How awesome is that?

On the morning of July 30th, 2020, a 191-foot tall Atlas V-541 rocket raced the sun into the sky from Launch Complex 41 at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station in Florida. Its destination: our rusty-hued celestial neighbor, Mars.

While already a breathtaking feat of engineering, the rocket’s payload included a curious, almost trivial thing; something never before encountered in the Cosmos.

It carried my name. Yours too, perhaps, if you signed up for it.

For seven months, that vehicle has traversed the roughly 293 million miles that currently stretch between our two worlds without a single bathroom break. On the plus side, traffic was light. There were only two other vehicles on the road during the entire trip.

Soon that wondrous assemblage of scientific instruments will descend through the thin Martian atmosphere, perform a precisely calculated set of maneuvers, and touch down on an alien world (fingers crossed). Millions will watch the event from all across this amazing blue marble.

Our names are landing on another world! Long after the rover’s mission parameters have been fulfilled and its energies depleted, it will remain on Mars as a monument to human achievement. How awesome is that?

As someone who has been interested in space exploration since I was a kid watching Star Trek reruns, events like this are cause for great excitement. Mars has been our constant next-door neighbor since before humans took their first glimpses skyward, yet we’ve barely begun to unlock its mysteries. Even less so the myriad worlds that lie beyond our local galactic cul-de-sac.

We have been poetically described as a way for the Universe to observe itself—matter spewed forth from the crucible of exploding stars assembled into a conveniently sentient humanoid form, capable of pondering its place in the Cosmos. Endless debates echo throughout halls of learning, houses of religion, and the lawn chairs of late-night stargazers. We all strive to understand not just the meaning of ourselves, but our place amongst the greater scheme of things. Why are we here? Are we alone in the Universe? If a rock tumbles on Mars, and no rover is there to record the anomaly with its onboard sensors, does it make a sound?

Exploration is the first step towards answering some of those questions.

My own, one for which I can already guess the answer, is: How awesome is that?

Topher's Obligatory New Year's Address

Friends, here we meet once again, on this particular side of the star Sol, ready to observe the Cosmic Odometer as it spins around another numeral.

I've heard it said that if all of cosmological time were compressed into a single year, modern humans only appeared on Earth within the last eight minutes (give or take). That means—cosmologically speaking—we're brand-new. We're a baby species; still learning to toddle about in this strange and mysterious universe.

But that's kind of exciting, isn't it? It means we have so much potential, so much left to learn and achieve—once we've matured a bit. Once we've proverbially “gotten over ourselves.”

We've been experiencing some excruciating growing pains, but I believe we are on the verge of great human evolution...provided we survive the experience. That bright future is not guaranteed. Indeed, if we continue along our current trajectory, we might be embracing our destruction.

But it does not have to come to that. A moment may seem utterly insignificant to the Cosmos, but it carries more weight than we realize. Moments where empathy and a desire for understanding are chosen over conflict, charity chosen over greed, encouragement chosen over belittlement, inspiration chosen over insult. We cannot afford to remain so divided; so torn. If we build each other up, if we charge our spiritual batteries with positive energy, we will unleash potential the likes of which we have only ever dreamt.

We've spent too much time arguing over our differences. We have forgotten that such diversity is what gives us strength. We must understand and support each other if we are to survive.

I've seen what we can do when we're at our best. We possess the potential to achieve greatness in this Universe...and beyond.

I believe in you. Let's meet here again one year hence, with brighter memories to share.

Filling the Missing Pieces

It suddenly (and quite jarringly) occurred to me today that this will be our tenth holiday without Steph.

That's an entire decade's worth of memories. Three-thousand, six-hundred and fifty days (give or take) of laughter, tears, triumphs, defeats, and new Star Wars projects; each worthy of prolonged discussion over a phone call—one I will never make again.

As most of you know, I started writing as a way to heal. Working through my grief using the written word turned out to be very therapeutic, and it received such a positive response that it soon became "my thing." Since my previous thing was throwing up before marching band contests ("the chunkier the spew, the better we'll do!"), I wasn't inclined to argue.

Holidays can be hard for most of us, even during the best of times. And this year, there's an extra squishy booger stuck on the fruitcake: the pandemic. My mom, who lives about three miles away in a nursing home, hasn't been able to see anyone since March. This afternoon I got a call notifying me that residents are confined to their rooms due to a positive case. I can only imagine how lonely it feels staring out at the world for months on end without being able to hug your loved ones. (God bless the developers of the modern smartphone.)

For all of this, I am blessed. I have an abundance of love in my life—more so, perhaps, than I deserve. I appreciate it more than words can adequately convey.

Right now, a cat is purring on my lap. Amanda is in the kitchen baking cookies, offering occasional smiles and winks. The nightclub next door is silent, perhaps adhering to that old chestnut about the traditional volume level of holy nights. Truly, this is a Christmas miracle.

Best of all, I am but a few button clicks away from all of my friends and family. I love each and every one of you; you've been there for me in ways you probably don't realize. I hope I am here for you as well. If not, I'll endeavor to try harder.

Whatever your reason for the season, I wish it a blessed one for you and yours. (Personally, I'm thinking of giving Saturnalia a whirl this year. Does it come with pie?)

What Dreams May Come

I had that dream again. You know the one. I've experienced it sporadically over the last twenty years.

