Writing

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Writing Exercise: Use Your College Knowledge

This website is dedicated to my novels and the writing process, as well as advocacy for human rights.

A college buddy recently re-entered my life on Facebook, mocking my alarm at the emboldened fascism of the new U.S. administration.

I didn’t know the Jews r worried Elon and Trump are vicious Nazis who will gas chamber them and other inferior minorities? Man will the hispanics and the blacks be pissed because they sure voted a lot for Trump. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

He probably doesn’t know that I studied so much history during our college days, with a focus on the rise of fascism in the 20th Century, that I accidently got a second major for my bachelor’s degree. I’ve walked through concentration camps. I’ve stood in the gas chambers. Something awful still lingers there, as does a tragedy for which Humankind has no words. So instead of responding with equal sarcasm, and ignoring how he unconsciously described minorities as “inferior”, I put my degree to use.

The quarantine yard at Mauthausen, one of the most sickeningly brutal concentration camps.

It doesn’t start with gas chambers. We all know this.

Like all successful bullies, the Authoritarian is more cunning than intelligent, recognizing that threats, bombast, and lies will be more effective than reason. In this way, he camouflages his weakness and impotence as a strength that people truly believe.

And to be perceived as strong, the bully picks on the weak. They are but the backs that must be trodden on the climb to power. The Undesirables must be identified. The Other. They are named Enemies to give the people something to rally around. It is better to be one of Us than one of Them. And the People buy into it because they respect and fear and covet the Power. More often than not, they are the regular people and the downtrodden, not those marching with torches or hanging nooses from trees. Over and again, they have been told they are powerless – these Enemies have taken their power, their jobs, their money, and the lives of their fellow citizens. The People used to be great, but no longer. Convinced, they actually relinquish power and critical thinking for pretty promises that their lives will improve. Promises without a plan, though like all great salespeople, he’s manufactured a need in people for the thing he’s selling.

And lo, their salvation is at hand.

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Writing Exercise – Say Meaningful Things
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Writing Exercise – Say Meaningful Things

On May 25, 2020, a police officer murdered George Floyd, a suspect in his custody. As a reminder to Americans, we are all innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.

On May 26, peaceful protests began.

On May 27, peaceful protests continued. Eventually, rioters and outside agitators burned a Minneapolis neighborhood.

On May 28, I wrote this piece. Then I put it aside, unwilling to work further on such a heavy topic.

On November 20, 2024, I rediscovered it. I’m now sharing as part of my month of gratitude and my greater commitment to writing meaningful things.

Sometimes, there are no words.

You want there to be, but they fail.

You hope that you can say that genuine thing to alleviate someone’s pain.

Put an end to suffering.

Quell the madness.

Turns minds away from bigotry.

But there are no words

Tonight as Minneapolis burns.

The writer prides himself on turns of phrase

On vocabulary

On finding the perfect way to state a thing

But the practice, the tools, the tricks

They fail because there are no words.

A word typed

A thought, aloud.

These things are too small for a situation too large.

They are noise.

They are nothing.

Worthless thoughts shouted into the face of the heedless storm.

One day again

The words will come. But today, there are no words

Many of us are grateful that events like this are not part of our world, though we are too ashamed to say it aloud. We need to find our voices. The world becomes a better place when the meaningful things drown out the oppressors’ noise. Please take this encouragement to contribute your own meaningful things.

Thank you for reading. Hug your loved ones this holiday weekend.

–Mike

(C) Michael Wallevand, November 2024

How Do You Honor a Life #3 – Ace
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How Do You Honor a Life #3 – Ace

A few years ago, I was invited to join a bunch of dice-rolling, whiskey-swilling hooligans at an annual tabletop gaming retreat called Whiskey Weekend.

Bunch of guys around a large table playing games.
Hooligans, amiright?

I was amazed how quickly I fit in and bonded with the group. With my neurodiversity, I don’t make friends easily or often, nor am I comfortable in social situations. One of the people I connected with quickly was Ace. I suspect this was a combination of our similar senses of humor and my willingness to play any game he rolled out. On a future weekend, I gave him some 3D-printed token holders for Everdell, one of his favorite games. His gratitude became delight when I revealed I’d bought my own copy of Everdell because of him.

