Why I'm Leaving Wordpress and Bluehost

In 2020-ish I gifted myself a blog and website with the idea of maintaining a regular writing schedule. The idea of building a platform and maybe connecting with fellow scribblers also occurred to me. 

Mid-life what?

Some guys restore sports cars, others buy a boat. I started a blog. Laugh if you want, my ego-indulgence didn’t risk divorce. 

But honestly, if my Missus knew how much I paid to Wix (et al) to kickoff my little endeavor she would’ve dropped me like a bad habit. 

Aside from that, what’s the rub?

Everything I read touted Wix as easy to use, easy to clean. No special skills necessary, just pay a fee and build your website from a collection of templates and bolt-ons. Then pay another fee to register your domain. Then another fee for an SSL. Then another fee…

Honestly, the downside was more than fees—though the fees were painful. 

Blog content can be controversial but blogging platforms shouldn’t be

Wix is highly restrictive. You never own your website. So, you pay annually or “your” website goes down. Did I mention it is expensive? Customer service is next to nonexistent and as a result I could either use my domain for my blog or my website but never both.

Had enough? Ready to migrate your website away? Good luck! The stories of timeouts, corrupted download-data, and “we’ll create an archive that you can access later”—with “later” never actually defined in hours/days/weeks—are legendary. 

Still, within a year, I’d had my fill of never getting the website to “face” the blog—or much of anything else that I dropped too-much money on.

At first, Bluehost seemed like a better fit. With plans starting at $3.99/month, it was more economical. All too soon, however, incidental charges stack up and $3.99 starts to look like a bait-and-switch. 

Ultimately, Bluehost became just as eye-watering expensive as Wix. I ended up dropping well-north of three-bills a year with even less to show for it. 

Then there is WordPress…

What originally started as a community-friendly platform has turned into a Trumpian battle for control and profits. As closely as I understand it, (not at all close, btw) one of the founders is poaching WordPress clients through redirection. Further, he has stopped automatic updates. And while cease-and-desist letters are flying none of it gives creators a sense of wellbeing or security.

Oh, and you’re paying somebody for all this uncertainty. In my case over $80/year—on top of the whole hosting fees, domain fees, hungry-hungry-hippos fees, I can go on…

Readership/WriterWednesday

Of course it also comes down to readership and priorities. As previously stated the original idea was writing and connecting with other writers. My little blog served both purposes in aces. 

I made writer-friends like Michael Cook and Victoria Patton. I averaged a post every two weeks. My writing improved with some of my more juvenile impulses exorcised along the way.

Then, in 2022, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. Everything shifted for me. My little crime stories no longer matter so much. Neither did publication. Or, for that matter, connection. 

The focus of my blog shifted to frightening facts. From diagnosis to the best skin-care for radiation treatment to the post-surgery bra options, I chronicled my wife’s journey through the lowest point of her, of both our lives. 

Mostly, I wrote to process our fear and powerlessness in the face of such a deadly, daunting, disease.

Still, that $300-plus-yearly fee became harder-and-harder to justify. Then Fiona Quinn asked me if I’d be willing to contribute to her blog. 

Fiona writes romance thrillers, really good ones. I’ve read her blog for years. It is as well written as her books, (excellent, BTW). As a result her blog has a considerable audience. 

To my total surprise, Fiona gave me free-reign to write on whatever interested me. Writing tropes, comic books, Netflix—whatever I found interesting. It was a beautiful re-introduction to fiction. 

But wait, there’s more!

Best of all was the platform: Google’s Blogger. That’s where I saw, first-hand, how easy it could all be. Drag/drop, copy, and paste, post—easy-peasy. The platform is incredibly intuitive. Best of all, the price (free) is right for posting something that maybemaybemaybe three-dozen people (fingers crossed) will read.
 

Blogger isn’t perfect. Just ask Dennis Cooper who’s 14-plus-year blog was suddenly and inexplicably deleted. A number of other long-time creators will attest that Blogger isn’t perfect. 

It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just have to be. That’s all I need.

Sure, Blogger is declining. As is the medium as a whole. There are newer, hipper options.

The thing is, my stuff is hardly serious enough, (or consistent enough) for Substack or Beehive. My musings are meant to be conversant, not dissertations. 

Further, monetizing my take on tropes in crime fiction has never been my goal—or even feasible. I simply want a space to post without feeling like I’m being financially irresponsible. 

You know, like a neighborhood bar…where everybody knows your name. And there’s no door charge.

