Dear Dennis, it's been a long time since you've released an episode of this podcast. I mean, f**k. What's it been? Like, seven months? F**k. That's f*****g ridiculous. What's the deal? Are you just lazy and useless?

—Orshtra in Choqueville, West Carolina

Yes, actually. But that's not the whole story. I mean, like that's a lot of it, but there are contributing factors. For one thing, I want to point out that the original three episodes, I kind of viewed them as, proofs of concept. Like, I wanted to see what kind of a podcast I could make with this format. And play with the equipment, play with the lighting, the microphone, just begin to figure out the process. And I achieved that. And I'm still continuing the learning process. We're just going to keep putting them out until I feel like I've got a good system going. And when I do that, they'll probably come out a lot faster and they'll probably come out on a steady schedule.

So, that's one thing I just want to point out. I don't really feel like I ever abandoned the project. I never intended to put it down forever. And, if you notice, I didn't make a big push behind the first couple episodes. Since the last one was released in November, I did record another episode, but I didn't like it. It kind of took the podcast in a different direction than I was happy with. So, I did some course correction in my head. And I also got started on a bunch of other projects. But I'm wondering how much I want to get into any of those projects on this podcast. I'm kind of hovering between the feeling like—is this just self-indulgence if I talk about the things that I'm doing before they're ready to be released? Is that self-indulgence? Or is that allowing people into the creative process? I don't know. So, this will maybe take some push and pull. Maybe I'll overshare, and then I'll maybe feel like I've got to pull back. Or vice versa. I don't know. But there's a part of me that thinks that I could use this podcast as a sort of creative diary. That could possibly be interesting and useful to other people.

For one thing, I don't feel comfortable releasing projects that aren't finished and clean. Which is why people almost never see anything from me. Because I'm almost never happy with the stuff that I'm doing. But I'm always making stuff. I'm always in the process of writing one or two or seven things. Or working on a music project. Or doing a little film or something. I'm always doing something that is almost certainly not going to make me any money. But I hardly ever get to a point where I feel like I can share it with anybody. Because I feel like have one chance with your attention. If I'm writing a story that's sort of a strange idea, and I release a half-assed version of it, and you look at it, and you're like, "Oh, well, that's a bad idea," And then you won't look at it again, later on when I've fixed it. I appreciate anybody's attention. Anybody who wants to give me their attention and take a look at a thing that I made—I don't want to waste that. I don't want to disrespect your time. There are so many things out there to be paying attention to. If you're paying attention to my thing, out of all the other things, I think you deserve to have the best version of it. That's always been kind of my feeling. That's why I just don't really put that much out.

While I have not been working specifically on this podcast in particular, I have been doing a lot of work in podcasting, the field. I'm a co-producer of a podcast called The Novelizers, and I'm working on that all the time. But it's not my vision. I'm a member of a team and that takes up a lot of time. It's been a really fun experience, and it's been wonderfully educational. It's helping me get to where I am now, where I feel like I can maybe put out my own podcast. I mean, this is a very basic level podcast. This is just me talking at a camera. And it's not scripted. It's barely planned out. By intention. I want this to kind of have a kind of a raggedy feel. This isn't intended to be a polished anything. It's definitely an aspect of me, put it that way.

And I have this other podcast I've been working on for several months now, just in the planning and writing phases. See, this is something I'm actually writing. This is something closer to... Well, I mean, podcasts are everything nowadays. Anything can be a podcast. And that's kind of what I've been rolling over in my head. The possibilities. The things that we can do. Me can do, but also you can do. What we can do with this form that hasn't been done yet. Not for the sake of just doing something new, but to push boundaries and try to imagine avenues that are specific for our own purposes. The podcast is called This Haunted World. And it is kind of a spinoff from Thought Magnet. This podcast is through my Thought Magnet Substack. I have a spinoff Substack, which I haven't advertised to anybody called This Haunted World. I'm hoping to do this new podcast through that Substack. It will be focused on my interest in horror as a genre—movies, books, music, any aspect of horror that I think is worth talking about. That's worth examining. It will be about that.