About two years ago, he shared some rough news with us. Cancer. In the time leading up to our 2024 weekend, he told us he had chemo scheduled the first Saturday of our retreat. He was going to come up briefly and then jump into the treatments. He was in good spirits, and I could tell he enjoyed even that brief time with us. He offered us silicone bracelets as part of his journey – mine disappeared after Benji snagged it for his stuffies to wear – but I believe it conveyed Ace’s philosophy of staying strong and seizing the day.

Knowing how much he loved the event, I wanted to do something special. I wanted to help him feel like he could still experience some of the weekend, even from a distance. So I did two things.

The first was for the group. I 3D printed tabletop minis for everyone to paint and wrote little stories so people could mix and match. More info here. I gave Ace first pick and he was able to make his selection before he had to leave. I later heard he painted it right away and had a fun time. I wish I could have seen the results.

The second was for Ace himself. The whiskey part of Whiskey Weekend involves a double-elimination tournament where we do a blind taste test every hour. I brought little empty bottles for each entry so Ace could sample the same selection he would have gotten with us. It was perhaps a small comfort, considering Ace looked forward to the weekend more than anyone, but he seemed truly touched. I hope he was able to enjoy the drinks and think fondly of Weekends past. I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw him. I never got a chance to ask.

Friendship is wonderful, strange, magical thing. I think I’d been together with Ace less than 10 times, and yet, I quickly, easily considered him a good friend. I don’t think I knew his actual name for two years.

And so, I found myself at my first Jewish funeral today.

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Writing Exercise – Don’t Write Yourself Off

Mike Wallevand on high school graduation day at 135 pounds

I hadn’t worked out in 28 years.

I graduated high school a skinny 5’11”, 135-pound basketball player who’d spent his childhood with a ridiculous metabolism. For many of us, things changed in college. Four years later, I’d gained 30 pounds. It wasn’t muscle. Those size 32 pants were a bit snug.

Fast forward nearly twenty years – around 2015 – I stopped checking my weight. A scale displaying 220+ pounds wasn’t something I wanted to see any more. I had more willpower for that than to make any meaningful lifestyle change, and my weight continued to increase.

Collage of Mike at his heaviest

In fact, the only real change I would make was cutting out soda and trying to walk the dogs more. From 2012-2017, I lost maybe 10-15 unremarkable pounds. I certainly didn’t feel any better, physically, mentally, or emotionally.

My wardrobe also remained the same: layers of bulky clothes to hide rolls, folds, and not-quite-manboobs. My shirts were XL and my pants were 38 waist. The collars of dress shirts were hangman’s knots and suitcoats were sausage casings.

Five years ago, in early 2019, I was invited to a class at a local boxing club. Did I mention I hadn’t worked out in 28 years? I found workouts boring. Or intimidating: I didn’t want to be the fat bald guy in a massive fitness center who was wheezing on a treadmill or struggling under weights. And if that were true, punching something for an hour was certainly far outside my interest, not to mention my personality.

Coming into the class, I didn’t expect anything to change, even if a small voice between my ears told me that I really, really needed an exercise routine. But I’d been ignoring that guidance my entire adult life.

In that first 1-hour class, I thought I was going to die.

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I Still Owe Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis An Apology
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I Still Owe Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis An Apology

It was late 1998. I worked for the Suncoast Motion Picture Company, which sold movies and related merchandise. I’d recently transferred from the flagship Mall of America store to the Southdale Mall in Edina. The commute was longer, but I didn’t mind for a couple reasons. The one I’ll articulate here pertains to the clientele.

The Mall of America location was great for people watching. At the time, tourists came from around the world to see the spectacle of the largest mall in the Western Hemisphere. But Southdale, due to the prestige of Edina, attracted a number of celebrities. I was thrilled to learn Janet Jackson (whom I’ll call Ms. Jackson cuz I’m nasty) shopped there when she was in town. And she bought her movies from Suncoast.

The Suncoast where I was now a manager.

In 1998, I was still that small-town kid who’d grown up in a town so tiny it was technically a village. I’d never met a celebrity, and the prospect of meeting Ms. Jackson, someone whose music I absolutely loved, hyped me to a ridiculous degree. I’m embarrassed to admit that I was on the lookout on many shifts.

