Goats Like Books (to eat)

We made it through winter. Yes, I know it's July. That's how long winter was lol. We've officially reached summer hibernation, so I'm once again sitting at the computer occasionally. Twice this week, in fact!

If we had a spring (I think we're supposed to get one every year, technically), mine was mainly filled with projects: building things, fixing things, closing holes in the fence, chasing Dandelion through the woods because she found another hole in the fence, shoveling out stalls, and the like. 

But, I've made it through a good chunk of my never ending to-do list and have decided it's time to do some writing stuff again. 

I'm working on a couple things (albeit far more slowly than I used to): 

1. Figuring out where I left off on all my projects when I started this whole animal sanctuary thing. 

2. Writing a Starship Blunder short story for the next anthology. If you don't remember, you can find the previous one I was in here! I believe submissions are still being accepted as well, if you're interested in that kind of thing ;)

3. Finishing final edits of Book 2 of the Sablewood series. 

4. Finishing the redesign of Land of Szornyek. 

5. Putting some of my books in Kindle Unlimited. 

Not all of that will happen in July, but maybe I can manage 1 &2? 

In Havencroft Animal Sanctuary news, we are growing and growing and growing. We were just able to fundraise to buy 100 bales of hay at once for a discount; we have several new goats from a rather unfortunate situation who are delightful and quite happy to be here; and we are working our asses off to try to get through the summer and hopefully implement a few things to make next winter a teensy bit easier. 

In addition, I've started a new animal/writer-related project of my own. 

As you know I'm a bit of a philosophy-psychology nerd who thinks a lot—or as Josh likes to say in a fake southern accent: "Too much thiankin', Sieling!"

So I've started a podcast exploring the darker, sadder elements of animal rescue called The Dark Side of the Barn. 

My plan is to find ways to talk about grief, sadness, pain, and anger while using specific experiences of loss to do so. 

As an organization dealing with animal rescue and welfare, we encounter the best of people and the absolute worst of people in the work we do. As a result, it requires a great deal of emotional effort and internal work to keep on going, having to face the horrors of human nature over and over again. 

The first two episodes explore the deaths of a couple animals, as will the third one. But I also have plans to discuss some of the more difficult topics: choosing to euthanize, having to do the task yourself, behavioral euthanasia, the impact of animal abuse, making mistakes that cause harm to animals in your care, etc. 

Here's a link if you'd like to check it out: The Dark Side of the Barn. 

If you prefer happier stuff, Josh and I are also making a podcast together, where we discuss the joy and delight of taking care of animals. We tell stories about them, anthropomorphize them, and generally share all of the ridiculous things we experience in day to day life. 

Here's a link to that one: The Havencroft Herdcast.

That's all for now! Stay tuned for another update, sometime before the end of the year. 😂

How to Survive the Apocalypse, Part 11: Why It’s Good to Be a Little Weird Before the End Comes

In the pre-apocalypse world, being a little weird might get you some funny looks. You spend your free time practicing medieval sword fighting? You collect obscure survival manuals from the 1800s? You taught yourself how to tan a deer hide, even though you’ve never been hunting in your life?

Unusual, sure. Some might call you eccentric. But when the world falls apart, that weirdness might just be the reason you make it.

Because here’s the thing—normal people don’t survive the end of the world.

The ones who thrive? They’re the ones who already live like civilization is optional.

Right now, society rewards specialization. People dedicate their lives to one career, one skill set, one carefully curated routine. But what happens when all of that collapses?

• The guy who only knows how to write marketing reports? Not very useful when the power grid is gone.

• The person who eats nothing but UberEats and microwave meals? Good luck when the grocery store is an abandoned wasteland.

• The office worker who has never spent a single night outside? Probably not making it through the first winter.

If all you know is how to function within modern society, you are dangerously unprepared for a world where modern society no longer exists.

The Survival Perks of Being a Little Weird

Meanwhile, the weird people—the ones who already live like they don’t fully trust civilization to stick around—they’re the ones who have a fighting chance. Why?

1. Weird Hobbies = Survival Skills in Disguise

A lot of things that seem quirky or unnecessary now could turn into critical survival skills when the world shifts.

• The blacksmithing enthusiast? Now the only person in town who can repair tools.

• The amateur herbalist? Suddenly in charge of medicine.

