Golden

Good or evil.

Light or darkness.

Right or wrong.

This or that.

To live in a world of duality is to exist in a convenient world, one in which inconvenient ideas may be dispatched in favor of simplicity, comfort.

Where things can be either this way or that way, and no other way, they are easy to categorize.

This person is a criminal.

That person is illegal.

This one is lazy.

That one can’t get their act together.

They are not like me.

Thank god they are. not like me.

And alas, in this world I may have clarity, I may have some measure of control even…

But most satisfyingly, this world makes no demands on me.

It demands not that I catch the tears of the weeping child, daughter of migrants.

It demands not that I touch the shackled hand of the guilty, son of addicts.

It demands not that I consider my own privilege, my own relative wealth, my own selfishness, or my own power.

In the world of this or that, I may be this and disregard what becomes of that.

But in a world of color, a golden world, I must consider:

If the migrant was me, working fingers to the bone to feed my children and yours…

How would I like to be treated?

If it was me behind those bars of steel, having undertaken actions I cannot now annul…

Who would I like as my advocate?

If it was me in pain, or hungry, or naked, or unwelcomed…

What kind of person would I wish to cross my path?

Would I want that person to use their power to harm me or to heal me?

And if it were you, would you want to stumble upon a person from the world of this or that, a world which revel in cruelty and where gold’s only purpose is to adorn the mantles grotesquely greedy, powerful, and vain?

Or would you hope to be visited by a person with a golden soul, a person who saw the humanity in your eyes when no others do, a person who sees your pain and your goodness and your frailty and loves you all the same? A person who has seen you at your worst and is left undeterred, undaunted?

If it were you, in which world would you wish to exist?

In a world of this or that, do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

- Brandon

Independence

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to unconstrained executive power.

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to the idea that any one man could decide the law for himself, or could decide another man’s fate with the mere stroke of a pen.

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to a king whose authority to deny the people their rights was so vast that it could not be checked by the judiciary.

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to a king who sent out swarms of armed soldiers to harass the people.

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to a king who sent the military to do the job of civilian law enforcement.

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to a king who deprived them of the due process right to trial.

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to a king who cut off foreign trade at his own whim.

Today we celebrate when our founding fathers said no to a king who transported people across the sea to be imprisoned for petty crimes.

Our founding was certainly flawed, as any nation’s founding necessarily must be. Our founders believed that certain people had the rights to liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but not all people. It is my earnest hope that we can now see the horrors wrought by the making of such wicked distinctions.

So…

May we celebrate the greatness of our founding, while we strive to earnestly learn the lessons of our history. 

May we continue to reject a system that benefits “the approved” or “the worthy” at the expense of the undeserving, the poor, or the “other.”

May we continue to demand a system which guarantees the rights of all, without exception for certain disfavored groups.

May we continue to demand that our executive be bound by the law and not be a law unto himself.

Today, may we continue to say no to any such king. 

Ghosts

{NOTE: Oddly enough, I wrote this blog just days before the most recent incident at Trousdale Turner Correctional Facility.}

It’s easy to forget how our past impacts the present. People we’ll never know, places we’ve never been, plans that may or may not have ever come to fruition. All of these can shape who we are, and I don’t just mean as individuals, but as a society.

And when we look back at the things we once prioritized, and see where those things fall on our list today, it can illuminate a lot about where we’re headed.

Not too far from where I live, the skeleton of a massive project sits rotting, save the electrical beacons that still pulse atop a completed, but non-functional, cooling tower to ward off planes from hitting it in the night. I’m referring to the Hartsville Nuclear Plant.

This was a project of the Tennessee Valley Authority birthed out of a growing demand for electricity in the region in the 1960s. Construction on the site began in the mid-70s. In all, the grand vision would have seen two plants, with two reactors each, constructed and operational to meet growing demand by the mid-80s.

The project promised to deliver a massive amount of (relatively) clean, safe energy to millions. It would have lowered energy prices and powered homes, businesses, and entire communities for generations to come.

But then, the Three Mile Island Nuclear accident happened in 1979 and public opinion toward nuclear energy soured. The TVA had already sunk the modern equivalent of $44 BILLION dollars into the project when it was canceled. The reactors were all left in various stages of completion, though no nuclear material was ever stored on site.

While much criticism can certainly be leveled toward TVA for a multitude of things, what was clear is that the Hartsville Nuclear Plant was a massive investment for the public good.

Now, nearly fifty years later, only the bones of the project remain. It’s quite haunting, actually. One can’t see it in its current state and not think of Pripyat, the Ukrainian city which sprung up to support the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, abandoned in the aftermath of that catastrophe.

But here, much closer to home, in an idyllic meadow just north of the Cumberland River, the Hartsville Nuclear Plant looms as a reminder of dreams abandoned, hopes for future prosperity and freedom relinquished to the pressures of a fickle public.

And now, nearly fifty years later, a stone’s throw from that site of broken promises rests the Trousdale Turner Prison.

Trousdale Turner is owned and operated by CoreCivic, a Brentwood, Tennessee based company which, according to the company’s 2024 Annual Letter to Shareholders, brought in nearly $2 BILLION in revenue last year. CoreCivic operates more than 80 detention facilities across the United States. According its website, it has “partnered with Immigration and Customers Enforcement (ICE) and its predecessor” for 40 years. The company proudly notes that “private facilities like ours offer more than 24% cost savings to taxpayers."

In case you were wondering: yes, CoreCivic is traded publicly on the New York Stock Exchange! In fact, its stock value is up nearly 60% in the last 5 years. You can become a shareholder. You can own a piece of this thriving business. In fact, if you have a stock portfolio, you might already be a partial owner, whether you know it or not.

Given the history of our country and the legacy of the 13th Amendment (which bans slavery “except as a punishment for crime”), I submit that one would strain to think of a quintessentially more American business: one in which confined human beings are the capital.

But it’s been a relatively easy sell…

The private prison whispers to John & Jane Q. Taxpayer:

We’ll keep those people who scare you out of sight and out of mind, and we’ll even save you money while we do it.

Isn’t that a deal, now?

We’ll keep your troubled youths from broken homes.

We’ll keep your strangers, struggling with crippling and undiagnosed mental illness.

We’ll keep those foreigners from taking your government benefits.

We’ll keep a disproportionate amount of people of color, too.

And you won’t even have to think about it.

They’ll stay nestled away in a peaceful valley where only the deer roam.

We’ll keep them out of sight.