For me, the setting is the good 'ole days of marching band, although I'd wager some version of it will be familiar to anyone that has ever worked diligently to memorize any sort of arrangement.

The dream goes like this: I find myself about to hit the field—something I've done in real life more times than I can count—only this time, I can't remember what show I'm about to perform. I can't recall the music, the steps, or even the current year. It is like I've suddenly been transported back in time, but I'm still the "me" of the present.

Not an ideal scenario, as you might imagine. Can't we do the one where I win the lottery again? I like that one.

I don't have a uniform or an instrument. I have to mime holding a saxophone as I waddle aimlessly around the field in my street clothes. (At least this isn't the "naked dream." That's an altogether different adventure.) I don't understand why I still have to march, considering the fact I'm obviously a time-traveling 42-year-old experiencing what any rational observer would logically conclude is some sort of complete mental breakdown.

I've never understood this dream, but I've had it many times over the years. It is a startlingly realistic simulation. I wake up in a sweat, taking several seconds to reorient myself as to where and WHEN I am. 

It was only a dream. I'm okay. No one calls me "Chris" anymore. It was only a dream...

I wonder if Steph ever had this dream. I know she often dreamt of moving back into the house we lived in growing up, which is another single hot off my REM-induced greatest hits.

Weird, huh? What does any of it mean… if anything?

As someone who doesn't usually recall my dreams, these always hit me right in the gut. It is like I was really there. (I guess I was once, wasn't I? It was awkward then, too, for entirely different reasons.)

Oh, well. Here, in the waking world, I now have a very real problem...

…I can't get back to sleep.

The Star Wars Holiday "Special"

Every holiday has a legend.

Long before there was a LEGO Star Wars Holiday Special, there was... another.

A thing so remarkable, so legendary, so inexplicably special, that its legacy lives on — a tale whispered in secluded corners of disreputable taverns, or a spellbinding limerick melodiously sung by traveling minstrels who are hard up for booze.

This is an experience whose joy can only be surpassed by the likes of a flock of dentists simultaneously performing a hundred root canals, or a bloody nose lovingly gifted by your older brother.

Friends, it is in the spirit of this wondrous season, and the magic that is 2020, that I present to you:

The ORIGINAL Star Wars Holiday Special. With a generous side-order of 1970's funkadelic goodness.

***Best consumed with copious amounts of reality-altering narcotics.***

https://youtu.be/6hH8rxarVG8

P.S. This was where audiences first were introduced to Boba Fett!

The adventures will continue...

I got caught up with editing chapters so I completely forgot about last night's V.P. debate. With all due respect to American political theater, I think my time was spent productively.

But since we're talking about it, I do have a confession: the full-length sequel to last year's 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 (specifically, the further exploration of mysterious events involving a certain little town called Wickertree) won't be ready by this Halloween, as was our original intention.

I promise we're still working on it. This year, you may be surprised to learn, has gone somewhat off the rails. Since A. M. and I are self-publishing, we have to do all of the leg work ourselves, and real-life stubbornly insists on occurring between the pages.

There is good news: the story is benefiting from these occasional hiccups. Seeing the events from a fresh perspective after a bit of a break has been fantastic for the narrative. Some extraneous bits have been deleted, while other scenes have been extended. There are some genuinely terrifying scenes this time, as well as my specific brand of awkward levity. The characters are beginning to live and breathe on their own (except, of course, for the dead ones). We aim to tell a polished story, and parts of it are definitely shining.

However — with our deepest apologies — it will be told a little later than originally planned.

The wait will be worth it.

Remembering September 11, 2001

Like all days that go on to shatter reality, September 11, 2001, started out deceptively innocent.

I woke up. I took a shower. I dressed for work. I turned on the news to see a live picture of the World Trade Center in New York City, with smoke billowing out of one of the towers. The caption said a plane struck it.

While that was terrible enough on its own, it wasn't until I got to work that I started to understand the full extent of what was going on. The scant handful of customers who came in all carried rumors of what was happening in the outside world. Some were true; others, mere hearsay. It felt like Armageddon was unfolding right before our eyes. I ran to the back room every break to check the television for the latest updates. It was an unreal nightmare; one which has never ended.

At the time, I was dating a girl from the African country of Uganda. When I saw her, she hugged me and said words I will never forget, because they sent a chill down my spine: “Now it's here in your country.” Her family fled a military regime to find a better life here, only to discover terrorism had reached our shores as well. (In hindsight, dating 23-year-old me probably wasn’t her greatest life choice, either.)

Every generation has a date that lives in infamy. For mine, it’s 9/11/01. It sounds strange now that I know so many people who weren't alive then… how do you explain to a younger person there was a day when everything seemed to fall silent? Smartphones weren't around back then. Social media was still in its infancy. All we had was 24-hour news coverage on literally every channel; including cable.

I lost much of my remaining childhood wonder and innocence that day. It has taken me a long time to get some of it back, but it has come at the expense of living largely in my own head. Granted, this is great for writing stories or imagining a better reality, but it isn’t so great for living here, in the real world.

That day and the day my sister died were two very potent days in the forging of me, as I now stand (well, sit) before you. I have resolved to be the best me, and to make the world in my immediate vicinity as beautiful and magical a place as I am able, because evil – real, actual evil – can change the world in a handful of seconds.

We need to shine as much light as we possibly can.