• The person who spent years practicing archery as a “fun historical skill”? Now the best hunter around.

Being a little unusual likely means you already have a skill set that isn’t dependent on the modern world. And that’s an advantage.

Fingers crossed your unconventional skill set matches the type of apocalypse we get.

2. Unconventional Thinking Means You Adapt Faster

When everything collapses, people who are too used to the system will struggle the most. They’ll keep trying to act like things will go back to normal, even when it’s clear that normal is gone.

But the eccentrics? They’re used to questioning reality.

• The conspiracy theorist already thought the government might fail, so they aren’t shocked when it does. In fact, they probably saw it coming years earlier.

• The DIY enthusiast already knows how to repurpose junk into useful tools. And if they’re friends with the conspiracy theorist, they’ve been stockpiling the right kind of junk for years.

• The roleplaying gamer has already mentally rehearsed a hundred different survival scenarios and can put the DIY enthusiast’s useful tools into practice right away.

When society breaks, it’s not the ones who cling to the old ways that survive. It’s the ones who are willing to embrace the new reality.

3. You Probably Already Own Useful Stuff

The average person has an apartment full of IKEA furniture and decorative candles.

The eccentric person? They have:

• A working forge in their backyard

• A bookshelf full of ancient survival guides

• A medieval-style longbow

• A collection of wild edible plant identification flashcards

• A fully stocked apocalypse bunker “just for fun”

And sure, maybe their neighbors used to think they were strange. But when the world ends, who’s knocking on their door for help? Yep. That same neighbor.

How to Embrace the Weird Before It’s Too Late

If you’re already weird? Congratulations! Me too! Keep doing your thing. Your niche skills, odd habits, and general distrust of the status quo are survival assets.

But if you’ve spent your life being too normal, now is the time to start getting just a little bit strange.

• Learn a skill no one thinks is useful anymore (like blacksmithing, sewing, or making soap).

• Read old survival manuals instead of assuming you can Google everything forever.

• Start paying attention to the natural world—what’s edible, what’s poisonous, where water sources are.

• Get comfortable being uncomfortable. Sleep outside. Take cold showers. Eat weird food.

• Pick up a "pointless" hobby that might turn out to be very useful (axe throwing, beekeeping, lockpicking). You never know—it might be useful sooner than you think.

The best time to start preparing for the end of the world was years ago.

The second best time? Right now.

So go ahead—get a little weird. One day, it might be the thing that keeps you alive.

How to Survive the Apocalypse, Part 10: Should I Start a Cult?

The world has ended. Society is in ruins. Resources are scarce, people are scared, and you’re standing in the wreckage, wondering:

Should I start a cult?

A reasonable question.

After all, history tells us that when the world feels like it’s falling apart, people start looking for answers. And sometimes, those answers come in the form of a charismatic leader, a tight-knit community, and a few mildly concerning group rituals.

So let’s break it down. Is starting (or joining!) a cult a good survival strategy, or are you better off just hoarding beans and keeping a low profile?

The Case for Cult Leadership: Why You Might Want to Become the Supreme Prophet of the New World

There are plenty of upsides to running your own doomsday cult—uh, I mean, running your intentional survivalist community with a strong leader.

Starting with: instant power and loyalty. Because when resources are limited, being in charge is better than being at the bottom of someone else’s hierarchy.

Cult leaders get:

• First dibs on food and supplies

• A personal security force (loyal followers)

• An audience that actually listens when you talk

In addition, it would be extremely useful to be able to influence (or control) a workforce that doesn’t question you. Need a bunker built? Need some zombies battled? Need someone to scavenge supplies while you stay safe inside?

If people believe in you, they’ll do the hard work so you don’t have to.

After all, survival is easier in groups. If everyone else is out for themselves, your followers provide a ready-made community with protection, shared resources, and extra hands to fend off threats.

It’s the apocalypse—people expect weird behavior anyway.
Pre-apocalypse? Walking around in robes declaring yourself “The Chosen One” would get you some funny looks.

Post-apocalypse? That’s just Tuesday.

The Downside of Cult Leadership: Why You Should Maybe Reconsider

Before you start assigning titles like “High Priest of Canned Goods,” it’s worth considering the inevitable problems with running a post-apocalyptic cult.

