designed to induce that oh-no-I’m-stuck-in-bumper-to-bumper-traffic-and-the-nearest-exit-is-eleven-miles-away feeling. I returned to the basement.

Good luck!

Letting the Storm Pass Over Me

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:50:29 PST

Congratulations, Claire. You've won Jeff Nichols' TrainWreck - My Life as an Idoit. I don't know if you'll like the book. It's quite irreverent, so if you want to pass just let me know and I'll pick another winner. Otherwise, send me your mailing address via email and I'll wrap the book up and send it to you. (Previous contest books will be going out on Wensday.)

Last night we carved pumpkins and put the finishing touches on our Halloween decorations. Four of the five pumpkins were all a'glow on the front porch and the last one—mine—was waiting inside. The plan was to take a picture of our work the moment that last pumpkin had been gutted, carved, and lit up from the inside. Regrettably, the picture was not meant to be. Quite suddenly I became irritable, then grumpy, then anxious, then the ticking storm began.

The tic du jour was a breathing tic where I exhale, exhale, exhale, exhale…then panic, allowing me to gasp before starting the tic again. Lots of fun. Usually my wife or daughters can massage or prod the ticking muscle, but how does one massage a lung?

After a while, I was desperate. I motioned for my wife to slap me. A small burst of pain can give me temporary control over the tics, and I was getting light headed.

Unfortunately, my wife has never had very good aim. Bless her heart, she did as I asked but missed my face. She clubbed me soundly on the jaw.

Ow.

Stopped ticking, though.

A few hours later a microburst blew through our neighborhood. There I was, sometime after 2am, tying the tarp down over the bikes and taking in the awesome, majestic fury of nature. Stunning. Wild. Destructive.

The storm in my mind had passed, but the one around me took its toll on our Halloween decorations. It was too late to photograph them. I had missed an opportunity.

As I looked at our spider webs all in tatters and the giant orange & black spider upside down and dangling foolishly, I wasn't upset, though. I didn't blame myself. I didn't rage at the sky. Despite the damage, I knew that I had just experienced a wonderful night delighting in the unbridled creativity of my girls' minds. We could repair the web later.

This was a big moment for me. I can't say that now I'm going to enjoy life's obstacles, but it was a step forward. I can either choose to let the obstacles depress me or I can look for the upsides. I choose the later. There was a time when I'd let the storm consume me, but now I know that the storms of life always pass, as do the storms within our minds.

Free Book Friday and My Beard is Driving Me Nuts

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 14:28:49 PDT

Looking for a free book? Read on through and answer the questions at the end.

October seems to be defined by sickness. My wife had the Swine Flu, my kids had para influenza, and I'm still sick with the crud. Haven't showered or shaved since August. I may have mentioned it before. I can't recall. October is a blur.

At any rate, sickness is boring, so let's change the subject.

I hit 500 subscribers this week—quite a milestone for the blog. I've been publishing here for almost five years now. I've been honing my craft, developing my voice, coming perilously close to having a regular blogging schedule… It's all thanks to you and your readership. Now that there are 500 regulars, I should probably be ecstatic that you aren't all leaving comments since I've made it a goal this Fall to reply to everyone.

Coming up in the next few weeks are some articles on ADHD & worry, my findings on Seasonal Affective Disorder, and a revealing article on embarrassing impulses. You won't want to miss it. Think of all the material I'll be posting that you can blackmail me with.

My chapter book is coming along in surges. I've set the goal to finish it before the 31st of this month. Assuming I don't just waste the next nine days watching Rockford Files episodes while feeling gray and washed out, I might even make it with a day or two to spare. I was mentioning this on my friend Brodi's website. I'm two thirds through the rewrite, but if I run out of time I could always reduce the ending to its crudest form:

Then something happens.
Oh no! Great angst.
Then Riff gets really clever.
Something happens.
Something else happens.
Yay! He saved the day.

