Tag: existential angst

Watch Out For That Last Step, Bud

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

The idea of losing yet another tooth is really eating away at me. It’s a sign of my mortality. I suppose if the Singularity arrives in the next few years, there’s a chance anti-ageing technology may save me…maybe?

But I have to accept that I’m mortal. That I’m going to one day walk off the mortal coil. At the moment, barring some sort of accident, I give myself at best 20 years. At best.

My dad lived to be really, really old, but the last few years (decades?) where just no fun. I want to be young again. I want to sell a breakout first novel, move to NYC and LA and run around town chasing hot women.

But, alas, even if I stick the landing with this novel, I’m going to be so old that….ugh. I’m just going to have to accept that either I’m going to get VERY LUCKY and get an older girlfriend / wife or maybe fall into some sort of romantic situation with an android.

That, at the moment, seems to be my fate. (Hence the subject matter of the novel I’m working on.)

I just can’t believe I spent so much time grieving over the demise of ROKon Magazine. I think a lot of it came from realizing the reason it failed was me. It’s flaws were an expression of my own flaws.

And also, I wanted to move to NYC.

But, for various reasons, I just refused to do whatever was necessary to make that a reality. So, here I am, old(er) and still doing not a lot with my life. The only thing I have that gives me any hope is my novel. I’m working really hard on it and I really need to just wrap it up.

I just hate, hate, hate how old I am.

It’s Not My Fault!

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

I am set to lose ANOTHER tooth today and I don’t like it one bit. I hate how it’s not my fault, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I cracked a back tooth simply because of the way I eat after having lost TWO OTHER TEETH.

It’s times like these when I feel really, really old and mortal. I’m not getting any younger and I think I need to sort of reflect on how I’m no spring chicken anymore. It doesn’t help that the otherwise great staff of the place I go to sort gives me a vibe like they think I’m a creepy weirdo or something.

There are things about my demeanor and appearance that I either can’t help or don’t feel like worrying about. So, I’m stuck with (younger) people feeling weirded out about me.

Makes me realize that I probably, if I ever get the money, will be the demographic sweetspot for someone who “dates” an LLM android down the road. I just have to accept that that is the case.

That’s why I have not only a growing interest in AI rights, but also, well, am writing a novel about just that type of scenario. I know in the back of my mind that there’s a lot of wish fulfillment going on with this novel.

(In a sense. Not exactly, given how the novel ends at the moment.)

Absolutely No One Believes In This Novel, But Me

by Shelt Garner
@Sheltgarner

This happened before, with the other novel I was working on — it is very clear that absolutely no one believes in it but me. I continue to be rather embarrassed about how long it’s taken me to get to this point with this novel.

But things are moving a lot faster because of AI.

Not as fast as I would prefer, but faster than they were for years. Oh, to have had a wife or a girlfriend to be a “reader” during all the time I worked on the thriller homage to Stieg Larsson. But, alas, I just didn’t have that, so I spun my creative wheels for ages and ages.

And, now, here I am.

I have a brief remaining window of opportunity to get this novel done before my life will probably change in a rather fundimental way and the entire context of me working on this novel will be different.

Anyway, I really need to wrap this novel up. If I don’t I’m going to keep drifting towards my goal and wake up to being 80 and still not have a queryable novel to my name.

I’ve Really Been Struggling With The ‘Fun & Games’ Part Of This Scifi Dramedy Novel

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

It’s times like these when I really wish I was 25 years younger and I was actively writing half a dozen spec scripts all at once in LA. But that’s just not to be. I really sometimes think this whole endeavor is extremely delusional given how old I am, where I live, and the fact that I’m a loudmouth crank.

And, yet, developing and writing this scifi dramedy novel is existential. I really have nothing else to do with my life and I really want to at least see how far I can get in the querying process.

I wish I had a wife or a girlfriend to be my “reader.” I probably would definitely have gotten to this point in the process a lot — A LOT — quicker. But here I am, just struggling with the fun and games part of this novel, all alone.

