Apothecary Jones Story In Progress


I’ve been writing almost every night for the last couple weeks, and drawing when the brain juice needs a bit of a recharge. Here’s a pic of my leading lady, Apothecary Jones, as she would appear in my latest story that is horribly entitled Apothecary Jones and The Spun Yarn.

Dusting Off

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything here. A long time. Life has changed a lot and yet stayed much the same.

The Bonneville documentary didn’t happen. I wanted it to, but the money wasn’t in the right place at the right time and I was in the middle of transitioning jobs. I left behind Dell after nearly ten years and went to work for a software company. The hours have been long, but the effort is more rewarding. At Dell I was a tiny cog in a big machine. At my new job I’m still a cog, but one that has the opportunity to effect some real change in process and tools. I’m programming more now than I was at Dell and working on new problems instead of grinding away at the same things over and over. The pay is better too.

Creatively I’m stuck in my head, alongside a whole lot of static. I still want to write a book (another NaNoWriMo completed, but no real revisions done), and I still want to work on a movie. I’ve also got it in my head that I need to write, program, and do the art for a video game. It’s a lot to take on and a lot of different priorities pulling vying for headspace. In the past keeping up with this blog or some form of journaling really helped separate the signal from the noise, so here I am – dusting off the old WordPress interface and putting some hours in at the keyboard. I won’t pretend I’ll keep this up – I’ve had a lot of blogs ever since blogging was a thing – but for now it will do.

Now its just time to get back to work.


Popsicles from Michael white on Vimeo.

My first short film since college, and the first one ever to have a story of any sort. Popsicle stars my lovely wife and was shot entirely on an iPhone 5. Sound was recorded using a Zoom H1 recorder. All edits are down in Final Cut Pro X, and all effects were achieved in camera.

McDonald’s Theory

McDonald’s Theory — What I Learned Building… — Medium.

I use a trick with co-workers when we’re trying to decide where to eat for lunch and no one has any ideas. I recommend McDonald’s.

All blocked up

I want to write. I want to put words to the proverbial page. The only problem is that very little seems interested in bubbling to the surface. Hints and glimpses of things that have been there for a long time. Things that refuse to fully develop. As a writer it’s my job to force them to, the only problem being is that I don’t really know how to.

How do you force a story to be born? How do you make something new and interesting without stealing, or borrowing generously? I don’t know how to answer those questions just yet, obviously. The endings are always the hard part. Ideas are everywhere. Interesting situations and interesting characters are plentiful, but the satisfying ending is what eludes me.

I know, in theory, it is about meeting your obligations to the reader. The first act includes a murder mystery, therefore the killer must be captured, or at least revealed. So I suppose my problem may be that I don’t know what promises I’m making to the reader, I’m just chasing tangents that interest me, and while they have a chance of striking a chord with the audience it’s far less likely to win out over a well executed story.

How to Write Successful Endings | WritersDigest.com

How to Write Successful Endings | WritersDigest.com.

This isn’t the greatest article, but it got me thinking. Ending the story is my biggest weakness. I love getting started, but can never think of the perfect finish.


This is a little snippet if description I wrote while on a forced march through an outlet mall this weekend. Feel the melodrama!

Every scrap of fabric emblazoned with labels, he made a show extracting his hundred dollar shades from their leather case, despite the fact that we were in doors. His entire image was manufactured at the command of fashion, I wasn’t sure I could see who he was at all. Even the ink on his arm was comprised of trite and meaningless design, nothing conveying a message beyond the calamitous roar of trend. The worst of it? We’re both dad’s, sitting in a children’s store and waiting for our daughters wardrobes to be filled anew. He’s busy sizing up the merits of the labels he’ll hang on his little girl now, so she can hide behind trend and cool. Who will she be? Will she even know?