If you’re interested, you can find my take on our life with and after breast cancer at BoldlyBeyondBreastCancer. Likewise, if you’re curious about my views on crime fiction (and most other forms of fiction as well) you can find me at ThrillWriting.

I hope to see you at either/or/both.

The photo at the top belongs to the author.

Train Your Writer Mind Like an Algorithm

 

Fiona kindly allows me to share my musings (aimless ramblings?) on writing here. She’s a great scribble sibling and a true friend. And this outlet is one reason I still write at all.

See, on my blog, I record my wife Gaye’s breast cancer journey. In my day-life, I’m a jumped up accountant who doggy paddles against a 20-foot swell of imposter syndrome. Hour-to-hour, I often feel like I’m drowning or failing or simply failing to drown.

 

Yeah, I’m a “hoot” at parties.

 

Thing is, I didn’t realize until a couple of years ago that what I struggle with (mostly) is anxiety. There’s also a pronounced lack of coping skills. Oh, and a splash of immaturity.

NOTE: First/foremost none of this is intended as medical advice. After too many years of struggle I went to my doctor and got some help. I simply cannot recommend talking with your family physician highly enough.

I struggled before this diagnosis. Among other things, my anxiety often manifested in a short temper exacerbated by the previously mentioned dearth of coping skills and immaturity. Through counseling, I was introduced to Dr. David Burns’ The Feeling Good Handbook.

A comprehensive guide to adulting

Initially, I thought TFGH was kinda hokey. Who talks like that? How do I relate to this? But I take homework seriously and continued my reading. Then the messages began to seep through the granite-like substance that is my skull. 

The cornerstone of Cognitive Behavior Therapy, TFGH helps the reader through rational examination and thoughtful response exercise to build healthy strategies. Most importantly, Dr. Burns successfully proves-up the theory that your thoughts dictate your emotions and all-too often, behaviors. 

Yeah, yeah, the idea’s been around for well over 1800 years. I’m a little slow on the uptake. 

However, once I got it, (most of what we feel is due to what’s going on in the noggin’ NOT what’s going on outside the noggin’) my perspective shifted. Did life turn to gold, success, and ponies overnight? I’ll let you sus that one out. The point is, things did get better.

The most important “better” was my relationship with my wife. For the first time in years, I saw her as an ally and not an adversary. There isn’t an ounce of hyperbole when I say the book saved my marriage.

But then I saw life as beautiful experience instead of a dogged, never-ending challenge or torment. Work improved. I went back to school. Work REALLY improved.

As always, this broaches the eternal question, “The hell this has to do with writing?”

Honestly, more than you’d think. What didn't initially improve was my writing. I haven’t done a lot of fiction writing since Gaye’ diagnosis. Playing “cops and robbers and more robbers,” seems silly when your beloved faces cancer. 

Then there’s the day-to-day recovery—at the expense of actually living. 

It’s really easy to get invested in laundry, cleaning, and Walmart runs. “Oh, up early? That book can wait ‘cause there’s never gonna be a better time to get at that litterbox…” Then there’s that whole work-for-pay scam. 

They laugh at my gainful employment

“Objects at rest remain at rest…” Newton’s 1st Law

A writer must write. Failure to write carries some scary consequences. The least of which is the atrophy of imagination. That immediately leads to facing life, full-on with no buffer. I personally cannot do that. 

Zeno of Cyprus, also a "hoot" at parties.

Just as we must manage our thoughts and emotions, (or they will certainly manage us) we must manage our creativity. Especially when you haven't written in a while or you're empty-headed or even though you want/need to, just don’t wanna.

So, how-to?

Pinterest—bear with me—is a good guide. You look at/like/pin photos of cars and Pinterest shows you more cars. Same-same for cats, food, or comic book covers. 

The (evil) algorithm, be that anxiety, depression, etc., also notes what you seek and gives you more of it. Negative programming? No thoughts of kitties and Viennese chocolate cake for you. You get intrusive thoughts about your report deadlines, every stupid thing you ever said, and the last 16 arguments with your SO.  

Again, how do you change what it shows you?

For me it was nearly impossible to leap right back into cold-start creation. Instead, I started reading other peoples' work. Bardugo's Grishaverse, a Marvel Comics omnibus, J.L. Campbell's "Murder She Wrote." And there were sparks in the imagination box.