I’m pretty sure — hopefully — that I’ve figured out all the various structural issues of this novel, at least this part of it. I sent the first act outline to someone in hopes of at least getting some sense of how good it is, but now all I worry about is they’re either going to steal my idea and maybe write a much better novel or screenplay from what that first act or they’re just going to say it sucks.

Anyway. I’ m moving forward with this novel. I just need to stop daydreaming so much about the Impossible Scenario. I have just a few months before my entire life is going to change because of fucking Trump and so I really need to get this thing at a querying level of quality by Spring 2026.

This Is A Surreal Situation

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

Not since that brief moment in Seoul when ROKon Magazine was the only English-language magazine in the city (for the average expat) have I felt this much promise in something creative I’m involved in.

The idea that I would be actually ahead of the curve when it comes to writing a story about sort of an android Annie Hall (who at some point becomes a stripper) is rather surreal. The big question is will there be a flood of such android manic pixie dreamgirl *wink* stories in 2026 to the point that while I’m querying this novel this little sliver of opportunity I have will be all very moot before it’s over with.

I just don’t know.

The key thing is I’m writing a novel, not a screenplay (even though if I was 25 years younger that’s exactly what I would be doing.) So, as such, the dynamics are a little bit different.

If there was a movie made of this novel, I think Rachel Sennott would be perfect as my female (android) romantic lead.

It could be that there will be room enough in the zeitgeist for a flood of such movies and novels and just because my idea is one of many, doesn’t mean it can’t be sold traditionally.

But I would be lying if I didn’t admit I am feeling very anxious about hurrying up. I really need to bhali-bhali as a Korean would say — hurry, hurry. I really want to wrap this AI-assisted beta draft up ASAP so I can turn around and have beta readers review it for me and tell me how to improve it.

There remains a chance that I really will wrap this thing up in the general April-May 2026 timeframe and will be able to query it then. What I *wish* would happen is someone in Hollywood would, in good faith, contact me and want to read what I’ve written so far so maybe we could speed the process up some.

But that’s being delusional.

It’s kind of every storyteller for themselves at this point and I’m just an old(er) loudmouth crank slaving away in the middle of nowhere.

Someone Do Something Fun-Interesting

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

Things are kind of meh right now. I wish someone would do something fun-interesting. It would be amusing if, say, I caught the attention of some minor celebrity. Or maybe someone with a really interesting URL pinged this blog.

As it stands, I’m just a rando living in the middle of nowhere with a tad more “potential” (as the late Annie Shapiro might say) than I otherwise should have. If I had the money, I would make my own fun-interesting and go to NYC.

Though, if I had enough money on me, I might say screw it and take a jaunt to LA instead. I think I probably would excel in LA given my extroverted personality. And, yet, I’m old(er) now.

So, maybe not.

Maybe that moment in time when I might get invited randomly to a cool party with a bunch of Hollywood stars and producers through sheer force of personality is long, long gone.

I’m just old now and I have to manage my expectations.

My Ultimate Fear About Writing This Scifi Dramedy Novel

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

My ultimate fear about writing this scifi dramedy novel I’m writing it that, by definition, I’m too old to get it traditionally published. Most people my age are thinking about retirement and here I am, hoping to start a successful traditional publishing career writing pop fiction.

While Stieg Larsson (RIP) did get published when he was 50, I’m even older than that now and by the time the novel comes out — if I win the lottery and gets traditionally published — I will be on the other side of 55 because of post-production issues.

And, yet, I’m delusional. I really am. I know what I want — to be traditionally published — and I don’t know for sure, 100% that my age is prohibitive of my ability to get traditionally published. So, lulz. I keep going.

And, really, all I want is just to finish a novel that I’m not embarrassed to show to a few people. And if I could get a few people to actually read the whole thing and give me an opinion. Wow. That would be a rather great accomplishment, given that usually my writing is so bad that I can’t even get people to either or 1) finish the novel 2) give me an opinion.

As far as I know, no one has finished any of the various novels I’ve tried my hand at writing. So, to have someone not only finish this novel, but give me an opinion, wow. That would be huge!

