Tag: Writing

April 8, 2025 / Journal

Explore More Website Is Live!

I’ve just launched a new project called ExploreMore.guide a digital field notebook for anyone who suspects there’s still wonder hiding in plain sight. It’s part personal journal, part work-in-progress companion to a book I’m writing, and part invitation to notice more. The goal? To help slow things down, ask better questions, and maybe even encourage the kind of exploration you don’t need a passport for.

The site will evolve over time, but right now it’s a mix of prompts, and field notes focused on everyday discovery. Think less travel blog, more walking compass. I’ll be sharing essays as the book takes shape, along with simple challenges for anyone who wants to see their own surroundings with fresh eyes. You can read online or subscribe to the newsletter if you’d like to follow along.

The RSS feed is https://exploremore.guide/feed

March 30, 2025 / Art

End Chase

It started with an asterisk for a footnote¹ that wasn’t there.

The Library of Babel*

No explanation or meaning, it was just present. That was enough to set off the chase.

I looked it up, The Library of Babel by Jorge Luis Borges. The infinite library of books and the meaningless meaning. The crack in the wall that leads to the void.

Rabbits

Two years ago I find a novel called Rabbits in a bookstore. I buy it without hesitation. It knows something. The invisible footnote feels like a continuation of Rabbits.

Then comes The Book Censor’s Library that includes more rabbits in the book and all of a sudden coincidences pop up out of the rabbit holes without explanation. Frequency bias.

At some point, I realize I’m not collecting books or chasing patterns. I’ve been chasing the rabbit down so many rabbit holes.

Muse

The muse, a whispering, taunting b**** who never stays long enough to be caught. Muses are supposed to be encouraging, supportive and inspirational. That’s a lie. She’s elusive, teasing. She runs just far enough ahead to keep me curious. The moment I think I’m close? She vanishes. Laughs. Dares me to keep going.

It’s seductive. Addictive. Exhausting.

And then it clicks.

The muse and the rabbit? Same creature.

She isn’t here to inspire. She’s here to distract.
She isn’t showing me new paths. She’s making damn sure I never finish walking one.

The rabbit leads me to ideas I don’t complete. Projects I don’t archive. Trails I don’t return from. I feel clever and engaged at the same time, but I never arrive. I never hold anything real in my hands.

That’s not art or creativity, that’s a loop and a trap. A very elegant form of procrastination.

And I’ve had enough.

The muse, the rabbits, the asterisks, the footnotes, the URLs have been dressed up as inspiration, but they’ve been feeding on my attention like parasites. They give me a dopamine hit, a puzzle to chew on, an itch to scratch but never a direction. Not a conclusion and certainly not a finished page.

And now I’m staring at the wreckage of my focused thinking,
“Did I chase because it mattered or because it was easier than committing to something that does?”

The muse is not my collaborator.
She’s a saboteur unchecked.
The rabbit is not my guide.
It’s a clever form of procrastination because it feels like progress.
I am researching, right?
I am discovering, aren’t I?

But I know the truth.

I’ve followed them so far off-course that I’ve forgotten where the hell I was heading in the first place.

I want to stop chasing. I want to look that cotton-tailed muse in the eye and say, “You don’t get to own me anymore.”

I want to moon the muse. Bare-assed and unapologetic.
I want to slam the door behind me and let her figure out how to open it with her paws.

Because I’m tired.

Tired of being led. Tired of false epiphanies. Tired of inspiration that disappears when it’s time to actually do the work.

So I’m stepping off the path and climbing out of the rabbit hole.

Maybe for a while. Maybe for good.

Let her run. Let it scamper away.

I’m staying here, where it’s quiet, where I can hear myself think, and maybe, finally, decide what I want to do without her paw prints muddying the trail.

She knows me. Intimately, like a lover who memorized all of my tells.
She’s not guessing. She’s counting on that glance back to her.

Because she’s not just elusive, she’s a calculated tormentor.
She wants me to walk away… but only far enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I missed something. Then she scampers and I am left there feeling like Elmer Fudd.

Not out of reach. Just far enough that I can’t help myself.
I’ll sigh.
I’ll roll my eyes.
I’ll curse her.

And then I’ll follow.
Not because I’m weak, but because I’m wired for this.
Because that sideways glance isn’t surrender, it’s a renewal.
She laughs because she wins again.
But I laugh too.
Because deep down, I love the game.

