The TNW “State of Creativity” Address

Don’t worry, I’m alive! When I started this blog–*checks Archives* …fifteen years ago, good Lord–I did so with the intent of it being a one-stop shop for updates on and buzz-building about my various creative endeavors (poetry, short stories, movie-making, etc.). Some years, it has been that, and with aplomb; others, as a day job and phone addiction squeeze my free time ever tighter, it’s just been a receptacle for annual too-long-for-social-media Top 10 Lists. Those are still on their way, but in the meantime, I thought it wise to also provide a quick list of the right-brained accomplishments I’m most proud of in 2025!

Yes indeed! You can find more info if you know where to look, but at least online, I’ve kept tight-lipped so as to avoid copycats and not call my shot with undue conceit. All I’ll say for now (in addition to the cryptic clip above) is that, after conceiving of the world, characters, and plot in a flurry of inspiration over autumn of 2024, I’m now about 30% through a first draft. It’s inspired by a lot of my favorite horror/fantasy media, but also action movies, videogames, and synthwave music. My goal is a tale that’s unique and uplifting, not just another snarky pulp adventure about superheroic chosen ones making right with might. And I want to do it proper–sharing my work online and in the occasional niche journals has been fun, but to really make a name for myself, I’ll need the discipline to finish a full-scale book, the humility to accept reams of rejection letters and red-scathed pages back from an editor, and the foresight that what goes on the cover and into readers’ minds won’t be exactly what I imagined. Every time I walk into a library or Barnes & Noble, I think, all of these people got on a shelf–why can’t I? Come 2026, I plan to prove that’s a rhetorical question.

“Shop local” is the go-to mantra for building community, so even as I work on larger personal projects, I’ve also gladly made time to hit the streets and “create local.” Creative Colloquy and Voices of Tacoma: A Gathering of Poets are two splendid Grit City collectives which invite writers and other artists of all stripes to print, perform, or just swap drafts in good company. At the latter’s invitation, I’ve performed recent pieces like “Tacomaturity” and “Raining for a Saved Day,” but also dipped my toe into the unapologetically political with “Repetism,” a contribution to the Voices of Protest zine released as part of the “Fall of Freedom.” Now more than ever, I can’t tolerate what I see when I flip through the headlines. Good art can bring people together and, while they’re there, remind them of the positive change they’re capable of. It’s been my honor and privilege to occupy such a spotlight, the medium I value most in hand.

My brother Kyle and I also started a podcast this year–now available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, and YouTube! In each episode, we–the bros in question–reflect on a certain slice of retro pop culture, childhood tradition, or other such topic in a series of probing yet lighthearted conversations. It’s about nostalgia, but not uncritically; “remember when” is just the jumping-off point, and if we think things are better now in some respects than back in 90s/Y2K days, we’ll gladly say so and why. After block-shooting some episodes in 2024, we released those and more about biweekly starting in May, since which we’ve taken a break. What’s next? Well, in addition to a general Season Two, we’re looking to expand the show’s scope and introduce side projects under our new media production business, “White Noise LLC.” In the meantime, we’ve got a Bygone Bros Instagram, there’s a lot of untapped potential for us aging Millennials on TikTok or a similar platform, and we’ve got a solid list of additional topics we’re looking forward to discussing!

Not sure why WordPress insists on this embed being so huge, but Snowfall is worth it!

For a while, my video production bread and butter was Twitch highlights and movie reviews. This year, in the interest of focusing on the aforementioned projects, I scaled that back; my “Spooky Streams” are impulsive and sporadic (but that means they pop up when you least expect it!), while my filmed reviews were limited to dunking on a truly heinous Jason Statham flick. I still write about most everything I watch on Letterboxd, at least–769 diary entries and counting, baby! But I didn’t sleep on my channel–I put out another horror story narration, fourteen episodes of Bygone Bros, a few amusing home videos otherwise lost to time, and whatever comedy shorts happened to pop in my head and wouldn’t leave until I hit “export” in Premiere. That, and I always like to toss up the occasional cat video (see above) or moment of PNW zen–out of true enthusiasm, but also in recognition of how Shorts usually net at least a stray follower or two. Praise be to the Algorithm, and may I finish my first proper video essay soon enough!

Though it debuted well before 2025, I’d be remiss not to rep once more for the creative project of which I’m most proud: ANAGOGIA, an interactive fiction game about navigating a realm of liminal spaces occupied by unnerving creatures and phenomena. I still leave QR code cards promoting it in any dive bar bathroom or communal corkboard I come across… you never know when you might encounter one!

Oh, and I’m trying to make chocolate for a prospective side biz. Always liked the idea of marketing candy as a kid (they’re fun to eat, surely they’re fun to sell!), but there’s definitely a few more steps involved than just melting down someone else’s bar and pouring it into silicone. Still, Kyle and I have what we feel are some excellent ideas to stand out from the crowd, branding- and flavor-wise. Stay tuned!

