The Journey

One thing I’m always fascinated with is how we get from Point A to Point B in life.

If you think about it, when you were a little kid, did you imagine that your life would look exactly as it does now?

I certainly didn’t. My life looks nothing like 8-year-old Chase Connor thought it would. Probably because 8-year-old Chase was a stupid asshole?

Where we started and where we end up are often the complete antithesis of each other. That can be good, bad, or make no difference at all, but it is surprising when you think about it for a minute.

However, when you really delve into how things were versus how they are, you begin to realize something even more important.

It wasn’t the starting point. It wasn’t the destination.

It was the journey.

I had a fairly happy early childhood. My adult life and marriage are…the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life.

But they aren’t all that interesting. I don’t know about the rest of you, but my adult life is fairly banal. I get up, make breakfast and coffee for my husband and myself, we eat, we talk and laugh, we get ready for our days, and we both start work.

We have lunch.

We finish work and make dinner.

We watch T.V. or read a book. We talk about the future. We play with our dog. We cuddle. Give each other kisses. Tease each other mercilessly. Sometimes we dance in the kitchen to Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers or Stardust by Nat King Cole.

We tell silly jokes. We go grocery shopping. We have sex. We just enjoy having our person.

It’s amazing. But interesting? Not really.

What we went through that led to us slow dancing in the kitchen on a random Tuesday night is what is interesting.

The struggles. The fights. The lovemaking. The anger. The forgiveness. The compromise. Learning to communicate. The travels. The big decisions. The health. The illness. The timing of our individual existences that caused both to collide.

That’s the interesting stuff.

It’s one of the reasons that a lot of stories end with “And they lived happily ever after.” or it is assumed when the last word is read. Because what comes after finding the purpose of one’s existence and leaning into it is pretty boring.

Dishes. Housework. Random fights over who drank the last of the milk and didn’t put it on the shopping list. Waking up to dog poop in the hallway even though your pupper is trained. Annoyance that you haven’t had a meal you love in forever because your partner hates it.

It’s all booooooooring. Amazing. But boring.

Boring is great. I’ve never been afraid of a small life. In fact, I think that’s what 8-year-old Chase Connor secretly dreamed of when he thought of his future. He just felt it was maybe not acceptable to wish for…happiness.

We’re all expected to have big dreams and ideas for the future.

Walk on the moon! Discover a new animal species! Heal the sick! Be a millionaire!

My cup runneth over with happiness. That’s always been enough for me. More than enough. It is my dream fulfilled.

But it’s boring. I get that.

So…that’s why the middle of stories is the best for me. What happens between pages 50 and 300, to put too fine a point on it.

Beginnings are often exciting. Endings are often sad. But the journey between the two is what makes things interesting.

As a writer, I guess that’s what I try to deliver. A journey. To take the reader on an adventure through a period of a character’s life. Show them how a character started, and end with how they’ve changed–all while showing how and why that change occurred.

Change is fascinating.

It’s also what I look for as a reader. I want to go on an adventure. I want to get invested in a character so that I care about their change.

I want the journey.

Because…in the end…if we’re lucky…we simply end up happy. And that’s blissfully boring.

Tremendous Love & Thanks,

Chase

So, I Did This Thing

I’m a writer. Did you know that?

I write stories that turn into books. Well, sometimes I write stories that end up as just stories. I give those away or they end up in anthologies from time to time.

Regardless, whenever I write stories–no matter where they end up–I write them the way I see them in my head. What The Muse™ tells me to put down on paper (er, screen?).

I have no other motive than to tell the story the way I feel it should be told. Hopefully, it will make some money for me, but I have no control over that part, so I focus on the telling of the story aspect of writing.

Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, book after book, that has been my modus operandi.

Have a story; tell a story. Release it to the wild.

Other than the hope that a piece of work will make money for me, I have no expectations of what readers will or won’t think. I hope they have a lot of fun reading what I wrote. I love entertaining readers more than anything. However, I know that everything–other than the writing of the story–is out of my hands.

Once that is done, I can’t expect anything specific from my stories. I can’t expect anything from the readers.

I send them out and hope for the best and move on to the next thing.

It has always been that way for me. Until recently…

When I started writing POSSIBLY TEXAS in November of 2020 (during NaNoWriMo), I was so excited. It’s a story about a quirky little town with quirky citizens and it’s a lot of fun. It’s charming. Cute. I felt like readers would enjoy visiting this weird little town and all of its weird little citizens that live in my head.

Over the next year, I realized that I was writing something that was a metaphor. Even I didn’t know what my brain had in mind when I started writing the story. POSSIBLY TEXAS wasn’t just a story about a quirky town and the Possbilians who live there.

With each new page I wrote and polished, I realized that the book was full of my own personal philosophies. My hopes. My dreams. What I hoped for others. The way I see the world. What life means to me.

I found myself hoping–for the first time ever–that readers would feel…something more…while reading one of my books.

I hope POSSIBLY TEXAS entertains. It has a lot of fun characters and locales. I hope readers are charmed and delighted but what they find on the pages.

But I hope it leads readers to also, well, hope. My wish is that it inspires kindness and mindfulness. That it makes readers pause and think of the world outside of themselves.

I hope it inspires everyone to want to be a Possibilian.

Tremendous Love & Thanks,

Chase