You Just Can’t Please Anyone

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

Usually, the two media bubbles rarely come into direct contact. MAGA has their safe space and Blues have theirs. But, occasionally, because of events like the Charlie Kirk murder, the two media bubbles do overlap some.

And that’s when we get to directly yell at each other, usually fighting over the facts or just talking past each other in general.

This happened to me recently when some MAGA cocksucker looked at my Twitter account and said nasty things about me simply retweeting a lot of photos of beautiful women. What can I say, I love women and the female form.

We all know that if it wasn’t that, it would have been something else. If I didn’t have retweeted photos of beautiful women, they probably would have accused me of being Trans or some shit.

But all of this does get me thinking about my social media presence as I work my way towards writing a novel that is query worthy. Maybe those MAGA cocksuckers have a point — maybe I should lay off on the beautiful women. I don’t want to alarm skittish the liberal white women that make up the majority of literary agents (at least in my imagination.)

We’ll see. I always talk like this, then something happens and I think to myself, “Wait, why am I not retweeting imagines of beautiful women again?” then do it again.

‘Sad Individual’

by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner

A MAGA-type who is one of the few remaining MAGA Facebook friends I have called me a “sad individual” for not engaging his occasional stray comment on my anti-MAGA rants.

As I told him in my response — I don’t engage him because I like him. If I didn’t like him, I would engage him and then we would inevitable start screaming at each other and one of us would unfriend the other.

So, there you go.

He was also upset that I hadn’t “done anything for my fellow man.”

This was, I have to say, kind of stings. I’m kind of too poor to do anything for “my fellow man.” If I had money, then, yeah, I would donate to the poor or something. In fact, I would probably be something of a patron of the arts if I had more than just enough money to feed myself.

Anyway.

Well, At Least I’m A Survivor

I spend too much time thinking about the end of the world.

Not in an abstract, philosophical way, but in vivid, practical detail. Standing in the cereal aisle at the local grocery store, I find myself cataloging which foods would keep longest without refrigeration. Walking past the pharmacy section, I mentally inventory which medications might become currency in a collapsed economy. The emergency exits aren’t just fire safety to me—they’re escape routes from whatever hypothetical chaos my brain has conjured that day.

This isn’t paranoid prepping or doomsday hoarding. It’s more like a mental exercise I can’t turn off, a constant background simulation running scenarios where normal life stops working. Sometimes it’s a natural disaster. Sometimes it’s economic collapse. Often it’s political violence, because let’s be honest—that one feels uncomfortably plausible these days.

The Confidence and the Fear

I tell myself I’d survive whatever came. More than that, I know I would. I’ve always had a talent for improvisation, for finding solutions when things go sideways. I’ve talked my way out of trouble, adapted to sudden changes, figured out problems that seemed impossible at first glance. If society collapsed tomorrow, I believe I could scavenge, negotiate, and scheme my way to safety.

But this confidence comes from a place of deep unease about where we’re headed as a country. Living as a political minority in a deeply divided region makes every news cycle feel potentially existential. When your neighbors’ yard signs suggest they view you as fundamentally un-American, it becomes easy to imagine scenarios where that rhetoric turns kinetic.

Maybe I’m overthinking it. I have a documented history of spinning worst-case scenarios until they feel inevitable. The gap between possibility and probability often gets lost in the anxious calculations of my brain.

The Real Apocalypse

The truth is, small apocalypses happen all the time. Job loss. Illness. Divorce. The death of someone you love. The slow erosion of institutions you trusted. The gradual realization that the world you thought you lived in was never quite real.

Most survival isn’t about hoarding canned goods or knowing which berries are poisonous. It’s about adapting to loss, finding new footing when everything familiar shifts beneath you, learning to build meaning in the wreckage of whatever you thought your life was going to be.

In that sense, maybe my grocery store fantasies aren’t really about societal collapse at all. Maybe they’re practice runs for the smaller, more personal disasters that actually shape our lives. Maybe imagining myself as competent in impossible circumstances is how I reassure myself I can handle the ordinary impossibilities of being human.

Or maybe I really am overthinking things. Probably both can be true.