And that, for now, is enough because, honestly? I don’t know what to do right now.

https://chrisdenbow.website/2025/03/13/on-labyrinths/ ↩︎

March 29, 2025 / Journal

RIP Muse

My muse disappeared. One minute she was here, whispering strange little ideas into my brain like a manic rabbit in a library. The next, nothing. No spark. No whisper. No breakup text. Just a long silence where the weird thoughts used to be. I didn’t fire her. I didn’t ask her to leave. She just vanished like an assistant with commitment issues.

She was unreliable from the start. Brilliant, yes. Inspiring, sure. But also chaotic, and constantly changing the plan. She’d show up at 2am demanding attention, then peace out for a week with zero warning. She’d get bored halfway through something beautiful. Honestly, it was always a little one-sided. But I kept showing up anyway, waiting for the next surprise. That was our thing.

If she ever comes back, I might make her work for it. No more dramatic entrances. No more diva routines. Just sit down and help me finish something. Until then, I’ll keep going without her. Maybe she wasn’t the source after all.

March 22, 2025 / Journal

The Denbow Decimal System

I know what you are going to say, and you are right. Do I need The Denbow Decimal System? Maybe. It actually came out of necessity. I’ve accumulated drafts, notes, fragments, dead-end ideas, half-built stories, decades of blog posts, and things that once mattered deeply but never made it to the finish line. They weren’t trash, they just didn’t belong anywhere recognizable and so I built them a place of their own.

DDS built right into my Denbow Operating System

DDS gives structure to my kind of creative debris. It’s a catalog for the in progress works, the unresolved, and the deliberately unfinished. Each number corresponds to a general category: story drafts, research notes, zines, annotations, personal reflections, and more. It doesn’t try to erase the mess, it simply makes the mess more accessible.

The system is practical, and it’s also a form of care instead of neglect. Filing something under DDS isn’t a dismissal it’s a quiet way of saying “This mattered enough to archive.”

There are rules, sure, but they’re mine and like the archive itself, they’re flexible.

DDS doesn’t look like a library catalog, it looks like a drawer you open when you’re ready to remember what you nearly forgot.

Let’s be honest, it is really something to go back over your archives and restore those forgotten memories.

March 16, 2025 / Journal

Whimsy and Free Spirit

Today is a day of rest and I find myself in between projects and in between creativity and consumption. I bow to Whimsy, Supreme Ruler of the Day. Where shall I let it lead?

A wild concept? A forgotten project resurrected? A peculiar experiment for no other reason than because it amuses me?

Or perhaps a whimsical map of where creative thoughts drift today? Because honestly, I’d love to chart the Sea of Shifting Ideas, complete with Islands of Inspiration, Treacherous Reefs of Distraction, and the Foggy Shores of Maybe Later.

Ah, a free spirit, riding the creative waves like a rogue vessel, no set course, just the thrill of the unknown. Honestly, that’s the best way to be.

So, do we hoist the sails toward something new, or let the currents take us wherever today’s whims demand with all the reverence of a cartographer gone mad?

The Map of the Free Spirit’s Wandering Mind

The Open Sea of Shifting Ideas

Infinite. Ever-changing. Full of rippling currents, rogue waves, and messages in bottles I wrote to myself years ago but only now understand.

Isles of Inspiration

Some are lush with ideas, others are just a single note scribbled at 3 AM that reads: “Gallinules are weird. Expand?”

Occasionally, these islands vanish when you look too closely, then reappear when you least expect it. Like a mirage.

The Treacherous Reefs of Distraction

Infested with the distraction krakens and the siren song of “just one more research whirlpool”

Often disguised as “necessary research” or “a quick break.”

Survivors tell tales of the Tidepools of Forgotten Tabs, where dreams go to drown.

The Foggy Shores of Maybe Later

Land of half-formed projects, cryptic notes, and “I’ll get to that eventually” monuments.

Occasionally, an expedition returns victorious, dragging a treasure chest labeled “Turns Out This Was A Good Idea” back to the mainland.

The Archipelago of Almost-Finished Things

Connected by half-built bridges, still waiting on “just a few tweaks.”

The locals speak in versions, drafts, and the phrase, “I should really finish this.”