I can tell it's going to be a blockbuster…

And now for the questions. Answer both to qualify. One person will win a copy of comedian Jeff Nichols' TrainWreck - My Life as an Idoit. I recently reviewed this book for ADDitude Magazine. It's irreverently funny, very offcolor, often profane, and not for the fair of heart, but its brutally honest details of Nichols' life on the ADHD edge reveal how a once troubled guy overcame his disabilities and found happiness. It wasn't my cup of tea, but I know I have more than a few ADHD readers who will enjoy it immensely. Please play along even if you don't want the book for yourself.

How do you read this blog? (On the web, RSS reader, Facebook, by fairy proxy, etc.)
What defined October for you?

Have a memorable weekend…

Off the Shelf: “Everything Is Fine” by Ann Dee Ellis

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 06:00:06 PDT

I loved how this book was written. Such crisp prose. Sparse, yet intimate, with a clear and strong voice.

“Everything Is Fine” was written from the point of view of Mazzy, a young preteen who is coping with family tragedy. Her father is away on a new job, though one is given the feeling he is avoiding the drama at home. Her mother is a shell of her former self. Finding out what destroyed her is part of the mystery of the book.

Much like the peeling away of a lettuce, the story is told in parts. Some take place in the past, some in the present. Some relate to the tragedy, some give us a window inside the mind of this traumatized girl.

I felt the issues of depression were dealt with quite believably. I had a dark period in my life—never as catatonic as Mazzy’s mother but just as dysfunctional. The rest of the family really does need to pick up the slack. Some neighbors offered support and others cruel advice. This book was spot on. I believe it is a credit to Ellis’ writing that I was not made uncomfortable by the reading experience. I attribute this to the strong character found in Mazzy.

As the caretaker of her mother, Mazzy had a strength that belied her years. It stood in contrast with her social immaturity. Perhaps this would be my only criticism. Mazzy seemed too immature for someone thrust into that situation. Her age was not concretely detailed. She and her friends were interested in boys and boobs, but she acted as if she was eight at times. A daughter of mine read the book and had the same complaint.

That being said, I still admire this book greatly. The writing was compelling and I heartily recommend it. Depression can be debilitating, and some events in life can knock us on our backsides, but ultimately there is hope where there is a will to heal. I found that hope in this book, and for that I feel it is inspirational.

How AD/HD Makes Me More Like Monk Than I Care For

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:05:56 PDT

I’m sick with some sort of flu so this article lacks sparkle. I’m forcing myself to meet my new schedule, however, so I believe I deserve a cookie…

I’m glad I don’t have cable TV anymore. All I would do was endlessly surf the channels at 3am trying to find something worth watching. If you’ve seen TV at that time of night perhaps you realize what a pointless pursuit that was. The trouble was that I couldn’t stop myself. I’d get into an AD/HD rut and flip, flip, flip the hours away. I’m sure I could have trained myself to not waste time in that manner, but it was easier and cheaper just to cancel the service.

Thankfully, the magic of the internet lets me keep up with a few programs I like, but otherwise I don’t watch much TV. However, the new programs during Fall make it a tempting time for TV viewing so I sample quite a bit of the old and new. This year I sampled Monk.

I decided to rent the pilot episode. I had caught one episode years ago and found it uncomfortable. Up for laughs was a sad shell of a man who, like some psychotic idiot savant, managed to solve the mystery, but only after bumbling about from phobia to phobia. At the time, I took it to be an unkind show.

I’m glad I gave the show a second chance. Clearly, the show was written well. I laughed in all the right places and enjoyed the story. I even wondered why I had been turned off by the show years ago. I don’t have obsessive compulsive issues or germ phobias so I couldn’t relate with most of Monk’s hangups. That was until I stepped into the kitchen.

