Don’t Forget to Daydream
Ain’t no cure like a summertime muse
Hello darlin’. Nice to see you. It’s been a long time.
It’s been a month since my last newsletter and my social media activity has dropped in recent times. While I continue to work on the writing, and have many projects for my readers to look forward to, sometimes it’s good even for a workhorse like me to take a vacation. I don’t even mean a physical vacation that has some grand destination, but a vacation from the business side of my writing career. Sometimes I put conventions, publishing, book signings, and the social media crap storm aside so I can revel in the isolation and quietude of my country way of life, the sort of living that fuels my creativity.
A lot of writers push for a daily word count. That’s fine if that works for them, but it’s not about quantity for me. I don’t try to control the fire like that. Sometimes you must feed the fire, and you can’t do that by trying to force magic. You do it by living, by experiencing new things and new people, by doing things you’re afraid of, and most of all, by spending copious amounts of uninterrupted time in your own head—and by that, I mean your heart and soul. Call it meditation, reflection, prayer, or introspection. Call it whatever you want. Just do it.
Sometimes the best thing a writer can do is skip the daily word count, go down to the riverside, and just watch the water move. Staring into space, especially outdoors, is the greatest writer fuel—better than any drug or Starbucks beverage, a muse outdone only by the touch of a beautiful woman. In this age of constant connectivity, with the flashes of computer screens forever in our face, it’s more important than ever to remember to daydream.
People often ask where my ideas come from. The answer is daydreaming.
I’ve done a lot of outdoor biking the past month. I’m not a triathlon writer like the great Tim Lebbon (whose work you should absolutely read). I don’t wear a cyclist outfit or even a helmet. I just ride my bike the same way I did as a kid, exploring the vast river trails that wind through my Connecticut farming town. When I’m not doing this, I’m feeding rabbits and squirrels and blue jays, and putting out water bowls for the fawn who likes to hang out on my land while her mother forages. Brian Keene and I are kindred spirits in this regard as well as many others. He’s rescued more feral cats than the Crazy Cat Lady in The Simpsons (and you should absolutely read his books too).
I sit in the sunshine and listen to J.J. Cale and Jimmy Duck Holmes. I sit and think without someone else there to ruin it. As a rambler who lives alone on an old farm in the mountains, I realize this is easier for me than it is for many others, but everyone has access to the wilderness in one way or another, and everyone can benefit from spending more time with their own thoughts—without mindless TikTok videos and dumbass Twitter arguments (I couldn't even make a “Happy 4th of July” post on Instagram without cranky crybabies using it as a launch pad for political complaints), without business emails and deadlines, and without the foul hindrance of human company. Solitude is a diamond more beautiful than all the engagement rings in the world. Mental peace allows the nuisance of reality to slip away, clearing the path for a waterfall of creativity. Writers, in particular, shouldn’t deprive themselves of this natural method. Ralph Waldo Emerson understood it. So did Henry David Thoreau and Thomas Merton. It was once so obvious to creators but has since been sacrificed to the bustle of the techno world.
I’ve been living the past month—still writing but being okay with myself when I’m not. My word count for the year has already been massive. I could fuck around the rest of 2025 and still be considered a publishing machine. Of course, I won’t do that because the writing always calls to me like a siren. I can never escape it for long. Hell, I wouldn’t want to. But without the solitude—without the awesome power of the daydream—my writing suffers. I think this applies to life in general. Without daydreams, something special within us endlessly suffocates. So even if you’re not a creator, make time for it. You owe it to yourself to listen to the wind in the trees and feel morning dew on the soft grass between your toes. You’ll feel so much better. Spend even half a day doing this and see if I’m not right.
Now that I’ve told you what I’ve been up to, let me tell you what I’ll be doing soon, in the form of public appearances. Below are my upcoming book signing tour dates. Click the names of the events to learn more and get tickets.
Books and Brews. August 2nd at the Wyndham Hotel in Noblesville, Indiana.
Spooktastic Book Fair. September 13th at the Framingham Public Library in Framingham, Massachusetts.
CT Horrorfest. September 20-21st at the Connecticut Convention Center in Hartford, Connecticut.
Hopefully you can make it to one. I can’t wait to see you guys! Some of you know I’ve been a regular guest at The Merrimack Valley Halloween Book Festival in Haverhill, Massachusetts the past six years, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to attend this year. I’ll keep you posted!
It’s also my birthday next week. I don’t make a big deal about it these days, though. The older I get, the more juvenile a big birthday celebration seems. It feels more appropriate for a boy than a man, and there’s an element of vanity to it that smells foul. This isn’t to knock what other people do on their birthday, which I couldn’t care less about. This is just about my own. I greatly appreciate my loved ones and friends doing nice things for me, but I don’t feel like I must do something special on this day. Why pressure myself like that? Some birthdays, I just want to eat a good steak, get laid, and watch an old movie—sometimes all at the same time. But mostly, I want to reflect.
If you’re kind enough to want to do something for me for my birthday, just treat yourself to one of my books, such as my new prison novel, I Don’t Recognize This World Anymore, or The Old Lady, which is up for a Splatterpunk Award for Best Novel. Whether you order from my website or elsewhere, I deeply appreciate your support and readership. No one is cooler than a Triana fan, and my love for you will never die.
Until next time, keep reading, and don’t forget to daydream.
Your pal, always,
Kris