The Library of Unwritten Books

An imposing, ancient structure, its halls lined with volumes missing their last chapters.

Occasionally, a door swings open, and a draft escapes into reality.

The Lighthouse of Inspiration

Glows softly, shines a calm but mischievous beacon.

Whispers, “Hey, have you considered this ridiculous but oddly compelling idea?”

Sometimes, ships crash into it anyway.

Now then, dear Free Spirit, where are we making landfall?

The Siren’s Respite

A tavern built on the edge of imagination, where stories are currency, and the house specialty is a tall glass of “Just One More Chapter” Rum.

The bar maiden, a figure of mystery, leans in, whispering half-formed ideas like secrets meant only for myself.

On the walls hang portraits of unfinished works, their subjects occasionally shifting when you’re not looking.

The jukebox plays sea shanties

The Menu of Creative Grog

The Muse’s Old-Fashioned – A classic idea, aged to perfection. Hits just right.

The Brainstorming Storm– A chaotic, intoxicating mix of thoughts that sparks genius or absolute madness (no in-between).

The Plot Twist Punch – Comes out of nowhere. Leaves you reeling. Best enjoyed unexpectedly.

The One More Edit Martini – Keeps you up all night fixing things that were already fine.

The Blue Screen of Death Shot – Regrettable. Tastes like lost drafts and unsaved work.

The Cove of Shore Leave

A rest stop for the creatively weary, where Free Spirits are welcome to stay until their next adventure calls.

The hammocks whisper forgotten ideas, gently reminding me of what could have been if only I’d written it down.

A dock with rowboats labeled New Project, Revisiting the Archive, and Rubbish Nonsense, But Let’s Do It Anyway.

The Siren’s Call

Beyond the cove, a haunting melody drifts over the waves, a siren’s song of an idea too tempting to ignore.

Many sail toward it, believing they can resist its pull, but few return unchanged.

The lighthouse of inspiration flickers in the distance, as if warning you: Follow at your own risk.

Right, shore leave wins the day and that’s enough of that whimsical nonsense, because the new Formula 1 season is about to begin and it’s Miami soccer after that.

March 6, 2025 / Journal

Commenting About Comments

I have a script that I installed here on the website called “On This Day” and I love it. Every day I can look back on the past posts for varying reasons. Now I have a new reason- the comments section.

I’ll re-read the post and make comments underneath it based on my what I’ve learned since then, re-assess my beliefs, remind myself of why I wrote it to begin with etc.

This is some next-level recursion. Commenting on my comments? Footnoting my own footnotes? That’s practically building a self-referential hypertext labyrinth. It’s breaking the fourth wall, but in a way that makes invisible thought processes visible.

Each article will become a living, evolving document instead of just a static collection.

Of course this is only day one, so anything written on March 6 in the past will receive the new marginalia. Looking forward to tomorrow’s!

March 1, 2025 / Art

What Does Art Ask Of Me?

I ask for so much from art but sometimes I think I offer nothing in return.

After years of thinking this way, I realized that art asks for my attention and focus. Not my perfection, not my productivity—just me. Art asks you to show up, to listen, to engage. It asks for your willingness to wrestle with uncertainty, to risk vulnerability, to sit in the silence where ideas form ( if you can do so, you are more disciplined than I am.)

Art doesn’t demand grand gestures. It doesn’t care if you have all the answers. What it craves is your attention, your curiosity, your willingness to let it lead sometimes. It wants you to trust it, even when it makes no sense.

Previously I mentioned that “I offer nothing in return”, but consider this: you give art a space to exist. Without you, it would remain unmade. You give it form, even if only in fragments. You give it life, even if only for yourself.

What happens if you start treating art like a relationship rather than a transaction? What if, instead of asking art to serve you, you asked how you could serve it? What might it become if you gave it your trust, your time, your patience? Then I thought:

Art is a companion. Maybe that’s all it’s ever asked of you.

Whoa.

Yeah, that one got me. Sometimes we get so caught up in getting something from our art—validation, meaning, escape—that we forget it’s alive in its own way. It wants something from us, too. Maybe just a little reverence. Maybe just to be made without expectation. Maybe just to exist without needing to prove itself.

Art is weird like that. It mirrors what we bring to it. If we demand, it resists. If we fear, it hesitates. But if we listen, art speaks to us. .