For starters, cults require energy. A lot of It.

Running a cult means constant manipulation, performance, and decision-making. If you’re just trying to chill in the wasteland and eat your secret stash of peanut butter, this is a full-time job. On the other hand, maybe manipulation is your secret superpower. In which case, it might not be that difficult after all.

Even if your followers love you, other survival groups probably won’t love that you have an army of devoted zealots. Whether it’s a power grab or just annoyance at your “visions,” expect enemies. Potentially lots of them. And the bigger your following gets, the more enemies you’ll have too.

I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention the Waco Problem. Governments (if they still exist) and bigger, stronger warlords tend to not love the idea of independent, well-armed, organized groups that worship a singular leader. They will show up. And it will probably not go well for you.

Unless your zealots are stronger than theirs.

What Kind of Apocalypse Best Supports Cult Formation?

I should point out that not every end-of-the-world scenario is cult-friendly. Some are ideal, while others just make you look like a guy in a robe yelling at an empty field.

Best Cult-Friendly Apocalypses:

• Slow Societal Collapse: When things get bad gradually, people cling to strong, confident leaders who seem to have answers. Perfect recruitment conditions. (Sound familiar?)

• Nuclear Fallout/Post-War Chaos: When governments fail and survival depends on tight-knit groups, cults thrive.

• Supernatural End Times: If the apocalypse involves demons, aliens, or mysterious omens, convincing people you “understand the signs” is way easier.

Terrible Cult-Building Apocalypses:

Zombie Apocalypse: Hard to run a cult when your followers keep getting eaten. Also, zombies don’t care about sermons. On the other hand, you’d have a lot of bodies to put between you and the zombies.
Mad Max Wasteland: Warlords > Cults. If the dominant survival strategy is “biggest guy with the most guns wins,” your faith-based society is getting steamrolled.
AI Takeover: The robots do not care about your prophecies.

So… Should You Start a Cult?

Maybe.

If you’re charismatic, organized, and willing to maintain absolute control over a group of desperate people (despite the dog-awful ethics of doing so), running a cult might actually increase your survival odds.

But if you’re just looking for companionship, security, or food? You’re probably better off joining an existing survival group rather than reinventing the wheel (or the oppressive spiritual hierarchy).

At the very least, if you’re going to start a cult, aim for something low-maintenance. A chill survival commune with light worship and minimal ritual sacrifices seems good. Maybe colorful shirts and some fruit would be nice.

And if all else fails? Just call it a “leadership training program” and see what happens.

In The Forest I Am Me

There’s something about being outside that feels different than anywhere else.

Specifically, I don’t mean doing outside; I mean being outside.

The ability to just sit or ride or exist in the outdoors is a privilege I will always be grateful for. Because every time it happens, it’s like years are added onto my life. Like weight is released from my soul.

When I am in a people-centric place, a city or a highway or a mall, where people-ness rises up and severs my connection to the outdoors, I become agitated and anxious. There are too many sounds and smells and lights and color; noise and chaos and filth.

But when I am outside, despite the fact that there are MORE sounds and sights and smells and chaos, it feels soft. Comforting. As though I am in a place where I can truly feel safe.

People require a significant amount of mental and emotional energy from me. They are always there, potentially noticing or interacting, and I am always aware of their presence.

But in the forest, I am simply a part of it. I am no different than a bird or a bear or a badger. I can burrow or flit or growl, but the size of me is utterly subsumed by the essence of the forest. All of it is exponentially, maybe even infinitely bigger than me.

I am a blip and nothing more.

An inconsequential passerby in the life of a centuries-old tree, a forest of a millennia of years.

Because of this, i am safe to exist exactly as I am.

In the number of days, my life might be greater than that of a bird, an otter, or a bear, but my life is inconsequential compared to a tree. And nothing in relation to the days of a stone, or to the Earth itself.

When you take a step back and see the Earth floating in the cosmos, a pale blue dot as Carl Sagan described it, you see all of humanity as one. But when you step even further back, and see the passage of time—I am not even a thought, a memory, a mote.

I am nothing except myself.

And there is no lost honor or sadness in this. It is the way of all things. And it is the way of being alive in this universe, in this time.

I exist. As do the whales and the unfathomable expanse of the ocean and the moose being devoured by an orca on the shore.

