Brainfarts, it isn’t a very appealing word is it? They are a very appeal experience either. To me, a brain art is when there is something, some little fact or knowledge or act that you know how to do, or you should know how to do and you don’t. It is like that sector in your memory bank has suddenly become unavailable to be accessed. If you are anything like me, then the knowledge eclipsed by the brainfart will suddenly and somewhat miraculously appear at the most inopportune time and come spurting from your mouth leaving a look of bewilderment on the faces of everyone nearby you.

What, like that has never happened to you?

It seems like it is happening more and more often to me, some people say it is linked to stress. I can believe that, the amount of stress in our day to day lives isn’t diminishing, if anything with the accessibility we have to constantly be “available” whenever whoever needs us makes us feel that our precious downtime could be interrupted and absconded with at any moment.

So how do we battle this brainfart phenomenon? The hell if I know, if I had those answers do you think I would be righting this blog? I do expect there to be teams of talented and possibly slightly inebriated scientist working on this at some ivy covered university in the very near future. Still, that doesn’t help you and me in the present does it?

Oh! I’ve got it. We can….

Damn, you guessed it…BRAINFART.

I hope I made you smile, have a great day!



(He) Sendeth Rain on the Just and on the Unjust

I understand that some of you probably look at the title of this blog post with a skeptical eyebrow raise, or even that you have some snaky comment to it and I understand.

Although this isn’t a blog post about any one subject and rainfall will be mentioned, I guess it is an invitation from me, to you. An invitation to step into the rain, see what it washes away, and who or what is left behind once the perceptions have been removed. Not all farmers resort to pesticides and poisons (if we did, we wouldn’t need to bush hog.) We respect the circle of life and our little role in it and we accept that sometimes death is a part of life. We don’t kill thoughtlessly but we do kill to eat. We just don’t glorify it. Maybe this will help to explain. Continue reading

The Black Crowes and Teardrops

I don’t know why I’m even crying, I guess just too much has built up. I’m texting my best friend and trying to set up some girl time but that isn’t going to help. Pressure needs to be released before I explode and take someone or something out.

Today sucked, and it started sucking early, like before the alarm went off. Pre-Sunrise Suckage is a “Special Reserve” kind of beverage that leaves the shittiest taste in one’s mouth.

I have probably written 4000 or so words about it, the incident, the bitching complaining and moaning and even got the starter for a new story out of it, but that whole shit-tasting aspect leaves me in dire need to cleanse not only my proverbial pallet but my mood and gray matter from the more morose thoughts and tortures that I have imagined extracting on those that brought out the Temperamenta Fuerte.

I am in danger of breaking a Blackberry, firing an employee, disowning a family member or worse a combination of all three today. I need to just state for all of mankind, if I hang up on you, thank your lucky stars. I find that is much easier to come back from than verbally eviscerating someone via AT&T’s 4G network.

I can’t change other people, I can only change myself but I can’t change my DNA, my ancestry or the way I was raised. My hair will always have a red-tint to it, unless Ms. Clariol or someone else has a hand in it, my Irish and Native American blood will always be quick to boil and my expectations for people to do as they should and not as they prefer will always be there.

I may be naive but at least I have a set of lungs on me that you can hear my thoughts and a few frills and dressing over the rumble of today’s preferred mediocrity and the baah’ing of today’s mindless sheeple.

Is this where I should say I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore? Well, unfortunately, that is probably a lie. I will end up taking it and I just hope it isn’t up the ass without lube, but I won’t have to like it.

When my mom died, I thought that I was lost and adrift and I would never find the shore. Now over ten years later, I know that if I hug the shore I’m more likely to bash my head against immoveable objects or worse, give up on sailing into happily ever after and sit on the shore and wave as everyone else travels. Older me, hopefully wiser me, has to learn that I need to go with the flow, paddle like mad when the time is right and to not waste too much energy fighting the rip-tides in life and as Dory says, just keep swimming, even if it is perpendicularly, till the time is right to make my move.

Who knew Disney could do more than market to the childhood masses?

Listening To: Seeing Things-The Black Crowes                                                                                   Mood: Muddled

Identity Crisis

I’m a role-player, I still have role-play accounts that I jump on sometimes but I haven’t role-played in a while. Every time I get a good idea, I jot it down and put it in my “to be completed” folder. You know, a few short lines, enough to jog my memory and then whatever setting details or descriptions I had.

That folder is filled with all sorts of good ideas, maybe a few great ones. I have THREE series listed on an electric blue post-it note just above and over to the left of my laptop as we speak, yes I’m scared to take that next step.