But not enough to charge into the oppressive blank page/screen. Instead, I opened the final (for now) draft of my manuscript (MS). The MS that was perfect something-something years ago. The MS that is ready for line-editing. THE MS that requires no further tinkering with tone or pace.

Funny thing, once I opened that file, I found some tonal and pacing anomalies. 

After a couple of weeks of yet-further revisions, I began to think of a short story that I plan to expand to novella. That was not as deliberate as it may read. It was cognitive redirection. 

Listening to (White Man) in Hammersmith Palais, by The Clash—and I immediately know where my protag should be from, geographically as well as culturally. An article on the vocational/trade training renaissance and voilà, my protag has some skills that mos def will impact the plot/goals/stakes. A gag in a sitcom? Well, you get the idea.

Positive-in, positive-out. Focus on what nurtures your spirit and fuels your dreams and you’ll see the stuff of dreams more often than a blank page, (screen, you know, whatevs).

NOTE: all the "Power of Positive Thinking," in the world will not treat your depression, anxiety, or PTSD.

Remember the “this is not medical advice” disclaimer above? Yeah, this is a guide for writers trying to resume their scribble game or find a new grove. This is not medical/mental health  advice of any kind.

Again, I needed help and I sought it out. If you’re struggling, reach out to your primary doctor. If you’re not there yet, maybe explore your employer’s EAP program. Failing all of that, NAMI helps connect people to resources. You can find out more here.

Key takeaways:

• Focus on the negative, all you’ll see is negative

• Focus on the positive and you'll see positive

• Take small steps and build on the results

• Nothing happens without work

• No “tip” is a replacement for professional help

Get well, stay well, keep creating.

I own none of the photos above. All are used for illustrative/educational purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms and the Greatest Warrior Fallacy

A Knight of the Seven Kingdom, (AKSK) is HBO’s latest follow up on the blockbuster series Game of Thrones and House of Dragon. Chronologically, AKSK takes place in the 100-ish years between HoD and GoT. All three fantasy shows are based on books by author George R.R. Martin.

While the latter two are epic in scope, cast, and plot, AKSK is close and achingly personal.

Now, for all the hype, watching both GoT and HoD often felt like a job. Just as often, it was a painful job. Thankfully, AKSK is completely different.

*Spoiler Alert* You know the drill. Continue reading at your own risk.

The story of Dunk, (Peter Claffey) a squire-turned-knight, looking to secure his place in a scary world and Egg, (Dexter Sol Ansell) a runaway prince who desperately wants to squire for a real knight...and possibly have someone killed.

Mostly, AKSK is television's best buddy-series in at least a decade. 

Egg trying to sort things out.

When Egg, (his Momma named him 'Aegon') asks Dunk if he is real knight, he's not asking for references or work history. See, Egg has two brothers with the title of "knight" but between them there isn’t one real knight. Or, for that matter, not much of a decent human being. To Egg, a “real” knight is not a complete psychotic or a degenerate alcoholic.

As we follow them to the tournament where Dunk hopes to make his bones as a knight, we see just how low the bar for being a knight—real or otherwise—can be.

Here’s the rub, Dunk (Ser Duncan) is a knight of questionable provenance. As in there are no witnesses to Dunk’s knighting. No one remembers his former lord. Oh, and he’s a bit, um, threadbare even by lordless-knight standards.

'bama: [noun] unsophisticated...of modest education/background.

Through a comedy of virtues, Dunk ends up on the wrong side of the ruling family. Namely, Prince Aerion Targaryen, (Finn Bennett) a grandson of the king. Aerion wants blood for Dunk’s offenses. Some people, you kick them in the mouth and they take it all wrong.

Prince Aerion: nowhere near as nice as he seems.

But as mighty and formidable as Aerion is, Dunk makes two of him. And this is perhaps George R.R. Martin’s greatest gift. He’s been around enough to know that the toughest tough guy seldom wants to mix it up with anyone big enough to pull a wagon and eat hay.

Most writers (new and otherwise) don’t get that memo. Really, they are moved by romantic legends. Leonidas and his Spartans (each warrior worth a thousand), Richard the Lionheart–who led from the front against superior forces, the unstoppable Genghis Khan—legends, aka, great PR. Mostly written by men with agendas.

I get it. Most writers want the romance of a legendary, indomitable warrior. So, in fiction we get Thor, Conan, and Aragorn, et al. They’re all fine characters but the trope isn’t. It’s dishonest and worse, it’s boring.

So, who does it right?

For context, this is a graduation ceremony.

