Category: The Writers Room

A place to talk about writing.

A Winter Thank You

Honoring the unseen hands that keep our town moving through winter

We are now in the heart of winter, and lately I’ve been pondering what it truly takes to keep our town moving during this season.

Winter brings a certain kind of beauty with it. Kids are out sledding, laughing, and making memories in the snow. Parents watch from the sidelines, smiling as they see the joy on their children’s faces. There’s something special about this time of year—a frozen wonderland that invites us to slow down and take it all in.

But while many of us are enjoying the snow, there are others who are working right through it.

They are the ones up before the sun breaks the horizon. The ones driving into storms instead of staying home from them. The ones clearing our roadways so the rest of us can get to work, get our kids to school, run errands, and live our daily lives as safely as possible.

These road crews often work long, exhausting hours. Many times, their work goes unnoticed. It’s thankless at times, taken for granted even—but it is absolutely essential.

I want to say how thankful I am for those who keep our roads clear, especially the Gunyahs and all those working behind the scenes. And I’m thankful for their wives and families too—those who understand the early mornings, late nights, and missed moments that come with this season of work.

Because of them, our town keeps moving.

So as you’re out and about this winter, please be careful. Slow down. Be mindful of the conditions—and of the people working hard so you can safely get where you’re going.

To those who brave the cold, the dark, and the storms to keep our roads clear: thank you. It is very, very much appreciated.

— Alex

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📝 Notes by Alex: Writer’s Block – The Great Shut Down

The Great Shutdown: When Indifference Becomes the Hardest Feeling

It’s been a week. Maybe two. I open my laptop, stare at the blinking cursor on the blank page, and… nothing. The well is dry, folks. Not just dry, but capped with a thick slab of concrete labeled: “YEAH, OKAY, WHATEVER.”

That label. That feeling. It’s what I’m struggling with today, and it’s what brought me here to talk about a very specific kind of writer’s block—the emotional one.

The Shutdown Mechanism

Have you ever been hurt to the point that a part of you just shuts down?

It’s not a dramatic collapse. It’s a subtle, insidious numbness that creeps in after the big wave of pain has passed. You’re not crying on the floor, you’re not raging at the sky. Instead, you’re just existing, gliding through life on a thin sheet of practiced indifference.

When people ask how you are, the default answer is a pleasant, empty, “Fine.” And when something genuinely good or bad happens, the emotional response is the same, muted drone: “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

For me, that feeling is pure poison. I try to be positive, upbeat, and stubbornly hopeful. That’s my brand! That’s how I navigate the world. But some days, holding onto that hope feels like gripping a slippery rope on a sheer cliff face. It’s exhausting.

This emotional shutdown is like a short circuit in my creative wiring. How can I write about joy, pain, wonder, or connection when my internal translator is stuck on that one phrase? I can’t access the genuine emotion I need to pour onto the page. The words feel flat, hollow, and utterly inauthentic.

The Challenge of Positivity

We live in a world that glorifies resilience, strength, and endless hustle. We are told to choose joy, to manifest success, to power through. And while I believe in the importance of a positive outlook, sometimes the effort it takes to maintain it when you’re truly hurting feels like a challenge too big to meet.

It makes me wonder: Is the “Yeah, okay, whatever” feeling a defense mechanism? Is it my exhausted spirit throwing up a white flag, saying, “I can’t afford to feel deeply right now, because feeling deeply might break me again?”

Maybe. But a writer who can’t feel is a mechanic without tools. I need my emotions—the good, the bad, the complicated—to be open and running, even if it makes me vulnerable.

An Open Question

I’m sitting here, pushing through the concrete cap, trying to find the genuine spark of feeling underneath. I’m doing the little things: I put on a good playlist, made a proper coffee, and decided to write about the fact that I can’t write.

It helps a little. Honesty is always a good starting point.

So, here is my question for you, my amazing readers:

Does anyone else struggle with this thought? With the battle between wanting to be upbeat and the overwhelming need to just shut down and protect yourself? How do you push past the emotional “whatever” and reconnect with your genuine, messy, feeling self?

I’m looking for inspiration today. Maybe, by sharing your strategies, you can help me—and others who might be stuck in this same emotional no-man’s-land—find the way back to hope, and back to the page.