Out of mind.

And surely you don’t care if we make a dollar at the same time, do you?

Now, I’m not writing to criticize CoreCivic, per se, though much criticism has been well deserved. There’s a reason Trousdale Turner is colloquially referred to as “the Thunderdome” of Tennessee prisons.

I’m not even writing to criticize the concept of incarceration, generally. That’s a far, far bigger topic. And certainly, there is a need for some level of separation of dangerous people from civil society. I would even agree that there is a need for some level of humane punishment. Surely, the concept of justice incorporates many possible goals and outcomes.

But Americans are more likely to be imprisoned by their government than any other citizenry on the face of the earth. As a percentage of population, we imprison more of our own people than China, Iran, North Korea, and even the “notoriously punitive” Singapore.

We have about 4% of the world’s population . . .

And more than 20% of its prisoners.

Nearly one quarter of people on the planet living behind bars are doing so here, in the good ole U.S.A.

The Land of the Free.

So… is this working? Are our prisons serving their purpose?

Cleary, they are failing at rehabilitation, because the U.S. also has the highest rates of recidivism in the world. If you enter an American prison at any time in your life, you’re likely to end up in one again.

But don’t worry: that makes some of us very, very wealthy.

Recidivism is good business, after all.

And so now, the Hartsville Nuclear Plant stands truly haunted.

The ghost of a future, once bright with hope and peace, now sits abandoned and looms menacing over the specter of human beings in shackles, locked away while each day they remain, a cash register dings.

How much is a human body worth?

CoreCivic can tell you.

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

But it’s all okay.

So long as they remain nestled away in obscurity.

So long as we don’t have to look.

Thanks for reading.

All the best,

Brandon

Sure

Simple facts are easily recognizable. There are just things we all, as a society, seemed to have learned and learned well. No real dispute, right?

For instance, we all know that bulls hate the color red, right? I mean, you’ve never seen a bull go after a matador waving a green cloth, right?

Here’s another one: Mount Everest is the tallest mountain on earth. That’s been long established. In fact, if a stranger at a bar asked you to bet that a different mountain was actually the tallest, you might (hopefully) decline the bet because the stranger is clearly either not sober or his cheese has slipped off his cracker.

And truth matters. Knowing the truth is often vital to our thriving as human beings.

Knowing that boiling water will burn us is important.

A big factor in deciding how to spend your income is understanding that if you refuse to pay your rent, your family will soon be homeless.

The knowledge that driving 100 miles per hour everywhere you go will likely land you with a hefty ticket, or even jail time, helps determine how soon you will arrive at your desired destination.

• But what if we don’t have all the information we need?

• What if the data is complex and what if we’re really not sure what we’re looking at?

• And crucially, what if the information we have isn’t enough to guide our decisions?

That’s where humility comes in.

Because I can be confident about a thing and also be wrong about that thing. And in my mind, there’s nothing more dangerous than being overconfident about the conclusions I have reached, particularly when my access to or understanding of information is limited.

For instance, if I drive 70 miles an hour because that’s what I believe the speed limit is, I’m getting a ticket in a 35 mile an hour zone. It doesn’t matter what my intentions are–bad data leads to bad outcomes.

So…

Did you know that bulls cannot see the color red? It’s thought that they are more engaged by the motion of the cloth than the color.

Did you know that Mauna Kea, which is partially buried under water, is taller than Mount Everest? Glad you didn’t take that bet.

Now, this isn’t to say that we should go around cynically doubting every single thing we think we know. But it does mean that, perhaps, we should hold our beliefs about the world around us with open hands, rather than closed fists. The point is that our confidence in any given fact can never be absolute, because we can never possess absolute knowledge.

So, first: when claims are made, we should engage them with humility, rather than with certainty, especially when it comes to issues that are complex or where our information is limited. We should consider the available evidence, and keep in mind our own biases, which can so often taint the way we look at things. And we should never find ourselves in a place where we are so dug into our own beliefs that we will not allow our minds to be changed after encountering new or better information.

Second: we must remember that the more outlandish the claim, the more evidence should be required to convince us of it. For instance, if that same stranger in the bar comes up to you and tells you that they have a puppy at home, it’s not that big of a stretch to believe them. Because you’ve seen puppies. You know people own puppies. And if the stranger is lying about having a puppy, it’s really no big deal (unless of course he uses that lie to convince you to go back to his place, murders you, and keeps your internal organs in his fridge. So, you know, remember stranger danger, too.).

But if that stranger tells you that he owns all the puppies in Denmark, you would be right to be skeptical, because again, that’s a claim which should require a lot of evidence to legitimate.

At the end of the day, the entire world—and our individual lives, for that matter—would be a much kinder, more thoughtful place if we would encounter facts which challenge our notions of how things work with the simple beauty of the statement: “I could be wrong.”

Because after all, we often are.

All the best,

Brandon 

The Undersides of Trees

A hectic day, east to west, sea of troubles and toil.

On all headings loneliness, sorrow, and anxiety abound.

The earth is serene when I stare at the undersides of trees.

Wind whips, piercing woolen layers, clouds both majestic and ominous.

Winter rages, blue and steely and unending.

The earth is warm when I stare at the undersides of trees.

Enveloped in stone rooted and obdurate, I grow mad for a kind word.

My own choices smother like a tempest; the choices of others are an oncoming train.

The earth is free when I stare at the undersides of trees.

A fool maunders legends, outlandish and obscene.

Yet the people clamor to his hollow temple baying give us a king.

The earth is sane when I stare at the undersides of trees.

Forest stripped of essence, hasty structures contrived too close and too large.

Like aliens the deer wander a place in which for millennia they thrived.

The earth is home when I stare at the undersides of trees.

- The Undersides of Trees, Brandon Dragan

Rage

Controversy sells and rage generates clicks.

This is bad for artists, bad for creators, bad for people trying to share their work.

Unless of course, your work is creating rage. . . Then you’re in luck.

Social media algorithms have a lot of us confounded. The fact is, I can post a picture of my face and get a certain number of likes & interactions.

I get way more if I post a picture of my dog’s face (which makes sense… LOOK at that face).

If I post something about one of my books that cost me countless hours of labor, love, and tears, on the other hand, I’m lucky if two people see it.

But I bet if I posted something controversial, if I said some truly bombastic things, people would start reacting one way or another, and the algorithms would think, ‘gosh the folks love this!’

So, I figured I’d give it a try today.