I’ve written about the link between AD/HD and Hypersensitivity before, especially about my paranormal olifactory powers, but in later years I’ve come to realize that I have serious tactile & auditory sensitivities as well. A sticky patch on an otherwise clean working space will drive me mad. A twisted blankets, crumbs underfoot, or books & media in disarray will cause volcanic discomfort to stir within me. Never mind the issues I have with background noise (see here & here). These sensitivities are my quirkiest aspects.

The other night when I stepped into the kitchen to get a drink I found my feet bonding with the tile floor. A blessed little faerie child has spilled ginger ale everywhere. As I backed up off the floor onto the rug, my wife began telling me about the mess I had discovered. I listened to her dutifully while noticing I was standing in crumbs—now superglued to my soles—while my fourteen year old also began asking me questions from the other room. It was at that point the the dishwasher kicked into a very loud cycle.

The sensory tsunami drowned my brain.

As I began to vocally react to the onslaught I suddenly realized why it was I hadn't liked Monk all those years ago. I may not have all Monk's phobias and OCD issues, and really wasn't anything like him, but darn it all if it wasn't like watching myself up on the screen.

I can't say that I'm a big fan of the show now, but I am glad I have a new appreciation for the production of it. They did a really good job characterizing that psychopathic neatnik—too good of a job. I don't need to watch Monk. I am him.

’Musing Monday - A Creative Boost for the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 13:30:44 PDT

Congratulations, Semi-Organized Mom. You’ve won “Everything is Fine” by Ann Dee Ellis. Send me your mailing address via email and I’ll wrap the book up and send it to you.

Steps by carrie120505.

It’s a new week and I’m feeling better. I’m actually looking forward to proving to myself that I can accomplish my goals. I have a bookmark to illustrate and a book to finish before the end of the month. I know I can do it. I just have to remember not to be distracted and stay away from illness. Easy!

One way I’m going to meet my goals is by rethinking how I manage my todos. I hope to share with you what I discover soon, but first I have a confession to make.

I’m getting bored writing about fighting off Depression and AD/HD with cheek and pluck. I know. The entire blog is based on the subject, but I’ve been writing about it for almost five years now. I need to branch out. Find new things.

Initially, I thought I could build on the phenomenal popularity of my Miley Cyrus post. I’m not deluded. I know that it’s not the most popular article on my site because I was the one who wrote it. People aren’t visiting to read me. They just can’t get enough of Miley Cyrus in her underwear. Why not write about that all the time? I could call my blog “A Slinky Mind” and be all Miley Cyrus & underwear all the time. It would be a ratings jackpot!

Or maybe I could do something creative every Monday to lure in writers—a more neurological group of people you won’t find outside of a vacuum lovers speed dating convention. I could call it ’Musing Monday and post a picture like the one above (No, not the picture of Miley) and ask a simple question about it.

Something like, “Where do the stairs go?”

Then I could offer my own answer to encourage you to add your own.

It’ll be wildly popular. All the Miley Cyrus fans will write “to Miley’s underwear shed?”, the new writer audience will write “to an agent’s house?”, my regular readers will lurk in the background, be amused, and not write anything, and everyone will be happy.

I’ll start:

If Barry Graven saw one more amateur Minuteman in costume, he swore he would kill somebody. In fact, he already knew who that somebody would be.

Barry sipped at his bland tea and chewed on a glazed donut without tasting it. He looked around. Concord, Massachusetts was once known for its colorful history. Bright reds, whites, and blues used to be splattered everywhere, but that was all in the past. Now Concord was home to the corporate headquarters of Polaroid, the inventors of instant film.

Polaroid had come on hard times when their instant cameras had lost favor with the public, but recently Polaroid released a new digital camera with instant printing to great fanfare. They had risen from the ashes. Barry’s investor told him this was good news, but it was small comfort to him. What good were all those greenbacks when they had lost their color? What good was anything in an increasingly faded world?

Barry knew how to get the color back.