Frank Herbert’s Sardaukar are the fiercest fighters in the known universe. They instill terror in anyone facing them—although mostly, they attack from ambush, have superior training, and top-of-the-line equipment. Then they meet the Fremen who bring the fight to them with psycho-tropic-fueled-religious frenzy. 

Fought this duel after a sword-tip was removed from his arm.

In Richard Lester’s 1973 version of The Three Musketeers, Athos, (Oliver Reed) is the best swordsman of the group. But swords are swords and a watermill doesn’t care about reputation. Athos’ cloak gets snagged on a watermill and he takes a blade to the throat for his trouble. 

Bonus points for D’Artagnan, who kills another "deadliest swordsman," Rochefort—with a broken sword. 

FIERCE

In the Netflix Original, Last Samurai Standing, (based on the manga by Shogo Imamura) Saga Kokushu, (Junichi Okada) is a renowned swordsman and samurai, (military leader in feudal Japan). His nom de guerre is “Kokushu, the man slayer.” Unfortunately, in19th century Japan the samurai class is fast approaching extinction. 

In flashback, we (and Kokushu) watch as artillery and a rifle company cut his army to pieces. As a result, he suffers from PTSD. The mere sound of a sword drawn immobilizes Kokushu as he descends into uncontrollable shakes, complete with uncontrolled flashbacks of carnage.

What’s the problem you ask? Just don’t fight. Well, as previously stated the times, they are a changing. The samurai in service to daimyo (lords, high and low) have all been dismissed. The landed samurai, (like Kokushu) struggle to make ends meet. Oh, and a cholera epidemic is sweeping the Japan. Kokushu’s own child has died and his village is suffering. 

The only option is an organized series of duels with a grand prize of BIG money. Really, more like brawls conducted under shadowy circumstances no one can really trust. Still, desperate samurai of all stations—even Kokushu—gather to slaughter each other for the promise of a life-saving fortune. 

Except Kokushu still cannot draw his sword, even to defend himself. Yeah, the “compelling,” like the conflict is baked in. Throw in a kid who looks/acts a lot like Kokushu’s late child and you have money in the bank. Which is why the series has already been renewed for a 2nd season by the notoriously fickle Netflix, (seriously, they are the deadliest swordsmen). 

"What does this have to do with that big 'bama and bald kid?"

So, yeah, Dunk and Eg. Dunk is barely qualified for the tournament he has begged/borrowed/stolen his way into. Assaulting the king’s grandson was NOT part of the plan. On top of all that the little twit knows the law.

Aerion has been trained his whole life for single combat. He is the preeminent swordsman of his age. Dunk had to pawn his horse to buy armor. I’m not joking. 

Not as stupid as he looks.

But Aerion knows one thing for sure he does NOT want to fight that big ‘bama all by his onesies. He invokes a Challenge of Seven. Really the full explanation isn’t worth the typing. Basically, Dunk has to come up with six other schlubs to fight with him or he forfeits his right arm and leg. 

Who wouldn't trust this guy? Um, just watch his hands.

Long-story-short, Dunk’s drinking buddy and maybe-friend, Lyonel gets a gang of reprobates together. Still, he’s still one man short. Then, as if delivered from the heavens, Prince Baelor Breakspear (Bertie Carvel) heir to the throne, Aerion’s uncle, and the best swordsman in the Seven (nine, whatevs) Kingdoms pledges to fight alongside Dunk.

 

Yay! Right? 

"Is that my blood? What the actual—?!" 

Obvs, nothing goes the way you expect. Otherwise, what story? Dunk does clean Aerion’s clock and makes him withdraw his challenge/charge/whatevs. Dunk keeps life and limb. Baelor doesn’t... fare as well. 

Which is the ultimate lesson. 

The ultimate swordsman's greatest adversary isn’t some other swordsman. It’s the time of day, the footing of the battlefield, the guy who showed up with an ax/spear/club instead of a sword. The man determined to take what fate/birth order denied him.

Or, the guy who’s no swordsman, scared to his very marrow, but harnesses his unbridled terror into the fight because he has something to fight for. 

Who wouldn't risk a right arm and leg for her?

Big hearted, narrow in focus, and earnest as first love, AKSK is an absolute joy to watch. I highly recommend it. Last Samurai Standing is grittier, meaner, and absolutely as captivating as AKSK. Do yourself a favor and check them both out. 

I own none of the images above. All are used for illustrative/educational purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.