Here are a few of my (not at all) deeply held, deeply unpopular opinions. Feel free to argue. Feel free to get mad. Feel free to call people names.

And I’ll laugh it all the way to the bank (#sarcasm).

• Hamilton isn’t nearly as good as it was made out to be.

• Pizza in North Jersey is better than New York pizza and Chicago-style pizza is just a casserole with dough.

• Baseball is better with steroids.

• The Lord of the Rings movies are boring.

• Modern country music is rubbish.

• Peak Ronaldo was better than peak Messi.

Okay. That should do it. I believe I have successfully managed to offend everyone on earth. Won’t be long until I’m buying Twitter from Elon.

Here’s the issue though, all of us fall for this kind of clickbait from time to time and the people who are trying to get rich & famous off of us know this.

Rather than being incentivized to make good content, then, they just stir the pot.

And what’s the result?

Rather than creating meaningful art, we create meaningless arguments.

It’s everything from politics to sports to how we consume the news.

And the worst part is, it doesn’t leave us feeling satisfied, either. We get mad for a minute, we post a cathartic comment, and then we get moved on to the next thing that’s supposed to enrage us.

In falling down these wormholes, we lose sight of our values, and often, we lose sight of our friends.

So, friends, for those who are here, I just want to say thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

I can’t tell you what it means to me when you post an honest review of my writing.

I can’t tell you how much it means when you share a photo of my book.

Because whether you like my writing or not (and I realize, my work is not for everyone) each interaction means we’ve successfully cut through the noise, the rage, and the chaos, and had a truly human moment of sharing something together.

There’s lots more to come, lots more that I’ve been pouring my heart into, and I can’t wait to share it with you. Thanks again for being here for it.

Brandon

Flies

Happy New Year!

I’ve got to tell you, for some reason, this New Year hit me hard.

And unexpectedly.

And unexpectedly hard.

I went into 2023 feeling great. 2022 was a good year: I graduated law school, passed the bar exam, and started working as a real attorney. There were other great things, too! The Resurrection of Jesse Barrow was published, I had an amazing vacation with my family, and Arsenal is top of the league!

So, there wasn’t any “thank god that year is over with,” going on. And on top of it, it appeared that there was a lot to look forward to in 2023.

Having a paycheck for one! I’ve also got another novel finished and going through a final round of edits. My family has goals and plans and ideas, and everyone is currently healthy.

And then I got my doors blown in on New Year’s Day.

Out of nowhere, I found myself in my car, bawling my eyes out uncontrollably.

And what did it? A hug from my kid.

We were all leaving a restaurant and she was going with her grandma to spend some time together, and we said goodbye, and then she turned back toward me and ran into my arms. Gave me a huge hug… and just because.

I can tell you the tears I cried when I got in my car were good tears–even though they lasted most of the afternoon–so don’t feel like you need to worry about me!

But at that moment, I got so struck by how fleeting things are. My kids are growing up. FAST. In less than two months, I’m going to turn a year older than I’d like to admit.

Time FLIES.

And nothing is guaranteed.

This would have gotten me really down in the past, honestly, feeling like life is too short and it’s just slipping through my fingers. And this is something we, as humans, have probably dealt with since we started walking upright. It’s not a novel problem.

I remember my mom telling me from the time I was probably in fifth grade—don’t wish your life away. We’d be driving to school on a Monday morning and I’d say, “UGH, I can’t wait until Friday.”

And she would remind that were five, full, beautiful days between that moment and the moment I was longing for. Five full, beautiful days of being a fifth grader that I never got back.

I’ve thought about her advice throughout my life, and it was certainly well-taken.

That being said, when you get to a certain age, you stop wishing your life away and start wishing that it would slow down. And that can be even worse.

You stop fretting Monday when you’re in it and start fretting Tuesday because that’ll mean another precious day is gone.

In the words of county music legend Whisperin’ Bill Anderson:

“The young wish they were older and the old wish they were young. Everybody wants to be twenty-one.”

(Side Note: I shot the music video for this song with my good friend Jamie Jean!)

Lately, however, I’ve been reciting a little mantra that has helped draw out some of the sting:

This moment is exactly what it is meant to be.

The next moment will be something different.

And that is life.

And that’s okay. Because that is life.

This moment is exactly what it is supposed to be.

So, this year, join me.

Let’s not clutch at straws and grass: let’s be present, let’s be engaged, let’s be creative, and let’s be extravagant.

Let’s love and make love and let’s make the world a better place.

Let’s let our moments speak for themselves.

Let’s quit wishing for the future.

Let’s stop yearning for the past.

Because this moment is our life.

-Brandon

The Resurrection of Jesse Barrow is available here.

Sausage

Folks in these parts like two things most of all: sausage and justice, though I reckon they wouldn’t much care to watch how either one is made.

 – The Resurrection of Jesse Barrow

Spoiler alert… There is no town called Haywood, Alabama.

That being said, my vision for the world of Jesse Barrow grew out of some close friendships, two friends in particular who grew up in rural Alabama. Now, obviously these close friends weren’t around in 1911 rural Alabama, but as someone who studies history, I’ve always been fascinated by how our past affects our present. And the older I’ve become, the more I’ve been fascinated by how our present informs how we view our past, which then, paradoxically, informs our present. Both the past and the present can distort the truth.

What I mean by this is that typically yes, the victors write the history books. They tell us stories from their perspective. They might tell us how brave they were. They might tell us about all the good they did, the ways they changed the world for the better. And all of that might be true.

However, the victors are also likely to conveniently ignore any bad that they did.

But they wrote the books.

And the next generations read those books.

And now the present generation, living in the blessings of victory, begin to believe that they are superior to the “losers.”

This can happen because the victors’ grandkids read the stories written by the brave, good grandparents. It helps if the grandkids live in the lap of luxury, too.

As a result, the victors read greatness into the actions of their ancestors, and at the same time, read greatness into themselves.

And usually, such stories are not the whole truth.

I tried to tackle this paradox in The Resurrection of Jesse Barrow.

My perspective is a bit unique (although, it is probably becoming less so). I’ve lived in the south for nearly twenty years now, but I grew up in Northeastern New Jersey, the grandchild of immigrants from Eastern Europe. Those two elements of my identity combined to convince me from an early age that problems of race and injustice had nothing to do with me.

After all, I came from the part of the country that fought to free the slaves.

And on top of that, even if the United States had some culpability for slavery, my family wasn’t even here then, so I’m scot-free responsibility-wise.

And in a sense, that’s true.