Drop a comment below. Let’s talk.

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“Some days you’re reminded that not everyone respects what isn’t theirs. Dang—this one hit hard.”

A Thought From Alex

It saddens me to discover that fuel has been stolen from my own property. Hard to believe people are out there siphoning gas from others without permission, but here we are. I guess it’s time for a camera, because from now on I’ll be keeping a close eye on things.

What really gets me is that this kind of thing is happening in our small town. Who does something like that? Someone desperate… someone young… someone careless… or just plain foolish. Maybe all of the above.

I’m not trying to vent, but—dang! Sometimes this stuff just hits you wrong.

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A Thought: Why Moana Still Moves Me Every Time

Reflections on Calling, Connection, and the Power of Seeing the Real You

Tonight, I found myself watching Moana again. And once again, it got me — the laughs, the music, the story, and yes… the tears. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, this movie reaches something deep inside me.

There’s something powerful about Moana’s journey — the creation of who she becomes. From the beginning, she sees something beyond the horizon. She feels the pull of purpose long before she can explain it. And even when others try to press her into the expectations of a future chief, she listens to that small, steady voice inside that says, You were called for more.

She learns to believe that she was chosen — not by accident, not by coincidence, but by design. And that faith in who she is becomes the strength that carries her across the sea.

And then there’s Maui — funny, flawed, full of swagger, and yet carrying his own wounds. His story adds heart and humor in a way only he can. And of course… Hei Hei. Or as I like to call him: Drumstick. The fact that they wove such a ridiculous (and perfect) chicken into the story still makes me laugh every single time.

But the moment that truly gets me — every single viewing — is the restoring of the heart of Te Fiti.

Moana sees her.
She recognizes her.
She knows who Te Fiti really is beneath the anger, the destruction, and the pain.

That moment when Moana walks forward, singing gently, offering the heart back to her — and Te Kā’s fiery rage melts into the calm, green, life-giving presence of Te Fiti… yeah. That’s where I lose it. Every time. Something about seeing someone restored to who they were always meant to be hits a place in my own heart.

This movie reminds me that we all carry a purpose, a calling, a heart that sometimes gets buried under life’s storms. But with courage, faith, and a whole lot of heart, we find our way — just like Moana.

And maybe that’s why I love this movie so much.
It’s more than a story.
It’s a reminder.

Know who you are.
Remember who you were created to be.
And don’t be afraid to restore the hearts you encounter along the way — including your own.

Love, love, love this movie.

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It’s All About Family

Rediscovering the connections that hold us together.

As the holidays approach at what feels like lightning speed, I can’t help but pause and reflect on what truly matters. In a season filled with gifts, gatherings, and endless to-do lists, it’s easy to get swept up in the noise. But at the end of the day—during the holidays and all year long—it’s all about family.

And when I say family, I don’t just mean blood relatives. I’m talking about the people who have walked with us through life. The ones who show up. The ones who love us, challenge us, support us, laugh with us, and sometimes even cry with us. The brothers and sisters we grew up with, the cousins who feel like lifelong friends, the aunts and uncles who shaped us, the moms and dads who carried us, the grandparents whose wisdom echoes in our hearts. And yes—our friends who became family along the way.

As we continue on this journey we call life, one thing becomes very clear: we need each other.
Through the good times and the not-so-good times, through seasons of joy and seasons of struggle, we were never meant to walk this path alone.

Somewhere along the way, as technology advanced and life sped up, we lost a little bit of that connection. We became more plugged-in, but more disconnected. More reachable online, but harder to reach in real life. And honestly, that’s heartbreaking. I miss the old days sometimes—the days before constant notifications and WiFi, when conversations were face-to-face and time together felt slower, richer, more intentional.

But even as the world changes, one truth stays the same:
Family is where life happens.
Family is where memories are made.
Family is where we return when the world gets noisy.

I love my family—all of them. The ones related by blood and the ones bound by love. And this holiday season, I’m choosing to slow down, to reconnect, and to remember what matters most.

Because in the end, it really is all about family.