I grew up loving her albums Control and Rhythm Nation 1814, the latter of which I owned. Back in 1990, I knew everything about that album. You see, I didn’t have many albums as a kid, so when I got a new one, I poured through the liner notes, sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor beside my cassette deck. I memorized the lyrics, tracked the music labels, and learned about every musician or other person connected with the production of the album.

If you’re familiar with Janet’s music, the headline of this post is beginning to make sense.

Back to 1998. I’m working the checkout in our third-floor location, when two well-dressed men came in. I offered the usual greetings, made small talk, and helped them as best I could.

These two gentlemen were Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis. And they were aware that I didn’t recognize them.

It must have been an unusual experience, especially in the Minneapolis area. Here’s why.

When it comes to the Minneapolis music scene, it didn’t get much bigger than this duo. They formed the band Flyte Tyme, which became The Time under the influence of Prince, and the group would go on to help define the Minneapolis sound in the early 1980s.

After being fired from the band, they started Flyte Tyme Studios, and their partnership went on to earn more than 100 gold, platinum, multi-platinum, and diamond albums. Over their storied career, they’ve worked with some of the biggest names in the biz, including Lionel Richie, Herb Alpert, TLC, Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin, Boyz II Men, Usher, Patti LaBelle, Mary J. Blige, Chaka Khan, Mariah Carey, Bryan Adams, Spice Girls, Vanessa Williams, Rod Stewart, Gwen Stefani, and New Edition. I particularly loved George Michael’s “Monkey” and The Human League’s “Human” songs. But those weren’t the only memorable tracks.

Forty-one of their songs reached the Top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100. They won five Grammys and got an Oscar nom for their work with Janet Jackson on the song “Again” for the movie Poetic Justice.

EDINA, MN – SEPTEMBER 1989: Singer Janet Jackson poses for photos with music producers Terry Lewis and Jimmy Jam during the opening of Flyte Tyme Studios in Edina, Minnesota in September 1989. (Photo By Raymond Boyd/Getty Images)

And speaking of Ms. Jackson, they won a Grammy for producing her album Control. Their follow-up collaboration, Rhythm Nation 1814, dominated the charts with seven hit singles and became one of the biggest albums in the world from 1989-91.

Most of that album work had been done at Flyte Tyme Studios, a convenient 5-minute drive from Southdale.

As I look back upon their visit to my store, I like to imagine these world-renown producers were taking a shopping break from their busy studio schedule. Perhaps, the perfect movie would be a nice diversion, or provide some inspiration for the their next movie project. Little did they know they were talking to a guy who knew every beat and could sing every lyric from Rhythm Nation 1814, many of which they’d written.

A guy’s whose memory was about to betray him, despite his brain containing most of the information I just shared.

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Prologue: Stories for Whiskey Weekend

Every year for the last four, I’ve attended a tabletop gaming and whiskey retreat that we call Whiskey Weekend. I wouldn’t be exaggerating much if I said we played games from sunrise to midnight. The titular game of the weekend is a double-blind tourney where we pit our whiskeys against each other.

A row of whiskey bottles, placed from 12-1.
Entries in the blind whiskey tournament, placed from 12-1.

It’s an unbelievably fun time filled with camaraderie, laughter, self-deprecation, and good conversations about gaming of all forms. The event is in its 16th year, having started as a Dungeons & Dragons getaway for a few friends. Over time, the event has morphed into the amazing experience it is today. We have a social media following and even have swag sometimes.

This year, I was no longer the rookie, as we were adding two people to the invitation. I figured it was my turn to bring the swag. So, when the event organizer suggested we take some time to paint tabletop minis, my partially formed idea sprung to full life.

My idea was to not only 3D print some minis in resin, I would also give people the option to choose a custom base and a backstory. The writer should use his skills, right?

3D printed minis and bases
A selection of tabletop minis and bases.
Sampling of the backstories I wrote
Sampling of the backstories I wrote. Printed, labeled, and laminated.
Choose your character, base, and story!
Choose your character, base, and story!