My family never owned slaves. My family never belonged to a hate group.

Then, I moved to Nashville, Tennessee when I was 18.

And though I expected to find a den of overt racism, I discovered that in many ways, people were much more openly racist where I came from. Which got me questioning things. . .

As a northerner, I couldn’t be racist, right?

Because all the racists were in the south . . . right?

See… we northerners told ourselves a story after the war. We told ourselves that we were the good guys. We were the rescuers. We were the heroes. And in some sense, that’s not completely untrue. Scores and scores of men gave their lives for the freedom of others and in some sense that is surely noble.

However, that morphed through the years into stories about how bad other people were. And that in and of itself isn’t completely untrue.

Slavery was a detestable system that caused untold suffering and horror through the centuries. And there were people who benefited directly from that in the form of wealth and power.

But what I learned after moving to the south was that, a huge portion of the men who fought for the Confederacy didn’t own slaves. To be frank, many of them didn’t really have a dog in that fight (I say this, recognizing for many, a degree of culpability in fighting to preserve such an evil system).

My point is, I had learned that I was on the team of the “good guys” and those people down there were on the team of the “bad guys.”

Which morphed into a twisted belief—and this goes back to the days even before the war—that my side could not doing any wrong in comparison to the other side.

Sure, we might tell an ignorant joke here and there, but it was a joke! And nothing like what the other people did.

Sure, we might lock our doors when a person of color walks close to our car, but that’s just safety! And nothing like having different water fountains for different races!

Sure, our immigrant grandparents were able to save up and buy a house in a nice neighborhood, but that’s because they worked hard! And nothing like the privilege white people receive in the other place.

It took me a long time to start seeing that things were more complex than what I’d been taught. And when I learned that, I realized that indeed, I have been part of the problem.

Because it wasn’t just rich southerners who enjoyed the spoils of slave labor.

Manufacturers in the north, shipping magnates in the north, politicians in the north, factory workers in the north, and more all benefited from the same institution.

And the economic groundwork laid by that institution is the underpinning of the “great” American economy so many of us have enjoyed ever since.

So the truth is . . .

Directly or indirectly, I’ve benefited from the suffering of others.

Directly or indirectly, I’ve benefited from exploitation.

Directly or indirectly, my participation in the system as it exists makes me culpable.

The truth is . . .

I might love the country I live in, but if I’m honest, I haven’t wanted to really see how it was made.

The truth is . . .

We can all benefit from listening to the other.

We can all benefit from some humility.

We can all benefit from a new way of seeing ourselves.

Because the truth is . . . We all have a lot to learn.

 - b

Get your copy of The Resurrection of Jesse Barrow here!

Bar

I took the Uniform Bar Exam on July 26 and 27.

I’m still waiting on my results.

And I’m still having nightmares about it.

That’s not hyperbole—I had another one last night.

In fact, started having nightmares about the bar exam before I sat for it.

In the first one, about four days before the exam, I dreamed that I incorrectly formatted a written segment of the morning’s session, meaning that the portion I formatted incorrectly wouldn’t be graded, meaning that something like 15% of my bar score would be counted as a “zero.”

The worst part of that particular nightmare was that in the dream, I realized my mistake during the afternoon session, which totally derailed me mentally.

I remember waking up, palms sweaty and chest heavy with anxiety, only to realize that the test was still a few days off. Though I was able to take a deep breath, I can’t say that the unease subsided at all.

Then came the exam itself. One big room with something like four hundred other examinees nervously sitting, waiting for the proctor to say “begin,” while he wades through a set of rules that cause a measure of fright all their own.

Since July 27, I’ve had at least five other dreams about the exam, all of them involving that feeling of being up against the clock, being tasked with impossible tasks, feeling like I’ve given everything I have, and it still may not be good enough.

And that’s at the heart of the matter, isn’t it?

Self-doubt.

Insecurity.

It’s the same thing I struggle with as an artist—my books won’t sell because they’re not good enough. No one will read what I say because I don’t say anything worth saying. I won’t pass the exam because I’m not smart enough.

And I don’t have the answer at the moment.

I honestly feel like I did well enough to pass. I certainly know how much work I put in over the summer (not to mention the last three years), but there’s always that nagging voice that says: you could have done more. And I know that’s technically true.

But also, I’m not a machine. I’m human. And machines don’t pass the bar exam. Humans do.

So at the moment, sure, there’s an undercurrent of anxiety that I feel day in and day out, and I don’t think that will change until I get my results.

However, I’m also taking comfort in the reality that I’m not perfect, but no one else is, either.

I did my best, my absolute best, and we’ll find out if that was good enough on October 10.

Thanks for reading.

All the best,

-Brandon

Advokat

I’m excited to announce that my short story Advokat won the 2021 American Bar Association Journal/Ross Writing Contest for Legal Fiction!

You can read the American Bar Association Journal’s announcement here.

Advokat is the story of a seasoned immigration attorney who learns a lesson about acceptance after advocating for a pro bono client in a life and death situation.

The American Bar Association Journal will publish the story in November of this year. Advokat will also be included in a new collection of my work that will be published by Quoir early in 2022.

I want to say a big thank you to the usual folks (you know who you are), but I’d also like to specifically thank:

• Professor Arth, who organized the Belmont University College of Law writing contest and gave me some fantastic feedback on the story. This story would not exist without her efforts!

• Professor Zehrt, who helped me navigate the ethical quandaries this story presented.

• Mr. Gopal, of Gopal and Pedigo, who was kind enough to share his time and wealth of expertise in the field of immigration law with me.

(Mis)information

I’m really struggling.

I’m struggling with coming to grips with a lot of attitudes that seem pervasive in my country, the country I love.

I’m struggling to cope with my own shift in perspective.

I’m not necessarily talking politics here, although there is a political aspect to it.

What I’m really struggling with is the disconnect between the things I was brought up to believe in and how those things manifest in the world. (Caveat: when I write “raised” or “brought up” in this context, I’m talking about the wider conservative/church bubble, not things my parents taught me.)

Let me give you a few examples…

• On one hand, I was raised to believe that this is a Christian nation. Our government is based on “Judeo-Christian principles” and was annointed by God to be a beacon of hope and freedom to the world.

• On the other hand, if that same “Christian” government seeks to take care of the sick, the immigrant, or the orphan, we scream “socialism!” 

• On one hand, I was raised to believe that people who don’t love this country exactly as it is should get on a plane and leave it.

