This Weekend’s Practice Run with my Flying Camera

I don’t like calling it a “drone” because that’s not what it is. It’s a quadcopter camera. The word “drone,” to me, puts it in the category of a weapon currently used in warfare, and I am 100% not into that.

To me, it’s a tense exercise because it’s a really nice camera and it’s expensive, and one wrong glitch at the wrong time can make it go poof and go away. I can’t say that about any of my other cameras, which are strapped to me at all times. This one just floats around and flits to and fro like a dragonfly.

I bought it for work, but as yet haven’t done anything professional with it, as first I need to get a professional drone license. Yes, I need a professional license to fly it if I want to make money with it. Right now I only have a recreational license, so everything I’m doing is for practice and “fun.”

Like these rather boring photos I took of our local botanical center this weekend…

Two things I learned with this: late afternoon is not a good time to take aerial architectural photos, nor is this the right time of year. It’d be better in spring with everything green.
Peek-a-boo! Looking down through the glass skylight.

One of the things I eventually want to do is start using this flying camera for taking real estate pictures as a side gig, which is why I’m taking pictures of buildings. Here are a few from last year, when I first got this camera.

Figge Museum, Davenport Iowa
KONE Centre building, Moline Illinois (this is actually the first picture I took with this camera).
Cabins you can rent at a local park.
Downtown Davenport riverfront.

One of the most nerve-wracking things for me to do is fly the camera over water, but this weekend I applied the “Fear is the mind killer” mantra from Dune and sent the buzzing little busybody out over the Mississippi River, and took a photo of the center of our local Centennial Bridge from the middle. Despite the cold, my palms were sweating the whole time it was out there, and I didn’t even get a great photo because I was in too much of a hurry to get it back over dry land.

The view was better from the sunward side anyway…

Again, this would be a lot nicer in the Spring. 🫤

I think my favorite images I’ve captured with this flying camera are of ruins. Not ancient ones, but the more recent urban decay variety.

And then there’s scenic sky shots, which this camera seems to excel at, but only when there are a lot of clouds.

This one is, I think, a winner. I’ve used it as a banner image on websites.

Anyway, that is what I was up to this weekend. That, and working on the latest novel. Here’s a sneak peek at the cover:

No release date is set, yet, but it should be out before the end of this year. Like I keep saying after every new book, “This one is probably my last.”

The Paradox of Wanting to Be Alone (and Feeling Like I Shouldn’t)

Sometimes you are your own best company.
Sometimes you are your own best company.

Lately, I’ve been feeling antisocial. I don’t exactly know why. Maybe it’s the general state of the world—this endless barrage of bad news and noise. Maybe it’s just one of those moods that creeps in unannounced. But whatever the reason, I find myself withdrawing, and then almost immediately, I start questioning it.

Shouldn’t I be more engaged? Shouldn’t I be reaching out, staying connected, being a part of things?

It’s a strange contradiction, isn’t it? The mind always seems to whisper two things at once: You should be with people. You should be alone. And whichever one I choose, the other lingers in the background, second-guessing me.

But here’s something to consider—who is this “I” that both craves solitude and thinks it should be social? It’s as if I’m split into two selves: one that feels the pull of isolation, and another that stands back, observing, questioning, making judgments. And the real struggle comes from believing that one of them must be right and the other must be wrong.

In reality, there’s no rule that says I must be social, just as there’s none that says I must be alone. Both are natural states. Sometimes we withdraw, sometimes we engage. Sometimes we are like the moon, hidden in shadow; other times, we reflect light back into the world.

The important thing is not to force myself into socializing out of guilt or obligation. Can I just sit with this feeling instead? Can I let it be, without trying to fix it? Because maybe solitude is exactly what I need right now. And when the time is right, I’ll gravitate toward people again—not because I should, but because I want to.

So, for now, I’ll be as I am, without forcing anything. And if I do rejoin the world, I’ll do it the way a musician rejoins the orchestra—not because he has to, but because he feels the rhythm calling him back.

Optimistic Nihilism: A Mindset That Just Might Keep You Sane

It Keeps You Engaged Without Breaking Your Brain

Befriend a raccoon.

If you’ve ever looked at the news, sighed deeply, and muttered “What even is real anymore?” Yeah, me too. This is how I took my first steps into the wild world of optimistic nihilism — a mindset that just might keep me sane while the world around us implodes into deeper and deeper absurdity.

So, what is Optimistic Nihilism?