Out past the Old North Bridge and across the fields and trees was a hill with old, wooden steps almost reclaimed by the forest. At the top of the hill lived the CEO of Polaroid and the man Barry was certain had made a deal with the devil to trap the color of the world into tiny, little squares. Barry could set all the color free, starting with bright, flowing red.

Barry grabbed his old Polaroid Spectra and felt its weight in his hand. It had just enough heft to be perfect for his needs. He gave it a dangerous swing and sent some papers flying, then he headed out with splatters of color in his mind.

Free Book Friday. Swine Flu Not Included.

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 02:16:45 PDT

I’ve got another free book for you today, but you might not want it. My wife has come down with the Swine Flu. No, she hasn’t sneezed & coughed all over the books. Actually, my wife is allergic to reading—gives her hives. She stays away from most literature (although recently she read a street sign. We were very excited for her). That means your free book would be safe, but I’ll soak the book in disinfectant before I mail it to you just to put your mind at ease.

I was amazed, however, at the manner in which the hospital treated my wife. There wasn’t any emergency room staff within sight and they apparently treated her via intercom. A stick holding a mask was pushed her way from someone hiding in the ceiling. She was in and out within twenty minutes. In fact, they pushed her through so quickly they didn’t even bother to take her co-pay.

I suggested that she use this to her advantage from now one. You may find it useful, too. Got a broken leg or ruptured spleen? Just tell them you also have Swine Flu and they’ll patch you up for free in a jiffy and in under 30 minutes. Now there’s a healthcare solution that all parties can agree upon.

No, no. Don’t thank me. Just remember to build a statue in my honor…

I spent the week being sick myself, though I don’t have hooves for feet or a curly, stubby tail like my wife has. Although I didn’t manage to write much of anything in my current book, I did manage to get out to a downtown mall before the illness settled in. I had promised my friend, Bree Despain, that I’d say “Squee!” in public in exchange for an advanced copy of her upcoming book. When we waited in line together to see James Dashner last week, I reminded her of this.

If you need proof that I have a lack of impulse control, you will be pleased to learn that Bree somehow talked me into wearing purple nail polish while I publicly squeed. Online proof of the deed was also tossed into the pact. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but later I began to curse my ADDled mind. Unfortunately, Bree was quite excited about me doing it. It seemed she liked the idea so much that she worked it into a contest. I was committed. Sunday night I found myself contemplating how on Earth I was going to appear manly while saying “Squee!” with purple fingernails.

Here is the result:

I don’t plan on making you do such elaborate things for today’s free book. Just answer the following questions in a comment below. I’ll pick a name at random on Monday. The winner will get Ann Dee Ellis’ “Everything Is Fine”—a fabulously & creatively written story about a young girl who is forced to swap roles with her critically depressed mother.

(Kathy, our winner from last week still needs to contact me.)

Did you like the video?
Would you have painted your nails purple and squeeeeeed in public for a copy of The Dark Divine?
Are you convinced I have a terminal case of AD/HD yet?
Ever do anything more embarrassing than this, and was AD/HD involved?

Some Thoughts on Happiness & Depression. Then I Pick a Winner

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 02:16:45 PDT

What a day.

I’m typing sluggishly due to a prolonged ticking episode. They come in many shapes and sizes and this is one of the long, spindly, slow motion ones. I feel as if I’m out of sync with time around me, moving through thick air with each step nailed to the moment behind it. I simply did too much today, but there’s nothing I would have done differently.

There was a time I’d rather have been by myself writing, drawing, dreaming in places such as the one depicted above. I wasn’t resigned to my duties as a stay-at-home dad. I wanted “greater” things. Instead, I spent today with my daughters in one joyous moment after another.

The eight year old had a seizure on Saturday, made worse by the Croop, so she stayed home today. We worked on getting her caught up with her homework. Then I gathered the rest of my daughters from school and we headed up to the Gateway mall—a thrill at the edge of our seats because the oldest was behind the wheel navigating rush hour traffic for her first time.