• On the other hand, take down a statue celebrating a racist piece of trash who literally betrayed this country, spit in our faces, and killed our sons, and we shout “don’t destroy ‘our’ ‘history’!”

• On one hand, I heard: “I need a stockpile of guns and ammo to protect myself and my family.”

• On the other hand, I hear: “I’m not getting no vaccine. God will protect me from a virus.”

So what’s this all about?

My daughters had their annual checkup today. I asked their pediatrician for her thoughts on where we’re at with Covid, the Delta variant, etc.

She told me, “Last Sunday night, I had a conversation with my husband (who is also a doctor) and told him that I was going to start the week with renewed energy and enthusiasm. I was going to compassionately talk to every parent about how important it is to get vaccinated.”

Then she said, “By my fourth patient, I was so discouraged that I was in tears.”

Why?

Because of the level of misinformation people are relying upon to make a decision that is potentially life or death not only to them, but to others—their friends, their families, and untold numbers of Americans (you know, the people we’re supposedly supposed to care about…) whose names they’ll never know.

I have trusted this wonderful physician with the health of my daughters since they were mere hours old.

She’s not a political operative. She’s not a “Fauci-ite” (good god, that term, don’t even get me started… ).

She’s a regular human who has dedicated her life to making sure my kids and yours live into adulthood.

Which, you know, is a pretty remarkable feat when you consider that nearly 1/5 of Americans failed to reach adulthood just 100 years ago.

But you know… scientists and all. What do they know, right?

And I’ve seen the excuses for not getting vaccinated.

They’re weak.

Like, anemic weak:

“I have heard way too many horrible stories.”

“I don’t listen to the media I listen to actual people.”

“I just had a friend tell me her mother is now 65% blind from it.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. Those comments literally came from one Facebook post.

And that last one... Kyrie, eleison.

On Last Week Tonight, this week… John Oliver put it perfectly when commenting about a person who won’t get the vaccine because it’s “the government’s agenda” to get everyone vaccinated:

“Uh, yeah… Public health officials’ agenda is to get you vaccinated. And you know what Covid’s agenda is? To fucking kill you. To burrow into your body through your hot little mouth, fuck around with your lungs, flip your nostrils off, make soup taste more like nothing than it already does, and then kill you.”

For a long time I believed in—or at least hoped for—a world where reason and logic were the great achievement of the human race, the thing that set us apart from our biological cousins all around.

I’m not so sure anymore.

And that’s a scary place to be.

That being said…

(1) If you’ve been on the fence, please go get vaccinated.

(2) A HUGE shout to all the medical professionals, scientists, and more who are fighting this battle every day, all day, in an effort to save a life.

You are all heroes, every last one of you.

I don’t know how you do it, but please, please, keep up the fight, and I’ll be in your corner.

A few choice articles for anyone who cares to dig deeper:

• Three things to know about the long-term side effects of COVID vaccines

• COVID-19 Vaccine Breakthrough Cases: Data from the States

• Conservative Nashville Radio Host Who Regrets Mocking Vaccines Is ‘Fighting for His Life’

• Texas has seen nearly 9,000 COVID-19 deaths since February. All but 43 were unvaccinated people.

Much love,

b

Re-enrollment

It’s that time of year again… 

That time of year that makes a parent’s skin crawl.

If you look carefully right about now, you’ll see fathers and mothers alike closing their blinds, locking their doors, and huddling together anxiously.

Though the flowers are blooming and the pools are open, the minds of parents are heavy with the knowledge that before it’s too late:

They will have to re-enroll their child for school.

Not saying that the kids getting back in school is bad.

But the re-enrollment process was apparently designed to remind all of us adults how much we hated school when we were young.

{Side Note: This is largely satirical. Our school district is amazing and does a great job. I’m also thankful for online applications!}

Every year, I type in my child’s birthdate twenty-two times.

Every year, I tell them that no, in the last three years, I have not worked in the forestry industry.

Every year, I have to access 137 drop down menus to click “Yes” or “No” regarding possible health conditions.

Every year, I enter our emergency contact information on 442 separate pages.

And yet every year, they don’t know who to call when our kid runs a temperature.

Jokes aside, there is one question every single year that always trips me up. 

Makes me pause. 

Makes me tear up, honestly.

And that question is:

Where does your child stay at night?

And here are some the options:

• Home/Apartment owned or rented by parent(s)/guardian

• With a relative or friend (family does not have their own residence)

• In a hotel/motel

• In a shelter

• At a campsite

• In an automobile

• Other

In an automobile.

In.

An.

Automobile.

And that’s not an option under “Other.”

There is an actual option for “my child stays at night IN AN AUTOMOBILE.”

There are parents who have clicked that option.

There are parents who, signing their child up for school, have had to declare that at night, my child sleeps in an automobile.

Think about that.

Think about having to click that option.

And that could be my kid’s best friend at school.

That could be the sweet kid with the great sense of humor and mad dodgeball skills.

That could be the kid who is really struggling to stay awake in class each day.

And is falling behind . . .

. . . . . . . And further behind . . . . . . .

And then one day, when they can’t get into college because they fell so far behind, someone has the audacity to say, “They should solve their own problems instead of waiting for society to help.”

That could be the car in front of me at drop off, the one from the early 90’s with the busted bumper being held together by duct tape.

That could be the car that a child slept in the night before.

I know all sorts of people make all sorts of choices.

I know bad things happen to good people and bad things happen to bad people.

I also know that this is a great country.

And in a great country, there should never ever ever be an option for: “at night, child stays in an automobile.” 

We can argue about what’s working and what’s not working, but let’s face the truth: we have to do better.

Magic

Kindness is

A spouse’s embrace when you’re crying

A stranger’s wave when you drive past them in your neighborhood

A woman who stops to move a turtle out of the street

Kindness is

Music that stirs the heart to tears

A sunset that cannot be owned

Teachers that teach us to read

Kindness is

A home cooked meal

A grandparent’s Christmas card

A teenager who sits with the unpopular kid

Kindness is

The ocean’s waves lapping over your legs

A summer storm warm and fleeting

A bonfire where friends have gathered

Kindness is

A handshake

A nod

A smile

Kindness is

A child’s laughter

A dove’s cooing

A cat’s purr

Kindness is

A cloudless midnight

A vaccine in the arm

A compliment

Kindness is

A glass of whisky

A chocolate bar

Hot soup on a winter’s day

Kindness is

Clothing

Shoes

Autumn’s leaves

Kindness is

Getting a massage

Having your hair cut

Patching a leaky roof

Kindness is

Marching for the rights of others

Walking arm in arm

Standing shoulder to shoulder

Kindness is

Freedom to choose

Vulnerability

A warm breeze

Kindness is

Listening to other perspectives

Hearing the stories of those not like us

Being willing to change

Kindness is

Clean sheets on a bed

Falling asleep

Rest

Kindness is

Cuddling a child with a fever

Throwing a ball for a dog

Telling a friend they’re amazing

Kindness is

Empathy

Awakening

Sacrifice

Kindness is

What makes the world worth living in

What makes a soul take strength

What heals wounds etched deep in the heart

Kindness is

Beauty

A kiss

Belonging

Kindness is Magic.