3D Models source: Adaevy Creations (except the tall Viking, which was created via Hero Forge)

Within a few hours, I’d whipped up sixteen 200-word stories. I’m never sure whether I should tell people just how quickly I created each one: I worry that their response will be disbelief or a derisive “well, obviously“. Each one sprung to life relatively easily, which is partially due to their nature. They’re not intended to tell a complete story, but to inspire my friends into considering what comes next. Each one centered around a simple concept, like these:

  1. A curse is causing a village to forget their entire spoken language. The town chronicler is trying to choose the last word he’ll think about before it’s also forgotten.
  2. When he sees his doppelganger, a man with a strong regenerative power wonders, “If I can regrow a part, can a part regrow a body?”
  3. She slipped into a time paradox which causes her to see stages of a tragedy in reverse.
  4. He thinks he randomly turns invisible. Often he’s right, but that also means, sometimes he’s not. He can’t tell the difference.

It was a ridiculously fun writing experience, and not just because the stories came effortlessly. No, it was also freeing, a way to re-engage my creativity, which has been dormant a few months. And, it was a gift to friends that I hoped would make their weekend experience better. It worked.

Over the next week or so, I’ll be sharing these stories in a series of posts. It’s partially a way to showcase a project I’m proud of, but also, like the stories themselves, I’m hoping to inspire you to consider how else you might use your writing skills. So, tell us….what comes next?

Mike

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© Michael Wallevand, February 2024

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Driven to write by a word

Schmutz.

It’s a word of Yiddish and German origins, and for some reason, it popped into my head this morning.

If it’s a word unfamiliar, it’s often used to describe a bit of unidentified something on a person. Usually their face. For many of us, that’s followed by your mother wetting her thumb with saliva to wipe it away.

Ah, mothers. So loving. So sanitary.

In my part of the world, it’s an uncommon word, which usually means I’m going to work it into my book (and apparently, a blog post).

And then my writer’s brain was off to the races.

In 45 minutes, I whipped up about 550 words, or a page and a half, inspired by the idea that Tildy has schmutz on her face, but due to her ability to unconsciously shapeshift, the schmutz avoids her mother’s efforts to clean it away. It’s actually a pimple, and it disappears and reappears across Tildy’s face.

I immediately fell in the love with the scene, and not just because writers often fall in love with their writing (a PAINFUL truth, except when they hate it). No, it’s because it accomplishes many things in service to the story.

It fits into the first chapter of Tildy’s second book, helping reintroduce our characters to the Reader with things like Tildy’s abilities, her relationship with the witch (her adoptive mother), and a little bit about their personalities. Additionally, we get the melodramatic woes and annoyances of a teenager.

But to me, the best part is the humor. You see, it’s actually an outbreak of acne, but Tildy’s skin is trying to prevent the pimples from surfacing.

“I no longer think it is a simple pimple moving around your face. I believe there are many, but your skin is resisting the outbreak. I wonder what would happen if you stopped doing whatever you are doing?” the witch mused, as she turned Tildy’s face, that way and this, as she looked for the next pimple’s appearance.

Tildy didn’t particularly care, but as the thought entered her mind, her face grew red and itchy.

“Oh ho!” the witch laughed, her face delighted. “Now they are everywhere! You really are a sight.”

I think it also creates some tension for Tildy. She has the ability to fight acne, something that many teens would be jealous of, but she can’t control it. Quite the opposite. Ironically, her efforts only seem to make it worse. Her struggles, however, eventually result in new mastery of her abilities, which is a recurring theme throughout the series. It helps us see Tildy growing up.

Sometimes, inspiration comes as simply as that. A single word demands several hundred in response. If only it was always as easy as that.

It’s a good start to a day, and as I write this, it’s now time to get to my office job. Good luck with your own writing (and that other work that pays the bills).

Mike

Enjoy what you just read? Leave a comment or like the post, and we’ll ensure that you see more like this!

© Michael Wallevand, October 2023

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Lost Horror Story: Witch Hunt

While working on the new story “Chew”, I found a lost folder of horror stories I’d started more than 10 years ago. Intrigued by tales I’d forgotten, I started opening files. This one is dated February 8, 2007.

NOTE: this is a classic writer procrastination trap.

I read it quickly at a coffee shop and was pleasantly surprised. There are some quaint things, such as references to VCRs and a payphone, but I’m also referring to my writing style. The double space after a period and using space bar to indent are notable examples. But otherwise, I think it holds up and I could see myself returning to it.