And for my initial project for that podcast—I'm working on a series of episodes that will chart the cultural history of horror, from its inception in antiquity, and then follow it as it evolved. As fear shaped society through the years. I'm mostly interested in horror as a genre. So, very early on, we'll focus on Mary Shelley and the writing of Frankenstein, which I see as the beginning of the horror genre (horror and science fiction genre, really). Before that, it was mostly tied up with gothic romance or mythology. Fear and horror has always been an aspect of life, like a shade or like a color that you could use in the creation process. But it wasn't until Frankenstein, the novel, I believe, that people started to view horror as its own thing. As something you could just focus on. The podcast is going to follow the creation of Frankenstein and then Dracula. The first season is going to be pre-Hollywood, pre-film. Everything leading up to that. And then, in the next season, I'm planning to go into how movie cameras changed everything. How they acted as a prism that created characters that we that we still think of today as a sort of a pantheon of monsters—Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Wolfman, The Invisible Man, The Creature from the Black Lagoon. There are other ones who we think of as pantheonic, I guess, like The Bride of Frankenstein, Quasimodo (Igor), and The Phantom of the Opera. But I don't know that any of those were as influential. I'm focusing more on the ones that we keep going back to again and again and telling these same stories over and over and over again. Because I think it says something about the world that they moved through. I think that they helped shape the world. And I think they were shaped by the world. Paying attention to how they moved through different aspects of society, where they seeped into, and what that did to us. What they did to me.

The first episode, the one I'm working on at the moment, is, an introduction, and it's mostly going to be about my introduction to horror as a genre as a very small child. And the effect it had on me. The effect it had on my life.

So that's a project that I'm working on. That podcast is This Haunted World, but the series within it is called On the Origin of Monsters. Which is maybe too complicated. But I'd like to do other things with This Haunted World, besides that that narrow objective. So I'm hoping to get my cake and eat it, too, is what i'm saying.

Anyway, that sort of spun off from a different project, which I've been talking about on my Thought Magnet Substack, The Life of Memes. Because here's, here's the thing—I'm also getting ready to release my first novel, which I wrote pre-COVID. I've edited it, and I've been polishing it for publication. It's called The Creeping Horror of Kirkwood High. I kind of describe it as "Heathers by way of Lovecraft."

I'm publishing that book, but I'm also trying to sell a different book (The Life of Memes, mentioned before) that's not horror at all. It's about my obsession with memes. Not internet memes. But like Richard Dawkins kind of memes replicators of culture. About ideas and the ways that they are viral. I've been working on this book for many years, and I've been trying to sell it to no avail yet. I had these two different things that are both very important to me, but don't seem to connect. They didn't seem like they came out of the same person's head to anyone on the outside. I write horror stories, and I write horror novels, and that's... I pretty much only watch horror movies nowadays. I mean, it's like a big, important part of my life. But then also, I am really interested in information, the way that it spreads, the way that ideas bubble up and change and evolve into different things. And they don't seem like they're the same thing. My wife commented on that. I think I said something like, "Well, maybe if I sell this book, The Creeping Horror, that'll help me sell The Life of Memes." And she looked at me and said, "Why would that happen?" And I didn't have an answer to that, because good question, right? They're not at all the same thing. So I don't know. I took a step back and thought, "Well, what's in the crossroads? What's the middle ground between monsters and memes?" And I just eventually settled on this idea. Which I was originally planning as another unsellable book, but then slowly that gave way to the idea that "What if instead of working on another book to not sell, you made another podcast? At least that just goes into the world, right? You know people will have access to it. Whether they see it or not, at least it'll be out there."

Because I have too many things that are in the background, waiting to be released. I need more things that let people know I'm here. That I exist as a writer. There's also there's a certain logic to it as a podcast. Pretty much the only successful thing I've got going on at the moment is my association with The Novelizers podcast. So, maybe that's a good direction to keep going. Maybe I should be focusing more on podcasting. Maybe that's a small hole in the wall that I can make bigger with some effort. Honestly, I'm not that concerned that I'll never have a breakthrough back into professional work. I think something's going to come about eventually. I have a lot of irons in a lot of fires. The question, though, is always "Well, which one is it? Where am I going to put my energy?" And maybe right now the place to put my energy is into podcasting. Which is why I'm working on On the Origin of Monsters. And I suppose why I'm making this episode. I'm hopeful that I can use this podcast, How to Have Written, as a sort of a a creative diary. Someplace I can share my experiences, now. In addition to my experiences in the past. And if not help other creative people outright, at least have a conversation. Be part of the creative community that commiserates on our attempts. That sounds reasonable enough, right?