Prick

Got my second shot today!

(When will I start getting 5G?)

Look, there’s an awful lot of information available today. Some of it is good, some of it is bad, and some of it is just what we have.

But if we’re going to be people who claim to care—to care about truth and our shared humanity—we need to be really careful what information we put stock in.

I’ll give you an example that broke my heart just today.

While I was waiting to get my shot this morning, a very old man with obvious problems walking and hearing, was waiting for his prescription to be filled. When he got his medication from the pharmacist and turned around, a guy in his late forties—healthy looking—who was sitting in a damned chair while this old man was standing there, bracing himself against a Pepto-Bismol display, said to him: 

“You know man, I saw a video online about how bad that stuff is for you! It’s got all kinds of chemicals in it that’s bad for you! I was on that stuff but after I saw that video I told them I don’t wanna take it no more!” 

The old man with the hearing aids worryingly looked back and forth from the bag in his hands to the pharmacy counter.

If they hadn’t called my name at that exact moment, I might have said something to that guy who was so concerned for the wellbeing of this old man that he couldn’t give up his seat for him. It would have been something regretted or could have sparked an incident for which I could have eventually been arrested, lol.

Something along the lines of…

Do they give those dirty trucker hats out when you graduate from med school?

(Absolutely nothing against truckers, you beautiful hard working people!)

It made me so angry. The look on that old man’s face—the look of, “Who do I trust?”

That medication might have been a lifeline for him.

A way to keep his heart beating.

A way to keep his muscles from spasming.

A way out of pain.

And who knows how long he suffered before he had the courage to talk to his doctor (you know, the people who graduate med school and generally care about the patients they treat…)?

But thank god no-manners no-medical-education aside from the university of youtube dude was there to save the day.

I’ve always heard about how worried conservatives are about the government getting between us and our doctors.

How about the fear of dumb shits like this getting in between an old man and his doctor?

Look…

I’m not here to tell you what to think. 

But I would ask you to consider how the sources you trust affect other people.

That is, if you give two shits about other people.

Does that mean that we shouldn’t live with a healthy amount of skepticism? Absolutely not.

Does it mean that we should implicitly trust the information we’re given? Absolutely not.

Does it mean that things aren’t complicated and messy? Absolutely not.

But often, when we find ourselves drawn down rabbit holes of rumor, myth, and conspiracy, what we’re really after is control.

We’re trying to control situations we can’t otherwise understand.

We’re putting a name on some amorphous, unknowable as a method of self-soothing.

We find other self-soothers online and we say, “See—there’s someone else who thinks like me! I knew I wasn’t alone!”

And we perpetuate the cycle of skepticism and allow it to branch into new topics. And on and on we go.

Until you’re plopped into a chair that a wobbly old man desperately needs to sit in.

But instead of standing your dumb, healthy ass up, you tell him not to take his medication.

I got my second Pfizer shot today.

But that dude was a much bigger prick.

P.S. Thank you to all medical, pharmacy, scientific, etc., personnel. You truly are heroes.

Outlet

I’ll be honest… I’m tired.

This semester of law school started the first week of January and finished Friday. Between school and work, I’ve been going six and seven days a week for 18 weeks. 

To say I learned a lot in that time would be a drastic understatement.

I learned about:

• Securities fraud and the ins and outs of Rule 10b-5,

• The EEOC administrative process for employment discrimination claims,

• The ethical rules of settlement negotiations,

• The “few specifically established and well-delineated exceptions” to the warrant requirement (there are 21, lol), and 

• How a lawyer should not help a client break into his ex-wife’s house to microwave her cat (I’m serious).

And somehow, during all this, I managed to write a short story. I submitted a new story, and my first foray into legal fiction, for Belmont Law’s Legal Fiction Workshop, and will also be submitting it to the American Bar Association’s Ross Contest for Legal Short Fiction. 

I also wrote an essay that will be published in an upcoming collaborative release from Quoir (more details coming soon!).

It was surprisingly nice to have some creative outlets in the midst of learning all the black letter law, so-to-speak.

It’s definitely true that you don’t accomplish something important to you without focus, energy, and lots of saying ‘no’ to other things.

That being said, taking the opportunity to use a different part of my brain—the part that made me fall in love with writing in the first place—felt like a signal that I should be careful not to neglect the pursuits that feed my soul. 

This isn’t to say that I haven’t thoroughly enjoyed delving deep into the law, but there’s a difference between taking in and breathing out. 

The things I’ve been learning about require a lot of soaking in, a lot of repetition, and a lot of letting things settle in. Writing, on the other hand, presents an opportunity to let what’s inside come out, and that’s part of the healing and beauty of it for me.

And this summer, I’m looking forward to writing. I’m looking forward to breathing out.

So thanks for hanging out with me. There’s lots more to come.

Tooth

I want to apologize in advance for any grammatical or philosophical loopyness contained in this post. I had a stubborn wisdom tooth pulled two days ago and am still dealing with a good bit of pain and, hence, medication.

2020 has been some year, no doubt. And as it counts it down, I’ve had a little bit of a chance to reflect, and I’m going to try to shed some light in what’s been an eerily dark tunnel for many of us.

Personally, 2020 has seen me complete two semesters of law school—difficult, awkward, bizarre semesters, as they might have been. 

• I made Belmont’s Moot Court team over the summer, an accomplishment I am incredibly proud of.

For those who don’t know, Moot Court is a law school honor. It’s a team that competes in simulated arguments before an appellate court—the type of argument you’d give from a state court of appeals to the U.S. Supreme Court. In one semester your team will research and write a brief on your side of the problem, and then eventually compete by arguing both sides of that argument before a panel of “judges.” 