Our time at the Gateway was spent with me being silly while my seventeen year old filmed me, my fourteen year old would continually wander off photographing the world around her, and the ten and eight year old behaved so well together I was certain the goblins who had been taking their place had returned to the world of the Fey and left two perfectly charming princesses in their place.

Ending the day with a ticking episode was a shade disappointing, but I didn’t let it drag at my spirits.

I have a daughter who struggles with Depression. I wish I could help her see how much her attitude contributes to her misery. To think I used to wallow in my own failure a mere fifteen years ago. Depression may be a permanent resident within my mind, but Attitude was the key that I discovered locked or unlocked my chances of evicting that Depression. By teaching myself to look at my depression from the outside I slowly learned to regulate it. Until my daughter believes that she can do the same, she will constantly be at Depression’s mercy.

I had hoped to have a lighthearted entry for you. There was certainly a ton of frivolity captured on film. Yet ticking does throw a wrench into the wheels of my life. Take this blog entry for example. It was supposed to be posted on Monday.

When I went to pick a winner, I created an Applescript that would pick a number at random. I’d match that number with a comment and have my winner. However, the first seven numbers in a row matched my own comments. That wouldn’t do so I bought an iPhone app that lets me add people’s names to a hat and pull one out. Yes, I suppose I could have written down your names on actual paper and stuck it in a real hat, but where would be the geeky fun in that? At any rate, I added everybody’s name except my own and surprise, surprise, I did not win.

It is with great pleasure I announce that Kathy was our winner. Congratulations. Just email me your street address. My email address is in the sidebar.

And Thus Begins Free Book Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 02:16:45 PDT

This week wasn't such a great week for writing. Between sickness, ticking, and ferrying kids about I never seemed to have any brain juice left when I sat down in front of my computer. The ship had sailed; the mind was gone. What little I did have seemed to be occupied reading news and researching antique pencil sharpeners.

What? I didn't tell you about that? I bought an old issue of American Artist from 1952 because it had an article about Alex Raymond in it. Fabulous illustrator. His work on Flash Gordon is probably what you most likely have seen. As I was thumbing through the magazine, I was delighted by two things. One was an original ad for Dom Casual. This ubiquitous font looks fairly humdrum on screen and had been dismissed by me way back in Windows 3.1 days. As far as I was concerned it could win a font deathmatch versus MS Comic Sans, but that wasn't saying much. Even
Papyrus could take MS Comic Sans. Then I saw the ad. To think Dom Casual once needed to be marketed. And it was so beautiful as a display type. I had profound new respect for it.

The other thing that caught my eye was the Dux Variable Precision Sharpener. Yes, I don't draw much anymore, but I'm still an art geek at heart. I actually spent many ADHD fueled moments hunting around the internet for this antique only to discover to my nerdy delight it is still being made. I immediately ordered one from the nice folks over at Pencil Things. I might use it to sharpen a pencil or two. Even draw. The sky's the limit.

All was not lost this week, however. I did attend James Dashner's book launch for The Maze Runner. No one invited me to dinner or lent me their secrets filled laptop, but I did pick up a copy of his book and had it signed. He's a nice guy, and had a good sense of humor about me being so temporally challenged. I haven't started reading it yet. I have a long list of books awaiting that pleasure.

And that brings me to the point of today's blog, and only five paragraphs in. I had a wonderful email conversation with my friend, Brodi Ashton, about the amount of comments she gets on her blog. She admitted she hires her commenters off of Craigslist. I was shocked. No, really. The other things she does are to post on a regular schedule (Remember back in 2005 when I used to do that?), and give away books on Friday. What great ideas.

In order to get a drop on the "unoriginal hack" label that I will one day earn in book reviews across the world, I will shamelessly copy Brodi. I am announcing (again probably) that I will post on Tuesday and Friday weekly from this point going forward, and Fridays will offer free books. Because frankly, I have too many of them. You can see the stack I'm setting aside for you now. The pants are not included.

