Picking Bubba’s “Brain”

  • Wet Virtual Ink

    Wet Virtual Ink

    There’s nothing like the virtual ink scent of a completed first draft. Sure, some would argue that words on a screen do not actually use ink. Others would argue that the scent is all in one’s imagination. Still others would argue that the first draft existed in the author’s mind before it landed on the…

  • Artificial Shame

    Artificial Shame

    There’s been a lot of news and speculation about AI rippling across the Internet. While I am not a mad scientist bent on global domination (aka AI developer), I have spotted a potential weakness that humanity might be able to exploit. No, don’t worry. They’re not listening. No self-respecting Humanity Eradicating Artificial Intelligent Entity would…

  • Lord of the Bubbas

    Lord of the Bubbas

    This week, I became royalty. My coronation was held in an office where my dentist presented me with a permanent crown. As ceremonies go, this one left a little to be desired. There was a lot less pomp and circumstance than you would expect. I think a cardinal might have attended, but those could have…

  • Small Goals

    Small Goals

    Lofty goals are the ones you never intend to reach. You know it so well, you won’t even have to try. It’s just not going to happen. “I’m going to be the best poet/musician/dancer/sidewalk chalk artist ever.” “I’ll lose 300 pounds in the next 20 days.” “I’ll drive to work without losing my temper even…

  • The Inner Critics

    The Inner Critics

    Most artists have at least one inner critic whose voice is inescapable and whose opinions possess the ring of truth. Some will have a handful of critics. Some of us have to construct large imaginary arenas to hold them all. The inner critic provides a valuable service. New artists, especially those from well-meaning families, will…

  • Hijacked

    Hijacked

    There I was, enjoying breakfast and preparing for an eagerly anticipated writing session on my current novel when it happened. The heavy trapdoor in my mind creaked open and my subconscious crept out of his lair. He tossed an idea onto the table and slunk back down into the depths where he belongs. I’m not…

A Plethora of Bubba