In the spirit of the Halloween season, I present the opening of “Witch Hunt” unedited. I hope it puts you in the mood to write your own thrilling tale, or to sit down in a cozy place with a favorite scary book, movie, music, or video game.

A man in his early sixties sits at his kitchen table, surrounded by the typical breakfast accoutrements: a plated of eggs, bacon, and toast, a cup of coffee, a pitcher of orange juice and a newspaper, which is folded upon its spine to hold open an interior page.  Dressed for the pending workday, the man ate casually, reading the paper while keeping an eye on the small white television on the counter.  His wife, in a white terrycloth robe, busied herself with the clean-up, while keeping an eye of her own on her husband.

“Looks like we’ve got a nice weekend coming up,” he said.  “Be perfect for taking the kids and grandkids out to the lake for a picnic.”

 “Yes,” she agreed with a smile.  “I saw the same thing on the internet this morning.”  She never missed an opportunity to remind him that she was more computer savvy than he.

“How you learned how to work that thing, I’ll never know,” he said, referring to the computer she had insisted they purchase.

“Oh, you know how I like to fiddle,” she said, still keeping her night classes a secret.  He has his secrets, she had hers.

A loud beeping from the TV drew their attention.  “Ladies and gentlemen, good morning,” interrupted a tan news anchor.  “We have late-breaking news and exclusive footage from a breakout in Split Rock prison in upstate Vermont.”

“Split Rock?” she asked, “I’ve never heard of it.  Have you, Hank?”

Hank O’Leary didn’t respond.  He stared intently at the television, his fork hanging loosely in a hand raised partway to his mouth.

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Give that writer a little nudge

“Got any big plans today?” the cashier asked as I inserted my card into the machine. It was the typical checkout small talk we all experience, but never give much thought to.

“Going to do some writing,” I replied. I had my laptop in the backpack hanging from my shoulder.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said mechanically, but politely. Probably her typical response. If you’ve worked in retail, you probably still reply this way sometimes. Like when you tell a cashier, “Thanks for shopping today.”

Her eyes widened as she comprehended what I’d said. “Ohhhhh! That’s interesting.”

“Thanks!”

“What do you write?”

“Horror and fantasy.”

“That’s so cool. I used to write in middle school, but you know, I don’t have much time. Maybe this winter I’ll get back to it.”

Writers say similar things all the time, especially the lapsed ones. But I know from personal experience that it often takes a simple nudge to push us back into the chair. So I replied, “You really should get back into it. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

The smile that crossed her face contained something more than the typical expression that customers get during idle chitchat. “Thanks. I will!” she promised.

And I hope she does.

I doubt I’ll ever know if she kept that promise to herself, but I like to think so. There are so many of us writers who need just a little more encouragement. I’ve gotten plenty myself, which I always appreciate, and I like to pass it on when I get the chance. Who knows what amazing stories could come to life as a result? Who knows how many masterpieces have been lost because someone said, “I just don’t have the time”?

Take the time. Accept the encouragement. Pass it on.

The world needs more stories. Good luck with yours!

Mike

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© Michael Wallevand, October 2023

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Sometimes you write a poem

I’ve always loved the idea of writing poetry, but I viewed my attempts as the equivalent of chopping at rocks with a chisel. I suppose this comes from reading so many things of beauty as a literate person who went on to study all kinds of literature in college. You feel a fool for even making an attempt.

However, a person walking through a museum never sees the thousand scrapped canvases that preceded the masterpiece.

I do not profess any particular skill in this medium, though like many writers, perhaps I make up with passion what I lack in other areas. Regardless, a man celebrating his wife on their 25th anniversary should be given a little grace, in my opinion. And so, here we are.

A breath, taken away

Not for a day

But forevermore

As I remain

Entranced

Within a love

I dared not dream

–

The years pass

Still, I am enamored

Both lost within a love

And found

A man, content

Never searching

Filled with incandescent joy.

Sometimes, you write a poem, and it flows effortlessly from the wellspring of inspiration and love. And usually, that’s more than enough. Happy 25th Anniversary, my love.

Mike

Enjoy what you just read? Leave a comment or like the post, and we’ll ensure that you see more like this!

© Michael Wallevand, October 2023