Let’s just say this: when I started law school, participating in Moot was not something that would have even been on my radar—it would have been too lofty a goal, too much time to fit into my schedule. But I did it. In 2020. 

And in just one semester, I learned so much, grew so much, and gained so much confidence. The students I was surrounded by are all brilliant, and our professor “coach” is an absolute rock star. 

And as an added bonus, I can probably answer all of your most pressing questions about the Federal Magistrates Act. 

• I was elected as a Student Bar Association Senator for my 2L class! 

This was another honor that would not have been on my radar going into law school. In fact, I hadn’t run for any kind of office since 7th grade (and lost, lol).

While we’ve been limited in a lot of ways, by the Covid epidemic, it has been a really positive experience for me to offer my skillset, listen to my classmates, and to try to help navigate these bizarre times with equal amounts of realism and positivity. 

• I got my first legal job!

Since the late spring, I’ve been working as a law clerk (along with wearing a few other hats) for a fantastic attorney in my hometown. I have learned so much, not only about the law itself, but about the ins and outs of the daily practice of law. In the seven or so months that I’ve been working in this position, I’ve written and filed civil complaints, interviewed clients we’re defending on criminal charges, been introduced to judges, and so much more. 

I became a published author.

This is one of the things I’m most proud of. Quoir Publishing (huge shout out to Rafael Polendo, Matthew Distefano, and everyone else who helped make that happen!) released my debut novel “The Wages of Grace.” 

For all of you who bought the book, read it, and/or reviewed it, I want to say a huge thank you.

I have to say that releasing that baby out into the world came with its own share of anxiety. I realized, after publication, that this book I’d spent 11 years writing, re-writing, editing, dreaming about, fretting about, and caring about, had been read by less than ten people before it went to press. This book was a labor of love that was close to my heart, and I held it close to my chest before it released.

I’m not sure quite what I expected in terms of response, but those who have read it have been incredibly kind, and the fact that it’s resonated with people has given me so much happiness.

The Wages of Grace was never intended to be a mass-market, bubble-gum, type of read. It’s a novel that dives deep into characters, into time periods, into suffering and addiction and guilt and ultimately, redemption.

The fact that so many of you have found meaning in this book is pure joy for me, and I am so grateful.

I watched Arsenal win yet another FA Cup and Community Shield.

And we’ll leave it at that for now, lol.

There’s more to come!

Toward the end of this month, the BlackFip Creative crew (along with some extremely talented actors) will be starting production on a short film I wrote a while back. More details on that will be coming for sure! 

I’ve got another novel that is drafted and through the first few rounds of edits, and another two that are in the works… again, more details coming later!

My girls are good. They are healthy and smart and, most of all, kind.

My Jami is working on her own work of fiction! Maybe one day she’ll let me read it! ;) 

This has been a long, overdue and, perhaps rambling post, but I want to close out with this…

Love is our only hope. 

No matter what we’re dealing with—a horrible virus, a nation-splitting election, anxiety, fear, whatever. Whether you’re winning or losing or lost altogether…

Love yourself well.

Love each other well.

And this world will be a little better off.

Hobbs

Hey everyone! 

I want to tell you a quick story because we’re unveiling the cover of my novel “The Wages of Grace” TOMORROW!

So, two artists and a rabbi walk into a bar . . .

Ok, maybe there was no rabbi. There could have been, but I’d doubt it.

One artist was my mom.

One artist was a guy I’d never heard of in my life named Derik Hobbs.

My mom was among a small group of us pregaming at an East Nashville pizzeria before going across the street to see one of my favorite ever bands, Arkells, at the recently tornado destroyed Basement East.

Derik had just booked a job and was having a celebratory drink at the bar, and doing a very artist thing—sketching.

Mom was walking to the restroom and saw Derik drawing… She stopped… And watched…

Just one of my mom’s amazing pieces! See more on her Instagram!

Eventually, she sat down next to him and asked, “Can I watch you sketch?”

I’m told his exact response was, “It’s a little too late to ask, huh?”

The artists talked.

She told him about her son who was a fiction writer and was trying to design some cover art.

He gave her one of his cards.

When mom returned to the table, she told me about this little encounter. She gave me his card and told me to go talk to him.

I pulled up his website on my phone and my first thought was: “There’s no point—I’d never be able to afford this guy.”

His work was incredible. 

As in, he’s a proper artist.

But, I put the card in my pocket and thought, “Maybe some day.”

As it turned out, that day was two days later, when Derik emailed me.

He phrased it as a “cold call” and “possibly a strange email to receive.” (lol!)

Then, he offered to collaborate.

And a friendship was born.

We got together a few weeks later over drinks and talked about our backgrounds, our work, our views on art, and more.

A while later, Derik did the cover for my short story “Cast No Shadow.”

A while after that, Derik (along with his friend Kevin Catalan) illustrated the cover of my upcoming novel “The Wages of Grace.” 

(He even did some incredible illustrations to go with each chapter!)

I can honestly say that I never dreamed of having someone so crazy talented, committed, and qualified design my covers.

I can also tell you that he is a top notch professional, easy to work with, and develops your ideas and vision in a way that you couldn’t have imagined!

More than anything, though, I’m super thankful to call him a friend. He’s a great human being and knows where all the silly movie lines I quote come from.

If you need anything from logo design to artwork for your band to just a striking commission piece to hang over your mantle, hit up my friend Derik Hobbs.

P.S. My mom also sells her incredible work! Her website is coming soon!

RBG

The United States has lost an icon.

A big loss for our nation. 

Huge.

RBG. 

First of all, I want to say that I hate the political storm her passing will inevitably cause. 

One of the things that law school has taught me is that, many times, our hard and fast notions of what side of the aisle people are on is totally untrue.

You hear so much about getting “conservative, constitutional” judges on the court. On the flip side you hear so much about getting “progressive” judges seated, or else we’ll lose our democracy.

The truth is, judicial philosophy is a bit more complicated than most of us realize.

Having something of a conservative upbringing, I would have imagined a Supreme Court where  the justices were so far to the right and so far to the left, that there would be a constant voting block of four on each side, with maybe one more “moderate” swing vote that would really decide things.

Imagine my surprise when I started reading Supreme Court cases in my Constitutional Law class and seeing a decision where Justice Gorsuch, a supposed “staunch conservative” judge and Trump appointee, joins in an opinion with Justice Sotomayor, a supposed “far-left” Obama appointment. 

Or how about a case where the only two dissenters were Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Neil Gorsuch?

