P'nK Books

My novel White Belts is now out in bookstores. What’s next?

I grew a depression beard, but not a good one. It wasn’t thick and full like a lumberjack or a construction worker. Not hip and chic like some guy trying to sell overpriced liquor in a restaurant booth surrounded by beautiful women on television. I definitely didn’t look cool or “beat.” My face looked like I had bald spots. When I looked in the mirror, it only made me more depressed. I guess that was the point. But it wasn’t. I wanted to look like Ernest Hemingway. He had a great beard. I wanted to look like I poured my heart and soul into those pages and have finally risen from my enclosed existence of my imagination. The final outcome wasn’t what I was expecting. Friends said I looked stupid and told me to shave. The day before Halloween I did, but left my mustache. I was telling everyone it was my “porn-stache.” Friends found it funny while others told me to shave it off immediately.

A friend bought me a switchblade mustache comb as a practical joke. The back of the packaging shows two pictures of a man: before he used the mustache comb (bushy & unkempt) and after (dapper & debonair). When I used it I looked the same. I shaved it off the next day.

When I’m not writing, I dissect everything. I get annoyed very easily. I have multiple mood swings and I don’t know why, it just happens.

I went to Target for a new pillow. What should’ve been a quick “snatch and grab” job turned into an hour long compulsion to make sure I had the right support for my head and neck. When I was younger and needed a pillow there was one kind and the packaging said “Pillow.” I knew what I was getting. If I needed additional support, I bought two pillows instead of one. Quick and easy. No dilemmas.

Everything changed. Target decided to give me options, which totally ruined my day. They had goose down, soft, quilted alternative, firm support, memory foam, allergy-free, medium support, and standard support. Now that I had options, I couldn’t make a decision. I had to make sure I was picking the proper support. What that support was to feel comfortable at night? I had no clue. I never thought about it. I had to try each one. I grabbed each pillow from the bin and pressed it against the side of my face, trying to figure out if this was my definition of comfort. I placed a few on the ground and used the tiled floor as a bed, hoping my simulated test would choose a winner. They all felt the same. But they weren’t. I was getting confused. I finally said something like, “Ah, fuck this shit,” and grabbed one and took it home with me. I was so upset. The next morning I woke up with a cramped neck.

What do I do now that the book is complete? Should I begin another one?

I have. The problem is I have started several. I just don’t know which one to commit to. I was planning on taking a break, a few months off, maybe even a year to catch up on reading and television. Relax. Hang out with some friends. Take a few day trips with my wife. The plan was to break away from my routine. Step out of my comfort zone and try new things. But I’m not sure that will happen. I like my routine. Wait, I hate my routine. I really don’t know what I want.

For the past two years I’ve had serious sleep issues. Sometimes I get great sleep and other times I stay up for hours thinking about dying, my next book, or if I should get up to pee.  A few years back my wife and I decided to buy the entire Seinfeld collection. I love Seinfeld. I agree when others have said it’s the greatest show on television. It became a habit to watch two episodes before bed. I watched the entire series in a matter of months. When I was finished I decided to watch the entire series all over again.

For a whole year before I would go to bed I would watch Seinfeld and pass out. My wife began to get annoyed. The shows became predictable, less funny since we watched each episode multiple times. We needed a new show before bed.

My wife picked the Gilmore Girls. I was fine with the choice. Each episode was forty-five minutes long, which meant I should only need to watch one episode before falling asleep. But each night I found myself watching two or three episodes and still being wide awake. I couldn’t fall asleep.

Then came a night I wanted to watch Seinfeld instead of Gilmore Girls. Ten minutes into the show I was out cold, snoozing just as quickly as a drunk on a three day bender. The next night we watched an episode of Gilmore Girls and it turned into three episodes and I still wasn’t tired. The night after that we watched Seinfeld and I was fast asleep before the episode cut to its first commercial break.

What I realized was I conditioned myself to only fall asleep when Seinfeld was on. That became my lullaby, my bed time story to fall asleep to. If there was no Seinfeld, I was wide awake, turning back and forth in bed and punching the pillow. But maybe it’s wasn’t just Seinfeld? Maybe I needed a new pillow? We all know how that turned out.

I have three incomplete novels and I still can’t decide which one to commit to. This happens each time I finish a novel. White Belts became a priority due to a flyer. One morning in Berkeley my wife and I were waiting for a table at Betty’s Oceanview Diner, our favorite place for breakfast.  The flyer was taped to the side of a newsstand. It was for a men’s support group. Their goal wasn’t to overcome a specific addiction, but for men to discuss whatever dilemmas were affecting their lives. No topic was off limits. It seemed like a place for men to meet other men, to bond and make friends. I took the flyer, but never went to the group. I didn’t need it for the group. The flyer became inspiration and gave me a second wind to finish White Belts.

Now what’s next?

My wife and I have yet to enjoy all of San Francisco. The topic of kids has popped up a couple of times. We still want to go to Europe. My wife wants to try snowboarding. I would like to compete in a ju-jitsu tournament and test myself. What should I do?

I just finished writing a novel and I don’t know what to do with myself.