I’m fresh and tense from a visit to the dentist this morning and have that wicked whine of a drill reverberating in my brain. With how much dental work I’ve had done this year, which included many fillings, a crown, and a couple of extractions, I won’t do any double-takes from seeing my name on my dentist’s vanity plate. But the work needs to be done, and I see light at the end of my year-long treatment plan. Two more visits should complete it. Less you don’t know, smokeless tobacco is a nasty, ill-advised habit. Having quit more than a decade ago, I’m still paying for it. The good news is nothing cancerous has shown and the deterioration of my teeth is hidden and fixable. I consider myself fortunate.

This morning, I fly to Hollywood.

Yep. I loved writing that sentence. It’s years in the making. I first found out about the Writers of the Future contest in 2019 when attending a panel at my local science fiction and fantasy convention, MisCon. David Farland, then the coordinating judge for the contest, was a Guest of Honor that year and extolled the countless reasons why short story writers should submit their stories to the contest.

The body can humble you, but you already know that. It’s glorious, too. My body. Yours. How it is our most loyal companion from conception to death. What was the body before those two gametes embraced? Where do we go, if we go at all, when we and our bodies part? I haven’t the faintest. That mystery shrinks me. Makes everything look much bigger. Like a side-view mirror, but magical, so worth the suffering, yours and mine.

It’s funny how delights hit us. The impact might feel like the faint brushing from a feather one moment. The dropping of an Acme-labeled anvil the next. Other times, oftentimes, they are clouded behind thick mist where we can only see their outline. And, barely that. Or not even that because the delights are completely hidden, only slowly emerging the closer we come. Then again, they might rush at us until we whack right into them. I always love when that happens. That delightful surprise felt during the collision. But regardless of how delights reveal themselves, it takes trust on our part to keep searching when blinded by the fog. Takes intention. For sure, conviction.

Good morning. I hope it’s a lovely morning for you. Me? Mine's been nice. Coffee. Meditation. A good book. All and all, an easing into the day with activities that gift me delight. And it’s always a joy to share my delights. I’m grateful to do so on a platform that travels space and time.

Happy Tuesday! It’s Monday for me as I write this, and I’m not feeling delightful. This morning was one of those mornings where I didn’t want to get out of bed, let alone write about what delights me. And the longer I lay in bed, the more challenging simple things felt. In fact, I all about threw my day’s intentions out the window, which included sharing my delights.

Oh. Hello there! I’m excited to share my 2nd post of Dopamine’s Delight (Here’s the first). They say growth in a blog comes largely from consistency. Who’s they? Smart people, I suppose.

Sometimes I want to die.

Not what you expected from a newsletter and blog called Dopamine’s Delight, huh? Admittedly, I’m shocked myself. Not at the sentiment. Suicidal ideation is an intermittent companion of mine and accompanies my long-lived-with depression. But my candidness. That’s what shocked me.