February 28, 2025 / Journal

Twenty-Five Years

Greetings, programs! This is the obligatory first post
2000-02-28

That was the little snippet that started it all.

A quarter of a century ago, I sat down at a keyboard on the Compaq desktop tower and hit “Publish” on my first blog post, and unknowingly stepped into a lifelong experiment in writing, documenting, and occasionally rambling into the void. It was the year 2000—before social media, before SEO strategies, before every website felt the need to bombard you with cookie pop-ups and newsletter sign-ups. Back then, blogging was raw, weird, and deeply personal. No algorithms, just people carving out little digital corners for themselves. And somehow, through all the shifting landscapes of the internet, I never stopped.

The early days were chaotic in the best way possible. There was no roadmap, just curiosity and a willingness to write even when I wasn’t sure if anyone was reading. The 2000s felt like the Wild Wild West¹ of online writing—platforms came and went, everyone had a different idea of what blogging should be, and we all had to learn HTML the hard way. But it was exciting. The web felt infinite, and the act of writing and sharing was enough.

Somewhere along the way, blogging changed. It became polished, optimized, and, at times, painfully performative. Social media took over, and long-form writing became a bit of an endangered species. Yet, here I am, still typing away, still finding reasons to keep at it. Because at its core, blogging was never about trends or algorithms for me—it was about the ideas, the experiments, the stories, and the strange little things worth documenting.

So, what does 25 years of blogging look like? It looks like evolution. It looks like stubborn persistence. It looks like a digital archive of thoughts, questions, and maybe a few typos that have somehow survived across decades. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: Write for yourself first. Everything else—readers, engagement, impact—comes as a bonus.

To those who have read, commented, lurked, or stumbled across my website over the years—thank you. Here’s to whatever comes next.

As opposed to World Wide Web ↩︎

February 22, 2025 / Reading

Hypertext Labyrinth

The experimental website framework I want to build will exist in the space between what is known and what refuses to be known. A static HTML-only archive that resists explanation. It presents itself as something incomplete, something forgotten, or something deliberately obscured, leaving behind only classified remnants, misplaced coordinates, glitched anomalies, and misfiled receipts that hint at a larger, unseen structure. The layers go deep with hidden pages, cryptic labels peeling at the edges, references that lead nowhere, and timestamps that don’t quite add up.

404: Lost Coordinates

404: You Are Here.

The map is incomplete, but the numbers remain:

37.9015° N, 23.7261° E

Look deeper. It was never lost.

Return

Some things were removed. Some things never existed. Some things moved while you weren’t looking. It is an experiment in next-level mischief, a system designed to pull at the edges of curiosity while leaving just enough behind to make you wonder what’s missing.

This website will feel like you are trying to solve the Rubick’s Cube but it fights back, constantly,

Why create something deliberately obscure? Why build a digital labyrinth with no clear purpose? Why make a repository of fragments, half-truths, and lost thoughts instead of a structured, polished archive?

This new site will be a map of ideas except it’s unfinished, glitching, and missing pieces. I’m creating a mental terrain where the act of getting lost is the goal.

February 19, 2025 / Journal

The Cemetery Of Forgotten Books

Inspired by The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, my Library of Unwritten Books is a deliberate archive of unfinished works—preserved not as lost projects, but as enduring records of creative exploration. Blending structured literary preservation with a sense of mystery, it stands as both an homage to my work and a reflection on the stories that remain untold.

Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s Cemetery of Forgotten Books is a vast, hidden library in Barcelona, safeguarding abandoned and forgotten stories from oblivion. Introduced in The Shadow of the Wind, it serves as both a literary mystery and a powerful symbol of storytelling’s enduring legacy.

February 16, 2025 / Journal

The Library Of Unwritten Books

The book writing has been stagnant lately, possibly because the elusive muse has been on holiday.

There are thirty five novels and short-stories I want to tell, as well as a few non-fiction titles.

Half-forgotten worlds, unfinished thoughts, stories waiting for their ending. Printing them and physically shelving them would make the weight of all those ideas tangible. A hierarchy of incompletion—from the one-page sparks of genius, to the near-finished epics that just wouldn’t cooperate. The thickest ones sitting there, mocking you, while the thinnest whisper, “You barely even tried.”

