I am happy when I don’t blog

Yes, I’m still here.

Why haven’t I blogged?

Well, the truth is I’m not blogging because I’ve found happiness.

Weird, huh?

I began this blog in September 2014. Why? Because I was miserable. I was working at a good job that wasn’t my dream job. And I’m not one who can find contentment without perfection. (That is, after all, why I married perfection herself).

When one find’s one’s self in a miserable situation, it is only natural to look for an out.

Blogging was my out. I assumed that, despite the exponential odds against my favor, my words would propel me to fame and within months the world would know my voice and read my novels.

Months turned into years.

And fame never came.

But that’s not why I quit blogging. I quit because it stressed me out. I spent too much time being concerned over the analytics and SEO and how my message was being received than what it ought to be.

There are successful bloggers who find fame by accident. They just express their thoughts and feelings with no thought of money or fame or recognition. They just can’t remain silent when there are words to write and avenues to publish.

I guess I’m not one of those. Two years ago that realization would have crippled my already fragile psyche. But, the truth is, I have found my release.

I am a professor. I love it. I love the challenge of a research question that taxes my intellect and creative energies. I often long for the weekend to end so I can return to the office and ponder how I might solve a riddle or what a completed journal article might look like. I love standing before students who a priori decided they had an aversion to statistics, yet here they are in my class laughing and mentally engaging in cognitive gymnastics as we consider the central limit theorem or the assumptions of linear models.

Then there came a point where I realized I only blogged because I longed for the life I already had.

What then was the point of blogging?

It has taken me a long time to get to this point. I think I was scarred. I had, for so long, associated blogging with the agony of not being “there.” It was no more than a reminder that my only hope out of hopelessness was standing in an infinitely crowded space, shouting at the top of my longs, and hoping somehow my voice would attract the attention of the interwebbers.

Am I finished as a blogger?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that I don’t have to grope for happiness anymore. I have it. I have a wife I adore, children I can’t wait to see at the end of the day, students I miss seeing over the weekend, and endless research questions to ask and discover.

But I also have many insights I’ve gained over the last year. Perhaps if the wounds of fame-seeking have healed, I can find a way to share them with you.

Am I finished as a novelist?


I have several stories I adore and the thought of no one (but a select few) ever reading of Cole Brooks or Alvin Stone or Cordenqua shreds the sinews of my soul. I cannot WAIT for you to read their tales.

And that wait is nearly over. The first novel I ever attempted is finished and ready to be published. On March 30th, you, fare readers, will have the chance to meet some of my best friends—friends whom I have kept hidden from the world.

Until now.

The book is available for pre-order from Amazon (see the link below).

I’ll see you in Fahrquan and Azkus City,

Let the countdown begin.

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