To make things even more thrilling, here is the stack of books in 3D. Just gaze beyond your computer screen in that Magic Eye way and the books will not only leap off the page at you, but demand ownership. It's that exciting.

Today I'm offering Wendy Aron's Hide & Seek, which I reviewed last February. It's a good book, especially for those of you who struggle with approaching 40, depression, low self-esteem, and finding purpose in life. All you have to do is answer the following questions and post them in a comment. I'll pick a winner at random on Monday and announce it here.

If you could be a character in a book, who would you be?
How many times did I type "book" in this entry?
Where are you from?

I'll start:

Gollum. He travelled the world, ate a lot of fish, and acquired fascinating jewelry.
You might need to remove your shoes to count this high.
Massachusetts, most notably Cape Cod.

Maybe there's somebody you know who could use this book. Spread the word & send them along Have a great weekend.

I Couldn't Be On Time Even If I Sat on a Clock

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 02:58:55 PDT

Hear this article read to you:

Tonight was going to be glorious. Everything was lined up. I had decided that with so many local children's book authors having launch parties at the King's English Bookshop I should hobnob at a few of them. It would be much cheaper than attending a writer's conference and, if I bought a book and had it signed, I might endear myself to the authors. You know, get them to open up to me. Share their secrets with me. Invite me over for dinner.

Alas, all my clever plans were foiled.

There I was, chatting up author James Dashner on Twitter, helpfully letting him know his countdown clock was wrong, and using my trademarked and incredibly clever repartee to show him that I was somebody he could not only share his secrets with but also could borrow his laptop. I told him I'd see him later tonight, then hurried off to get the girls from their high school. I had them all booked for babysitting. I would hit the launch party, graciously decline the myriad offers from all the authors to join them for dinner, then spend a few hours writing at Barnes & Noble.

What could go wrong?

Alright, aside from running behind forty minutes, I did find it odd that there was parking available. So very not a good sign for Mr. Dashner. The bookstore almost looked deserted. I walked through the door and was surprised to hear no sounds of hobnobbing. No dinner invitations wafting in the air-conditioned breeze.

"May I help you?" asked a voice from somewhere behind a stack of books.

I had missed it; I was sure of it. I thought it was supposed to run until 6pm, but obviously the party wrapped up early. I should mention, however, that at this point alarm bells were going off within my mind. It was as if I was waking from a daydream and was taking sudden notice of my surroundings. Whatever it was that had happened, I knew as surely as I knew I was 40 minutes behind schedule that I had gotten something horribly wrong.

"I am here for the James Dashner launch party?" I said with not too much sheepishness.

"Oh! That's tomorrow," replied the kindly lady from behind the stack.

I wasn't forty minutes late; I was a day early.

After some merry and pleasant conversation, I purchased a book (Shannon Hale's Forest Born) and wished the ladies of King's English good evening. I told them all was not lost. This misadventure would be perfect for my blog. Then I promised I would be back the next evening.

There is a part of me that died inside. Maybe just a little. How embarrassing. But I promised myself years ago to stop beating myself up about these things. What can I do? I'm me and for the rest of my life I'm going to be screwing up like this. Hey, I even had alarms all set for the wrong date in my iPhone.

More embarrassing for me was knowing that Mr. Dashner probably thought I was an idiot by now. There goes my chance of borrowing his laptop and attending a private authors' retreat in his cabin with the cloaked and mysterious Provo kidlit-erati.

Sure enough, when I checked in with my Twitter stream two hours later, I found the following:

JamesDashner:
@DouglasCootey I'm assuming you meant tomorrow night, but I just thought I'd make sure! Tues.

Oh, well. Maybe I can introduce myself as somebody else.

Anywhere But Here

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 18:39:16 PDT

Hear this article read to you:

Catherine Lake
Originally uploaded by Darkstream.

I’ve been walloped by a bug for the past two days. I’ve had worse, but I’m hardly having fun at the moment. Wobbly, woozy, and weak describes it best. Plus incontinent. Oh, is that too much information?