It’s simple: nothing inherently matters, so you get to decide what does. Unlike regular old nihilism, which suggests that life has no meaning and everything is doomed, optimistic nihilism says:

  • The universe is indifferent
  • Everything is chaotic and meaningless
  • You’re totally free to make your own meaning, and most importantly, it’s okay to have fun doing it

Instead of being crushed under the weight of this meaningless cosmos, you get to dance on top of it.

Let’s face it. The last several years have been a fucking nightmare, and it’s getting worse. Between political insanity, reality-warping misinformation, and social media screaming matches, it’s clear that we’re all stuck in an absurdist sitcom that is not at all funny.

But that’s where optimistic nihilism comes in. Here’s why it might be the best mental tool for handling this madness:

  • Freedom from Doomscrolling Anxiety — If nothing is cosmically important, then maybe that one awful tweet or that latest headline doesn’t have to ruin your day.
  • You Can Define Your Own Purpose — The world’s a mess? Cool. That means you’re not obligated to follow any pre-written script. Go write a book. Start a weird hobby. Befriend a raccoon. The rules are yours to create!
  • It Turns Chaos Into Comedy — Once you accept that everything is absurd, the political circus starts looking less like a terrifying dystopia and more like a darkly hilarious Coen Brothers movie.
  • It Keeps You Engaged Without Breaking Your Brain — You don’t have to be emotionally crushed by every piece of bad news. You can care, take action, and fight for a better world — without letting the weight of it all destroy your joy. Instead of feeling like a powerless extra in a never-ending political horror film, you can be the protagonist in your own story, choosing where to put your energy.

At the end of the day, optimistic nihilism isn’t about giving up — it’s about realizing you’re in charge of what you focus on.

Yes, things are chaotic. Yes, the world is unpredictable. Yes, the universe is a vast and indifferent place where nothing has inherent meaning.

But that’s actually good news, because it means you’re free. Free to laugh. Free to create. Free to decide what matters to you and lean into it hard.

For more in-depth information about Optimistic Nihilism I recommend this article by Dr. Steve Parker:

Optimistic Nihilism: A Creative Approach to Existence — Provided You Exercise Caution

Dancing with Chaos

How I Choose to Move with Change Instead of Letting It Steamroll Over Me

Lately, it feels as if the world is unraveling. Every headline, every conversation, every anxious social media post repeats the same refrain — things are falling apart. The new administration is making sweeping changes, institutions are being gutted, and uncertainty hangs in the air like a brewing storm, ready to unleash its fury at any moment. People are panicking, clinging to fear like a life raft in a raging sea.

And yet, here I sit, feeling the same fear tighten in my chest, the same anxious thoughts pulling at my mind. I feel the urge to fight, to lash out, to take up arms against the uncertainty. To do something — anything — to push back against the chaos. But then I take a breath and remind myself — this has always been the nature of things. Chaos is never as far away as we like to believe. It waits just beyond the illusion of order, ready to spill over the edges of our carefully constructed lives. And when it does, we act as if it’s some great violation, rather than the return of something ancient and inevitable.

Alan Watts once wrote, “The more a thing tends to be permanent, the more it tends to be lifeless.” We forget that everything — governments, economies, societies — are living processes, not fixed structures. They grow, evolve, decay, and are reborn. To expect stability in an ever-changing world is like expecting the ocean to hold still.

It won’t. It never has.

So I ask myself: What do I actually control? The answer, of course, is not much. I cannot dictate the course of a government. I cannot slow the march of time or force things to remain as they were. But I can choose how I meet the moment.

I can choose to move with change instead of against it. I can choose not to let fear paralyze me, even as I watch those in power tear things down with reckless abandon. Destruction is infuriating — it makes me want to scream, to fight, to demand that things be made right. But even in the wreckage, there is opportunity. If the old world is crumbling, then we are the ones who must lay the foundation for something stronger, something better. And as frustrating as that is, as much as it burns to see what’s been lost, it’s the only thing we truly can do. Watts also said, “To resist change, to try to cling to life, is like holding your breath: if you persist you kill yourself.” So instead, I exhale. I let go of what I cannot hold, and I turn my attention to what can be built in its place.

The world may feel like it’s unraveling, but it is not simply falling apart — it is reshaping itself. And while we may not control the storm, we are not powerless within it. We do not give up in despair. We do not shrink back in fear. Instead, we put our hands in, we shape what comes next, we guide the world toward something better. This is the dance — not passive acceptance, but active engagement with the ever-changing flow of life.

So today, I dance — not away from the chaos, but into it.