I guess I don’t’ consider myself a writer, despite what it says in my twitter profile. I write things, I have moved people to tears and made them want to kill certain characters, but that was all while I safely hid behind the term Role Play.

I have role-played as characters in books before but that wasn’t where my joy was. Most of the things that I wrote and enjoyed were interactions with original characters, both others and mine.

I guess I fear the 50-shades of backlash. If I started as a role player, will I always be a role-player? My pen name is even that of my first original character who I took so much time to create and is just as much a part of me as anything anyone could write.

So do I have to stop role-playing to be taken seriously as a writer? I know other people, both published and soon to be published that have used this form as an exercise. Think of the difference in strength training versus maintenance. I guess now I see that role-play is a way to maintain the current skills and confidence that I have and if I want to go farther and be and do more I have to go out there and loft that monster tire even if it squashes me the first few, or hundred, times. (Sorry, I have weird visions pop into my head.)

Therefore, my website is going to get some surgery. A nip here, a tuck there possible an amputation or two. It will still be me, but hopefully, it will be more the window into my soul as a writer and not the strategically taken picture in the bathroom mirror that only shows what I’m comfortable in other people seeing.

Anything thoughts or criticism would be welcome. My new personal goal is to have something as ready as I can to submit to an agent by Fall. Heck, let’s set a date and put it on Halloween. It will be the scariest thing I have ever done in my life and I may fail, but I also know that if I fail to try I can never truly be happy.

A-Day Submission Deadline Set

Sneak Peak at “The MacClery Chronicles”

The “Look” Challenge

Here is how this challenge goes.

Take your current manuscript and find the first instance of the word “look”. Then post the surrounding paragraphs as an excerpt of the book on your blog. Lastly, tag five more blogging authors who you think would be a good choice for the game.

The working title is “The MacClery Chronicles”.  I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment.

Quote from The McClery Chronicals (working title) by TJ Whelan



The sounds of the crowd were building. The teams were on the field warming up for game three of the World Series between the Oakland A’s and the San Francisco Giants. A small group of men gathered around a television in a smoke filled bar, beers and hot dogs in their hands waiting for the opening pitch. None of them knowing that one of their lives was going to be changed forever.

On the other side of the country a face that was familiar to the group stood among the crowd watching the couple as they walked past various shops and took frequent bathroom breaks, the later being because the female was well into her last trimester of pregnancy. He had worked hard to make sure that his rival wouldn’t find out about the upcoming birth, even going so far as to arrange the all expense paid trip and the job interviews that would lead the last remaining lines of this family tree away from their benefactor and protector. Yes, it had been a lot of work and he owed more than a few favors, but if Simon’s predictions were to be believed the catalyst for his plan would happen and soon. All he needed was for the young lovebirds to be here when it did.

Simon lit up another cigar and offered them to the guys around the table as he looked from face to face in awe. “Man, thanks for finally letting me into the Wednesday night game fellas. What changed your mind?”

Patrick fought the need to roll his eyes. He didn’t want Simon here, but he did have access to great Cuban cigars and well, he preferred to have 6 people at the table when he played poker. Besides, Simon wasn’t a true player, they could probably wipe him of his cash in no time and then he would be on his way “Ach you know Thomas is out running down another lead on his daft idea. He thinks that this could be the next big thing. For me, I think he has smoked one too many tokes with the lads at UC Berkeley and CalTech.” Patrick chuckled and shuffled the cards. The truth of the matter was that the idea of the world being connected by computers was the most interesting thing that had come along in a while. Of course it meant more ways that they could be found out, but think of all the possibilities that it had, maybe Thomas wasn’t wrong to be providing those nerds inspiration after all, especially if he could talk a few of them in to designing something that would help benefit the clan.

“Alright lads, ante up. The buy in is five hundred and I do not accept IOUs.” Patrick smirked as he started dealing the cards. He looked up from the table to the television when McCarver repeated himself. The screen flashed green and then went to black as the earthquake struck. Slowly each of the members of the poker night started receiving pages on their beepers, everyone except Simon.

“I told Thom this was going to happen, but he just insisted on going to see the birth anyway.”

Simon’s words were lost in the confusion and the calls that continued in waves. Patrick wouldn’t realize for some time that he was betrayed by one he considered his brother. By the time he realized it, it would be too late. The date on the tombstone read October 17, 1989. It would mark the end of the Ó Caiside Clan as it’s last known member laid beneath that slate monument.

But Kelly Michaels, formerly Kelly Cassidy, didn’t pass from this world before she brought her daughter into it. Her best friend, who had tried so long to conceive, adopted the child and named her Maeve Cassidy Seward and with the love of two mothers, one here on earth and one above, the young girl thrived.