Tonight I imagined I was going to visit an art supply store in Sugarhouse, then spend some time in Barnes & Noble writing until closing. It was a nice dream. Too bad it never transformed into reality. Instead, I stayed home too groggy to write or draw or clean or do much of anything other than download TV episodes and watch them blearily. (Stargate Universe was pretty good, by the way.)

I had lots of drama with my family, though. They know how much I love it. They make sure I get a daily dose, especially when I’m sick.

Of course, everything isn’t always high strung with my girls. To the left is a photo representing one hour of hiking and lots of sweat & hyperventilating. Deep in the mountains between Brighton and Solitude is Catherine Lake. I went up there a month ago with my second oldest daughter. We had such a grand time, even with all the huffing and puffing. On nights like tonight when I can barely prevent myself from drooling all over the keyboard, I’m glad I have the photos to remind myself of happier, more mobile times.

Now please excuse me while I go crawl into my bed and try not to move for a few hours.

Blog Clutter

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 00:14:10 PDT

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I have a variety of gadgets and widgets along the side of my blog that are nothing more than boondoggles. It's time to chuck out what is unnecessary. Since I've finished the Web Project of DOOM and have started moving on to new projects, I have cast a weary eye at my blog design. You may recall it didn't always look so bland, but six years of adding and adding onto it produced a monstrosity that apparently scared some older browsers into fits. So I deleted everything one day and went with a default Blogger template.

So boring.

I wouldn't allow myself to redesign the site while I had deadlines and more important projects to worry about, but now I'm a little embarrassed about the state of things around here. After all, I did used to be a web designer. (See my latest design)

This blog entry may very well be an archive of sorts. I'll be moving most of the binary tchotchkes here. When I've figured out which gadgets I think are truly necessary, I'll dive into the redesign.

Feel free to let me know what you think, btw. I'd love the feedback. What do you think of the ones I've left on the side. Do you like knowing what I'm reading and listening to? Do you care even mildly? And how about the Google followers widget? Does it give you a thrill? Do you find it useful, or could you live without it?

Update 9/30/09 1:54:51 PM: I've moved the plea for feedback from the bottom of individual blog entries to the top of the footer so that I won't ever forget to beg again. There might be some redundancy with those entries where I did remember. With 480 subscribers as of today, I'm hoping a cleaner design will entice more of you to pop by the site and share your experiences in the comments section. Either that, or I'll offer to pay you…

**Twitter Ephemera**
Muse: Follow @DouglasCootey	Madness: Follow @SplinteredMind

The Absentminded Artist

www.flickr.com

Accolades, Attributions & Awards

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 12:42:58 PDT

Blogger.com (13th December 2005)

Sleep: My Greatest Enemy

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 18:33:05 PDT

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Non-working relic, but delightful find
nonetheless
Originally uploaded by Darkstream.

Unlike when I took this photo a few weeks ago, I was unusually in bed by 3:30am last night. Four and a half hours later I’m up for the day at the unholy hour of 8am. What do you people do with yourselves when you wake at this hour? There’s that awful ball of light in the sky that hurts my eyes. I might actually be able to get to church for the first time since Jesus walked the Earth. I suppose I’m going to have to shave.

Obviously, I kid, but Sleep and I haven’t been getting along for sometime. Take an insomniac and saddle him with more family drama than can be found on Melrose Place and you get a bleary eyed guy one donut shy of a full box.

I won’t count those proverbial chicks, but usually epochs in sleep schedules change like this for me. One day I’m an insomniac; the next day I’m sleeping normally. If I can avoid napping today and remember to retire soon after midnight I may actually flip my schedule around and get a handle on the Depression that’s creeped back into my life lately…

Easy as Awry – My AD/HD Filled Disaster

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 03:00:34 PDT

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Out of the blue last April someone from ADDitude Magazine read “The Quiet Riot” and thought it would be perfect for their magazine. So they asked me if I’d let them use it. They’d even pay me. All I had to do was provide a clever, creative photograph to accompany the article.