Anyway, did that answer your question, Orshtra? "What's the deal? Am I just lazy and useless?" Yes, but no. Asterisk. Now the question, "Am I going to keep on with this? Is this episode signaling the beginning of a bunch of new episodes?" Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know. We'll find out. I don't know. I've stopped trying to pretend that I'm going to become a different person. Someone who puts out stuff on regular schedules with ease. Now, if I ever get to a point where I'm making money from these podcasts, rest assured I'll be putting them out with some pretty serious regularity. But so long as I'm doing it for the sake of making something, as opposed to the sake of putting food on the table, I'm not gonna make it an extra stressor in my life.

So, I guess that's the answer to your question, Orshtra. Maybe.

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In an earlier episode, you advised aspiring writers to just start writing because, as you said, anything is better than nothing. But when I do that, what comes out isn't just bad—it's wrong. It confuses my original idea in such a way that it discourages me from continuing. Why would you give us such shitty advice?

—Hesiod in Rampart, New Jersey

Oh man, that's a good question. And one that’s really close to my heart, because I’ve dealt with that problem so many times. It’s traditionally been one of the biggest things standing between me and being productive.

There’s this general advice out there that writers often give, and while it might seem useful—and probably is useful to some people—it’s not for me. Or at least, it hasn’t been. The advice is: just write. On the surface, it seems logical. If you want to write a story, you have to write it. And I even kind of echoed that sentiment in a recent episode. But I don’t mean it in the sense that you have to just start writing prose right away.

You don’t need to begin at the first chapter. You don’t need to begin with the first sentence—or with sentences or chapters at all. Not really. If you don’t feel like you know the story well enough to sit down and start describing scenes, actions, or dialogue, you don’t have to force it. There are plenty of other ways to make progress.

So that advice—just write—I’ve rewritten it for myself as don’t just write. Very clever. Very creative, I know. But there are two ways to interpret it. The first is a rejection of the conventional wisdom. Don’t just write if that approach doesn’t work for you. If sitting down to start typing feels useless or unproductive, then don’t do it.

Now, to be clear, eventually, you do have to write. You’ll need to put words on the page, shape them into sentences, turn those into paragraphs, and so on until you have something people can read. But that doesn’t have to happen right now. And for some people—myself included—it isn’t even the best way to begin.

I know there are writers who can sit down and discover their story through narrative description or dialogue. I’ve heard George R.R. Martin calls this “gardening”—just writing and finding the story as you go. If that works for you, that’s fantastic. By all means, do it! But it doesn’t work for me. In fact, it’s often had a negative effect on my writing.

For years, I’d hear that advice—just write—and take it at face value. I’d sit down and start typing, even though I had no clear sense of what I was writing or where I was going. For example, let’s say I want to write a story about a guy who gets bitten by a zombie at work and then goes on a rampage through his office. Where do you begin?

You could start with him at his desk. You could start with him waking up in the morning. You could start with a prologue about how the zombie plague began. But if I don’t know who this guy is, what his office is like, who his coworkers are—then I’m just throwing darts blindfolded and hoping I hit something. Sure, some writers can do that and discover great things through contemplative drafts. But for me, it often feels like spinning my wheels.

This is where don’t just write comes in. If sitting down to write prose doesn’t work for you, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer. It doesn’t mean you’re not a writer at all. It just means there are other ways to engage with your story.

The other way to read it is don’t JUST write. Do more. It’s not just about avoiding writing for writing’s sake. It’s about doing other creative work that moves the story forward. There are so many parts of the writing process you can tackle, even if you’re not ready to put sentences on the page.

For instance, with my zombie-in-the-office idea, I don’t just have a concept. I have themes. The idea of chaos overturning the order of a mundane office intrigues me. From there, I can brainstorm. I can think about typical office life and imagine how it changes when a zombie shows up. I can come up with characters—like people I’d love to see eaten by a zombie—and scenarios pulled from my own office experiences.

Once I start collecting these ideas, I’m off to the races. I usually start with a placeholder title—something simple like Office Zombie—and then jot down thoughts. This feels productive. I might not be drafting, but I’m gathering the pieces I’ll need later.

Sometimes, I sit with my notebook while my wife and I relax in her office, and I scribble ideas as they come to me. It’s satisfying to see a story take shape this way. It’s like gathering Lego bricks for a larger build. Maybe I note down a scene where someone gets hit with a fax machine or pulled out from under a bathroom stall. Over time, I collect enough of these bricks to see the shape of the story.

Eventually, I’ll know the story well enough to figure out where it begins. Maybe I decide it starts with the boss arriving at the office for reasons tied to the plot. At that point, I can start writing actual prose. Or maybe I’ll just make detailed notes about that opening scene and keep adding to my document.