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The Long Goodbye

Notes from Alex

About a year ago, I wrote a short story about a journey I’ve come to call The Long Goodbye. The phrase is often used to describe dementia, because it slowly and painfully erodes a person’s memories and personality, leaving loved ones to witness the gradual fading of someone who is still alive. It is, in every sense, a heartbreaking journey—not just for the one walking through it, but for everyone who loves them.

For my family, this has become deeply personal. My father has dementia. Watching the disease touch his heart, his life, his very being, is almost too much to bear at times. There are moments where he looks at us with weariness in his voice and says he is ready to go home. He has told my sister and me this, and he has told his wife the same. Those words carry a weight that cannot be ignored.

In the midst of it all, we’ve found ourselves reminiscing together—about old times, about laughter and love, about people who shaped our family’s story. My Pops often shares memories of my mom, Bobbi, his first wife. They were like two peas in a pod, and I can tell that he misses her deeply. These memories bring him comfort, and in a way, they remind us all of the beauty and richness of the life he has lived.

I share these thoughts not to diminish his relationship with his current wife, but to honor her as well. She has sacrificed greatly to care for my father in this season, and that love and dedication has not gone unnoticed. For that, our family is grateful.

The Long Goodbye is not a journey anyone would choose, but it is one that teaches us to hold onto the good moments tightly, to honor the past, and to walk each day with grace and love for the one we are slowly letting go.

Even in the heaviness of this journey, I am reminded that we are never walking it alone. God meets us in the valleys as surely as He does on the mountaintops, and His love does not fade even when memories do. The Apostle Paul wrote, “Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16).

That truth gives me comfort—knowing that while my father’s body and mind may be fading, his spirit is being kept in the hands of the One who never forgets. And in that promise, we find strength to endure, love to keep giving, and hope to keep walking this long goodbye with grace.

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Stories in the Smokies

Notes from Alex: Discovering East Tennessee

Exploring the history, lore, and beauty of East Tennessee

I had the opportunity to live in Parrottsville, Tennessee, a small community about 90 minutes east of Knoxville and just 20 miles west of the North Carolina border. During that time, I learned a great many things about the area—and quickly realized how rich it is in American history.

East Tennessee is a region full of stories. From Civil War sites to old legends and ghost tales, the past lingers in the hills and valleys. Some of those stories are good, some are great, and some remind us of harder times—but together they weave a picture of a land shaped by generations of people and events.

We lived right by the Great Smoky Mountains, a place of breathtaking beauty, and just a stone’s throw from the Appalachian Trail. The mountains themselves hold countless stories—of settlers, soldiers, families, and wanderers—all layered into the history and lore of the region.

If you ever have the chance, I encourage you to visit East Tennessee. Walk its trails, breathe in the mountain air, listen to the stories, and discover the history for yourself. The region has so much to offer for anyone who is curious.

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Homecoming Freewrite — Notes from Alex

Noticing the shadows — a year home in Metlakatla.

I’ve been home in Metlakatla for just over a year now, and the place I thought I knew is showing me new faces. There’s a kind of quiet I remember from growing up here, but underneath it I’m seeing something else — a current of worry and a tangle of things I didn’t expect: prescription pills trading hands like gum, illegal substances moving through corners of town, people who used to be on opposite sides now strangely close. It’s confusing. It’s sad. It’s real.

What puzzles me most is the connections. Folks I remember as neighbors or coworkers now move in ways that suggest there’s a map of relationships I don’t have. Enemies become pals, dealers and users exist beside pastors and parents, and the lines between “that kind of person” and “someone from church” blur. Maybe that’s how communities survive — we adapt, we hide our shame, we make peace with what we can’t face. Or maybe it’s how a problem grows: out of silence and the things done in the shadows.

I’ve been praying about it. Not the quick, “fix-this” kind of prayer, but the heavy, persistent kind that asks for truth and healing. I believe shadows don’t have the last word — light does. If there are people bringing drugs into our streets and wrecking lives, this shouldn’t be something we normalize or tuck away like a family secret. We owe each other honesty, care, and accountability. We owe our kids a town that doesn’t make brokenness into a quiet economy.