Honorable mention: “This Party Sucks” emo nite – Airport Tavern.

Lastly… well, reckon I can’t call karaoke a substantive creative output, but let it be known that I have good fun with it among friends and grab a mic whenever the opportunity arises. Separate but very much related is my love of live music–there’s a beautiful communion to hearing tunes that’ve meant so much to you personally blasted at 11 (as I stand in the back with earplugs, but still), alongside a crowd that proves you were never truly alone. As a P.S. of posterity, here’s highlights from all of the concerts I saw this year:

a. This Wild Life – The Vera Project
b. Coven Dove – The Juice Box
c. Mayday Parade (with Microwave, Grayscale, Like Roses) – Showbox SoDo
d. Pierce the Veil (with Sleeping with Sirens, Beach Weather) – Cascades Amphitheater
e. Simple Plan (with Bowling for Soup, 3OH!3) – WAMU Theater
f. The All-American Rejects – Emerald Queen Casino
g. Coheed & Cambria (with Taking Back Sunday, Foxing) – Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery
h. Seattle Symphony – Benaroya Hall
i. VOILÀ (with Monotronic, NOT A TOY) – Chop Suey
j. Jack’s Mannequin (with illuminati hotties) – Showbox SoDo
k. Emo Night Karaoke (with my buddy Grant et al.!) – Airport Tavern

Touring a cabin in the woods like a Silent Hill protagonist

In January of 2024, I was invited to a board of directors retreat at a lavish, modern resort cabin in beautiful Suncadia, Washington… but because I got there early/am a weirdo, I also made this. All that’s missing is a prodigious locked door and some allegorical flesh monsters!

Placeholder Poetry: “Beautiful Battlefield” (2012)

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A light at the beginning of the tunnel.

Holed up inside during the “ice storm” blowing across Lake Erie tonight, I find myself reflecting on warmer, more floral environs back in Washington State…

Until mid-2013, my childhood home was surrounded by a huge forest of evergreens.  So when an assignment arose in my first Poetry course at the University of Washington to write a poem based on a class journal entry, I ran with one I’d jotted at some point about this lush upbringing!  I was taken with exploring how a forest can be both a place of solace and, in its own way, chaos.  I revised it a few times, including for the internal application which eventually got me accepted to the creative writing specialization program at the UW, so I’m surprised I never shared it on here!  A few new edits for readability aside, it is as it was then.

This is also a rare time where I chose to wrote in the persona of someone else. Descriptions of natural splendor aside, none of this correlates to my own life (thankfully).

Beautiful Battlefield

The forest marks the borderline
sprawled ’round me, west to south,
fencing in with evergreens the yellowed yard
and box of shingled bricks I’m told is home.
From here, my parents’ arguments are almost mute.

The sun surveys all, layers heat upon my back.
As I march through lashing grass,
rubber boots squeak and stick
with golden seeds, like a flag’s stars.
On the horizon, shouts and slaps fade like gunfire.

I enter, where spiders guard their dewy webs
‘cross saggy limbs and sloughing moss.
Boughs block light seeking rest
on a dark carpet, where logs rot in solitude.
No sign of broken dishes or discarded cigarettes.

Over here, a corps of scotchbroom huddle,
swapping pods, as tansies talk in plots;
over there, ferns protest paths of missions past
from which their leaves once prospered.

I head forth, through the birch;
seven shoots arc up and earthbound
— a bunker’s tunnel, taken root.
I pass the anthill army’s bustle
on a mound of silent static,
and a black ant scrambles up an oak
at eye level, AWOL.

The snail shell by the roadside,
a broken house vacated, sprayed with mud;
the devil’s clubs’ clusters
of spikes, conspiring to poison;
and the narcissus, victorious
over pinecones —
I take it all in stride, for

this war is mine
                           to run, holding aloft a stick
                           wrenched from elm.
                           I strip its bark, expose within
                           my ivory-shaded sword, and order
                           birds to fly and plants to part the way.

            And after all, if Something finds me —
            The neighbor dogs, with shambling coats and eyes;
            Dad, stumbling under branches,
            bourbon on the breath, in his self-inflicted aftermath
            a family’s traitor —
            one must always be prepared.

            I know I’ll have to go
back. But for however long it takes
to trek past a beehive and risk the stings,
to kick away a molehill
and tread on something weaker saying “I was here,”
and know I’m moving over rocks and rivulets while
Mom goes nowhere in her TV chair
— I’ll stay and fight.
Back there, I’m underfoot and out of rations,
but here I walk above. I strike
fear, from the vine-throttled pines
to graves of frogs and pond scum.

There are no shoves and screams.
No slamming doors and stomping feet.
            Just a chirp and scuttles, shuffles and a breeze
            racing through the trees.
            It’s earth’s own beautiful battlefield
            and I command it all,
            as much as
I surrender.