This process—brainstorming, gathering ideas, and organizing them—is writing. You’re creating the story. You’re doing the work, even if it doesn’t look like traditional drafting.

And here’s the beautiful part: You don’t have to focus on just one story. If I have multiple ideas—like a zombie story and one about a guy who builds race cars—I can work on both simultaneously. I keep separate documents or pages in a notebook, adding bits and pieces as they come to me. It’s like a fun creative hobby, and it keeps me engaged.

Over time, as my notes grow, I reach a point where I’m ready to start drafting. The process feels organic because I’ve done the groundwork. I know my story. I know where it’s going. And when I sit down to write, it feels natural.

So, what I’m saying is: Don’t just write. If drafting isn’t working for you, don’t force it. But also, don’t just write. Do all the other creative work that builds your story. Sentence structure is one of the least important parts of storytelling. The narrative, the heart of the story, is what really matters—and you can start working on that right now, even without a clear sense of direction.

Now that we're living in the end times, I'm wondering what's the point in finishing my novel? Why should I spend all this time and mental energy creating something that probably won't be read by anyone? Shouldn't I just give up?—Auhwktor in Windowville, Maine

That is a timely question. And I think it's a valid question. But I completely disagree with the conclusion that you sort of make. I would argue that it's more important now than ever to be writing or working on whatever you want to work on. Putting your energy into something creative, whether or not it's ever going to be read or listened to or watched by anybody in the future, really isn't the point. Or at least it shouldn't be the point. 

It's understandable that we want to get something out there into the world, and we want people to like it. But that is banking your happiness on other people's nervous systems. You know what I mean? You're thinking that you're going to get your contentment from your work by the pleasure that somebody else gets listening to it. You probably won't be there when they read it or listen to it or watch it anyway. So, you're not going to get anything from that ultimately anyway. 

What you want to do is find the pleasure in the work right here when you're doing it right now. Because this is the only way that you're going to. I mean, if not, then where?  If you're not getting your pleasure from here, then what are you going to get it from? Because you're not going to get it from them. And you're not going to get it from the money. If you make money. (I don't know if the economy will exist in the apocalypse. I'm sure there'll be some kind of an economy.) 

The work is its own reward. The work is its own reward. Because it has to be its own reward. The point is that you have to find what's fun about the process right now. Because if you're not doing that, then why are you even doing this in the first place? You know what I mean? 

We have these activities that we do like projects, hobbies, things that we do that may or may not ever make us any money. And we theoretically do them because we love the work. Or we're interested in it. But then when it comes time to do the work, a lot of times we get all tense (Again, I'm talking to me. And, Auhwktor, I'm also talking to you.) We get all tense and we don't enjoy the process. So then why the f**k are we doing it anyway? If that's the case, if we're not going to have any fun with it, why am I wasting my time with this? Which is a good question! 

Why are you doing it? If you're doing it so that people can read it, then you might as well stop anyway, because you're never going to get that pleasure. You're never going to get the pleasure from that. If you're doing it because you love doing it... Because you like walking around with a story in your head that you're putting together. You like waiting in line at the supermarket with a thing to think about. And you like having time alone with your notebook where you just close out the rest of the world and focus on this one thing that is just for you. That's the joy of writing. Or creating anything, in my opinion. 

So what I would say is to answer your question, shouldn't you just quit? No, absolutely not. You should continue with your novel. As a matter of fact, you should get more into it. You should try to find ways to connect with it better. Try to figure out ways that you will have a better, easier time enjoying it. Enjoying the work. You should allow yourself to get more engrossed in it. Now, more than ever. There's so much bad s**t out there, so it's the perfect time. If you already have a novel going, you're already ahead of the curve, because you have a thing to get into. You don't even have to go find one. You have a thing you can retreat into. Someplace to find sanctuary, find comfort. Because the world is hard out there, but you have a thing that's yours. And you can hold on to it no matter how bad things get. And here's the interesting thing: most likely, the more you retreat into it, and the more you make it about you, the better it will connect with other people. Because you can't ever predict what they want. Not really. All you can do is make something that is satisfying to you and hope that you find the readers who will make those similar connections. Or will make their own connections with the work. By making it more personal to you, you'll stand a better chance of bringing pleasure to the other people living in your cave when you read it out to them by the firelight. 

So, anyway, I think that answers the question. Auhwktor, I hope that you get back into the novel. Or stick with the novel. And anybody else out there. You might also want to consider getting back to your novel or your album, your song, getting back into your instrument. Because this is the perfect time. You can take an eye away from the sideshow and bring it back to what's important to you.