That doesn’t mean I want to point fingers from a place of judgment. I want to see people helped, not shamed. I want the folks stuck in cycles of addiction to find paths out, and for the people enabling the flow — whether knowingly or not — to be confronted with help and consequences. And yes, I want the hidden things brought to light, because only in the light can healing begin.

It’s a strange mix: pride in this place that raised me, and grief for the things that are wrong. It’s also a call — to pay attention, to speak up when I can, to pray louder when I can’t. Maybe the first step is simply noticing, and then doing the next small thing: check on a neighbor, show up to a local meeting, call someone who can help. Small lights can join to make a blaze.

“For there is nothing hidden that will not become evident, nor anything secret that will not be known and come to light.” — Luke 8:17

A short prayer: Lord, bring what is hidden into the light. Bring healing where there is harm. Give us courage to act and wisdom to love well. Amen.

“If we want a healthier community tomorrow, it begins with the choices we make inside our own homes today — for our kids, for our families, for the ones watching us most closely.”

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Freewrite – Reflections

Wrestling with Darkness, Seeking the Light

I am sitting here tonight, after a full day of work, saddened and unsettled by the news of what happened today. A man, in what is already being called a political assassination, was shot and killed while speaking to university students.

This was not just any man—he loved his country, and he loved young people. That’s why he chose to engage with them, to debate, to challenge, to listen. And now his life has been taken.

I sit here puzzled, almost speechless, wondering why this even happened. Part of me can’t help but see it through the lens of spiritual warfare. Anytime someone stands up for young people, or speaks truth—whether biblical truth or simply the truth of what is right and just—it seems they are targeted. Not by the light, but by the darkness.

And when darkness strikes, it leaves in its wake confusion, pain, and unanswered questions. That confusion is the very atmosphere the enemy of our soul thrives on.

Tonight, I feel both sadness and anger. Anger, because my heart tells me there is more we can be doing. More to stand for truth. More to protect life. More to speak hope into the next generation.

But what is that “more”? That is the question stirring in me tonight.

So tonight I leave this question not just on my own heart, but with you as well: what more can we do? How do we push back against the darkness that tries to silence truth and steal hope from the next generation? Maybe it’s in prayer, maybe it’s in showing up for young people, maybe it’s in speaking truth when it would be easier to stay quiet.

I don’t have the full answer. But I do know this—we cannot remain numb or passive. Each of us has a role, however small or large, to shine light where darkness wants to dwell.

Jesus reminded us in John 1:5, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” That is where our confidence rests. The “more” begins with turning to Him, walking in His light, and carrying that light into every space we can.

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A New Chapter in Aviation and Life

Back in My Wheelhouse

Over the past few weeks, I’ve stepped into a new role that has placed me right back into the world of Private Jet Aviation. It feels good to be back in my wheelhouse—sales and operations—working with an incredible ops team that truly loves what they do. What makes it even more rewarding is that we are a fully remote team, spread across the country, yet united by our passion for aviation. Different walks of life, different backgrounds, but one shared drive. It shows in the way we work together.

When I came home to Alaska, my heart was set on helping in any way I could. I wanted to contribute, to lend my experience, and to move projects forward. But the reality was harder than expected. Leadership support was missing at key moments, and decisions that needed to be made simply weren’t. It left me confused and, if I’m honest, a little discouraged.

In the end, it became clear that my help wasn’t truly needed in the way I had hoped. That was a difficult realization, and making the decision to move on wasn’t easy. But today, I find myself deeply thankful for this new opportunity and for the people I now get to work alongside.

I still hope the best for the projects happening here in Metlakatla. This is home, and I care about the work being done. But for now, I’m grateful to have found a team and a space where my skills are being put to good use again.

At the end of the day, I see this as another reminder that the journey—whether in aviation, family, or faith—isn’t always a straight line, but every turn has a purpose in shaping where we’re meant to be.

Faith-focused:
“Through it all, I’m reminded that God’s plan often unfolds in ways I don’t expect, but always in ways that prepare me for where I’m meant to be.”

Family-focused:
“It’s another reminder that the work I do isn’t just for me—it’s about creating stability and setting an example for my family, showing them that resilience matters.”

Aviation-focused:
“Much like flying, this journey has had its turbulence and course corrections, but every adjustment keeps me moving toward the horizon where I’m meant to be.”

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