We all exist for a blink in the lifespan of the universe. My life is naught but a grain of sand in the ocean. A single pebble in the Earth’s crust. A drop of water in a thunderstorm.

But without me, the universe would not be as it is.

The Complexity of Thought

Life has always been complex, but our understanding of exactly how complex has not always been, in and of itself, complex. Some people have a complex understanding of the complexity of existence; other people have a simple understanding of the complexity of existence.

As societies learn more about the world, our understanding doesn’t just expand—it becomes more complex, because knowledge itself creates new layers of uncertainty, debate, and possibility. This has the effect of creating a moving needing for just about everything, but in particular, what we consider “baseline knowledge.” What does everyone accept to be true, without question? Without fully understanding?

The shape of the planet. Germs. The existence of computers. Fractions. Atoms and molecules and distant galaxies. All things that were once, largely unknown.

Perhaps an apt analogy is that of an iceberg. This iceberg represents all knowledge.

Humanity is in a fleet of boats, sailing rapidly toward the iceberg. The fleet represents the social limitations of our collective knowledge. As all of society works to a.) acquire more knowledge and b.) provide access to said knowledge, we all draw nearer to the iceberg, which enables us to see it more clearly both as individuals and as a group.

But, from a distance, all we can know is the way the tip of the iceberg looks.

As we collectively draw nearer to the iceberg, the closest ship in the fleet sends explorers on a rowboat to learn more about the iceberg. They discover that it is safe to walk on and that it is very cold. Perhaps they learn there are penguins on it, or geographic features.

Then they return to the fleet.

Those on their own ship believe them wholeheartedly. But on other ships in the fleet, the reception of the information is varied. Some claim it is a hoax. Some are too busy fighting off scurvy to care. Some are mutinying. Others listen but have questions. Some receive false information—the telephone game effect.

At this point the collective knowledge of the fleet as a whole begins to diverge, and sub groups emerge. Each sub group has their own version of the Truth. Each group also contains individuals who become at least partially separate from the group; those who are willing to drift from group to group.

These are the arbiters of the information, who lend credibility or dissent to the rest of the group. They either leave the group to seek out new information or verify what’s been learned; or, they remain in the group and work to create ideological filters or barriers that prevent others from learning about the iceberg. This would be presented as “in the best interest of the group.” The sub-group would tend to view the person with respect and trust them to deliver and assess any new information based on their collective definition of Truth or reality.

Eventually, more explorers are sent to the iceberg, even as information continues to be shared or debated among the fleet. Some members of the fleet support the explorers and some do not.

As the explores dig deeper in their efforts to understand the iceberg, they realize that what they can see is only… pardon me, but… the tip of the iceberg. What they thought was just ice flotilla, is in fact an upside-down mountain range, most of which is invisible beneath the ocean’s surface.

This floating hunk of ice is far more complex than they’d realized. What’s more, is that while they now understand that the iceberg is far more than what it initially appeared, they don’t actually know what else it actually is. They only know that there is more to learn.

Their understanding itself has grown more complex.

Now they bring their new understanding of the iceberg back to the fleet.

“There’s more,” they say.

“More what?” they’re asked.

“Just… more.”

The word spreads. Some groups believe it and adjust their world view. Others don’t change. Still others lie to create a version of the story that aligns with their version of reality.

More information emerges. It’s all ice. About 90% of it is submerged; only 10% is visible to those in the fleet. It is made of fresh water, despite the fact the ocean is salty. The varying degrees of melting and breakup of the ice makes them very dangerous, liable to tip or roll at any moment.

And still, the researchers and explorers know there is more to learn. They haven’t discovered every detail, but their understanding has grown immeasurably.

And then… one of the ships discovers a second iceberg.

Now their ability to conceptualize doubles. The complexity of their iceberg world expands exponentially. If there are two icebergs, why not three or four or five or a hundred? If there are penguins on this iceberg, what other species might they discover?

The new knowledge of what IS, feeds the understanding not only of what could be, but of what probably is. Their ability to comprehend all that they don’t know is growing more rapidly than what they do know.

It’s like the mysterious they always say: "The more you know, the more you know you don’t know.”

The complexity of the world is inescapable—but whether our understanding deepens depends on whether we’re willing to let knowledge flow freely, even when it reshapes what we thought we knew.