Or how about the fact that Justice Kagan and Justice Kavanaugh agree on nearly 3 of every 4 decisions?

Occasionally, you’ll see a decision that does break down along more political lines, where all of the liberals and all of the conservatives oppose each other. Many times it’s because one side wants to be sure a certain right is protected, while the other side is concerned about the precedent being set. It happens both ways.

My point is, the questions we face as a nation are often a lot more complex than we like to imagine.

But we are dealing with an enormous loss today.

Whatever side of the coin you find yourself on, Ruth Bader Ginsburg is a person to be admired and mourned by the whole nation.

It goes without saying that she was an absolutely brilliant legal mind. Her extraordinary work ethic helped her make the Harvard Law Review, while caring for a small daughter and a husband with cancer. RBG was a cancer survivor herself—a fighter and a winner. She worked tirelessly for the cause justice and liberty.

Perhaps what I’m most thankful for, however, is the way she spent her entire career fighting for a better world for my wife and my daughters.

For that, I’ll be eternally grateful to Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

And if you’re worried about what happens next, know how many people she inspired to fight for what is truly right, and remember the words of Martin Luther King, Jr.: “the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

Ready

I don’t want to win anymore.

I want to live. 

I want to be whole.

And that means laying some things down.

Because…

I’m tired of fighting for my rights.

I’m tired of fighting for my side.

I’m tired of fighting for my point of view.

I’m tired of fighting for my beliefs.

I’m tired of fighting for my culture.

I’m tired of fighting for my tribe.

I’m tired fo fighting for my understanding.

All that fighting never changed anything.

All that fighting never made a difference.

All that fighting never brought anyone joy.

All that fighting never brought about victory.

All that fighting never brought about security.

All that fighting never made me friends.

All that fighting ever did was separate me from other human beings and therefore, my own humanity. 

It breathed death into my own life and robbed my soul.

I’m ready to admit I don’t have all the answers.

I’m ready to say I might have been wrong.

I’m ready to concede that I have blind spots.

I’m ready to sit with my own brokenness.

I’m ready to own my own bullshit.

I’m ready to let walls come down.

I’m ready to embrace humanity.

I’m ready to fight for your rights.

I’m ready to give.

I’m ready to grieve.

I’m ready to heal.

I’m ready to forgive.

I’m ready to feel.

I’m ready to listen.

I’m ready to love.

Happy New Year

Well long time, no blog, eh?

I want to say Happy New Year, and provide an update on where things are as far as my life and my writing.

2019 was been a whirlwind of a year that began with recovering from back surgery and tinkering with the idea of going to law school. The year ended with a couple strong workouts and first semester grades that I’m really proud of.

In between, a major theme seemed to be anxiety.

I’m the type of person who tries to push myself outside of my comfort zone, but only because I know that’s how growth comes, not because I like it.

There was anxiety about studying for the Law School Admissions Test (LSAT), which was a really intimidating prospect when I began. The questions were unlike anything I’d ever seen. The logic games were a straight up nightmare at first. But I cranked away at it, and actually used tutorials on YouTube to help prepare. I didn’t do as well on the test as I would have hoped, but I did well enough.

A typical LSAT logic game.

Then there was anxiety about getting INTO a law school.

The law school admission process is something special, too. Between the LSAT, the LSAC (Law School Admission Council), and application fees, it probably cost me close to a thousand dollars just to apply to schools.

Once I was accepted to Belmont—which was honestly, one of the proudest days of my life—there was anxiety about what life would look like for my family. Would I have to keep working? How would that affect my grades? How would we pay for school? How would we pay to keep food on the table?

After most of that was figured out, there was the anxiety of school actually starting—mountains of reading, high expectations, and the dreaded law school cold calls. As the semester progressed, there were plenty of late nights, early mornings, reading on weekends, and long days in between. The struggle of keeping all the plates spinning—school, family, bills, etc.—was real, and it turned out that I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

The Randall and Sadie Baskin Center, home to Belmont University College of Law.

The year drew to an end with anxiety about grades.

See, in most law school classes, the only grades you have are your final exam, so there’s no practical way to gauge your progress. You take a bunch of 3-4 hour exams, and then wait… and wait… and wait.

At the end of the day, I did pretty well—not as well as I might have hoped, but certainly better than I had prepared myself for emotionally!—and I finally feel like I belong in law school, like I can succeed there, and that’s a big relief.

I learned two major lessons about anxiety, this year—and not all of it through dealing with it myself.

The first lesson is that a key to beating it is facing what is making you anxious. The tendency is to avoid, but that only leads to more anxiety.

The other big lesson is that there is help out there. There’s therapy, there’s medication, and there are loads of resources that can provide help.

If you or someone you love is struggling with anxiety or depression, or mental health in general, it’s okay to seek help—in fact, it could change your life forever for the better. Be brave, do the work, and don’t give up, and you might find yourself surprised by hope.

There are a lot of details that I can’t share with you just yet, but one day—with Jami’s permission—I’ll write a memoir about my first semester as a 1L that will likely be called “How the F*** Did I Survive That?”

My girls on a “tour” of campus I took them on.

Now, onto the long awaited, what about the whole, “Brandon Dragan, Author,” thing?

Good news / bad news!

We’ll start with the bad—self publishing something you’ve written is hard, takes a LOT of time, and can be expensive! The really funny thing is that the actual writing, as time-consuming as it is, doesn’t take nearly as long as the editing, the developing of cover art, etc. So I do want to apologize for promises made/broken about new releases, etc.! 

Now, the GOOD NEWS!

The cover art for “The Wages of Grace”, my debut novel, is 99.8% done!!

This has been a big project that my good friend Derik Hobbs (who illustrated the cover for “Cast No Shadow”) has been graciously working on. One final round of edits, and it’ll be FINALLY ready to release!

In other news, I’ve finished another novel that’s in the early editing phases, and am working on drafting a third short story. I’m really excited about BOTH of these and can’t wait to share some details soon!

So, the next things you should expect to see from me are the cover art reveal for “The Wages of Grace,” followed by some info on when it will be available.

Thanks for anyone who cared to read this, and for all of you who have supported my work, my life, and my family. Much love. I hope 2020 is a year of healing, peace, and growth for you all.

Brandon

P.S. On a really happy note, my girls are doing great. I’ll share one of my proudest moments as a dad with you—at the end of the school year in May, they were BOTH voted for the Citizenship Award by their classmates, as the students who best represented friendship, helpfulness, and the values their school seeks to promote.