Easy as pie, as they say.

I’m assuming this expression is referring to scooping the filling out of a pudding cup into a pre-made pie crust. My pie experience was a bit more complicated. In fact, you’d have to make a homemade pie with a 200 strand, lattice crust with environmentally endangered Delta Smelt filling and an injunction with three dozen angry unshaven activists in your front lawn before you came close.

First up was the photo. The idea for the photo came to me rather quickly. I just needed to photograph me sitting in a Zen-like state with headphones on while my colorfully dressed daughters blurred around me. The problem was gathering the daughters. Ever find a floaty in your soup and try to casually scoop it out with your spoon? I find the floaty usually avoids my spoon with almost intelligent evasive maneuvering. Soon I end up finger deep in the soup trying to trap the floaty against the side of the bowl.

Getting my family together for one photo while I wasn’t ticking was sort of like that.

I eventually threatened to transform into Father Zeus and they quickly gathered with bright, beaming faces. Obviously, I was the bad guy. After all, it only took them three weeks of procrastination & lip to get around to letting me photograph them. Sheesh, I’m so impatient…

The photo, however, was actually the least of my worries.

I’ve not sold one of my blog articles before, so when the boilerplate contract arrived there were all sorts of corporate generalities that—if interpreted loosely—laid claim to my wife and my left foot, but I may have been misreading it. At any rate, I emailed the kind folks at ADDitude Magazine about my concerns and we hammered out a workaround. All I had to do was amend the contract as we agreed (a simple sentence tacked on at the bottom), date & sign it, mail it in to them, then they’d do the same on their end.

Easy as pie.

Unfortunately, my kitchen had been a boiling cauldron of chaos that previous weekend. I had one of the largest disagreements with my wife ever in our marriage and I began the week more distracted than usual. What should have been a simple matter to amend was made complicated by the fact that I had accidentally mailed the contract back already, dated & signed, in the middle of negotiations.

Embarrassing.

Even more embarrassing is that I realized this only after working out a deal with them. Two days later I called them and kindly requested the contract back.

It was supposed to be my big break. Finally, I was being recognized for the skills and writer’s voice I had developed. I was going to be published nationally and make my goal for the year. I had never worked with them before so the entire relationship could be free of past screw-ups or the baggage of years of dopey AD/HD inspired gaffes.

Then I did this.

Regardless of what we had agreed to on the phone, they were in possession of a signed and dated contract. They didn’t have to renegotiate anything. It was time to pack my wife’s bags and wrap up my left foot. If those folks weren’t already used to ADDled minds, though, I can’t imagine they would have ever sent the contract back for the amendments. Yet they did. Disaster avoided.

By May I had two rather lumpy, lopsided pies to show for my efforts. They didn’t taste half bad either. ADDitude Magazine was so pleased with the article that they requested I do a book review, too. Now I’ll have two articles with my byline before I turn 43. It’s an achievement that fills me with not a small amount of satisfaction.

If I could do things over again I would have written out the process as a todo list. That way I couldn’t have absentmindedly mailed anything off before it was ready. Heck, I’m lucky I remembered to sign the contract at all. Next time I’ll not trust my memory with things of such import.

And maybe I’ll avoid pies altogether and just stick to pudding cups.

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Just a quick apology

noreply@blogger.com (Douglas Cootey) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 18:28:40 PDT

Hear this article read to you:

It has come to my attention that those of you who are subscribed to my email feed have been receiving multiple announcements for the same blog post, namely the "Man Eating Bunny" article.

No, I am not fishing for compliments, as has been teasingly suggested to me. I have been tweaking the blog features lately and apparently Blogger has treated each edit as a new publication. I apologize for the inconvenience.

But now that we're on the subject…what DID you think of the…no, no, nevermind.