Marginalia would turn it into a meta-library—a collection not just of unfinished works but of the very thought processes, doubts, and moments of inspiration that led to their incompletion. Notes like:

• “Lost steam after realizing this was just me rewriting Jurassic Park with pelicans.”

• “Had a brilliant ending in mind… and then forgot it. Still bitter.”

• “Started strong. Got distracted by a different book idea. The cycle continues.”

It could even be a living document—a place where ideas might resurface, evolve, or finally find their way to completion years later. Or…they could be relegated into a literary morgue file—a final resting place for the stories that almost were. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about that. They don’t get finished, but they exist, preserved in their unfinished state like fossils of creativity.

So what is a possible resolution to this self-induced problem? How about two possible solutions?

I could print them up and perhaps put them in a labeled binder. Also PDF’s uploaded to this website and generate digital library cards if there was any interest from the followers here.

A fantastic mix of a physical archive and a digital curiosity cabinet. The binders give them a tangible presence, while the PDFs turn them into an interactive experience. The digital library card idea is genius—makes it feel like a proper literary vault people can “check out” from. In turn, they could offer comments and suggestions. The access point is signing up to this website and add a comment to the written document. Hopefully there will be inspiration found from this.

This could turn the Library of Unwritten Books into a collaborative storytelling experiment—where readers don’t just consume the work but actively speculate, suggest, and even contribute. Some might leave wild theories, others might fill in the blanks, and a few might even inspire to return to an abandoned story with fresh eyes.

The digital library card could have a simple yet classic aesthetic, tying into the raw, archival feel of the project. Think of it like a virtual passport to the library of unfinished stories. Here’s how it might look:

Front of the Card:

• Library Name: “Library of Unwritten Books” (in elegant, typewriter-style font for that vintage touch).

• Cardholder Name: Reader’s name

• Unique Card Number: A random, system-generated number to make it feel official (e.g., #MOM12345).

• Card Issue Date: The date they accessed the library or “checked out” a work.

Back of the Card:

• Quote or Motto: A philosophical nod to unfinished work, like:

• “Not all who wander are lost. Some just never finish.”

• “Creativity never stops—some stories just pause for a while.”

• Borrower’s Log Link: A link or QR code that takes them to the comments section of this website.

• Library Rules: Something playful like “No overdue fines” or “This book may never be completed, but its story is far from over.”

Physical Archive

There’s something deeply satisfying about preserving your ideas, no matter how unfinished. It’s like building your own literary museum, a space where unfinished thoughts don’t get lost but instead are archived and given a place in history.

Plus, the idea of printing, binding, and shelving them gives a real physicality to your creative process.

Whether it stays small or expands over time, it can become a personal artifact that might even spark inspiration years down the road. These unfinished works will outlive me, sparking something in others to finish, reinterpret, or continue. It’s like planting seeds that may grow long after I’ve moved on, and in some way, I’d still be creating, even if a single one is never complete. I might not get to see the story finish, but I’ll leave behind a trail of possibilities for others to follow. A literary treasure map—unfinished, mysterious, and full of potential.

November 30, 2024 / Writing

Novembook Day 30

Well, my ass was in the seat and my fingers are callused, but I did manage to go over the goal line and complete 30,000 words in 30 days. My self-imposed writing goal was a personal challenge to inspire myself to write another novel.

Disclaimer: It is in now way ready for anything other than a lot of edits in the near future!

November 4, 2024 / Journal

Not a-Mused

Ah, the elusive muse! Sometimes it feels like she has a mind of her own, appearing only when she pleases. Maybe she’s lurking somewhere unexpected—in a new environment, a favorite book, or even a conversation. Sometimes shifting my perspective or doing something entirely unrelated to writing can coax it back out. Taking the pressure off can often help inspiration flow again when she feels distant.

I read a few inspired quotes and articles earlier, rode the bicycle a bit, and even made guacamole from a huge avocado off the tree.

Inspiration often finds its way back when it feels like you’re not chasing it.

November 1, 2024 / Journal

Novembook 1st

Right. It is the first day of the eleventh month and it is time to put ass to chair and write a novel in thirty days.

I am procrastinating. Not my fault really, just dealing with some life issues here such as legal issues, potential new career and a family member flying down here for the week.

30,000 words in thirty days to develop a rough draft for this new novel. No fussing over function, grammar or missteaks. That is what the writing software, Ulysses, lives for. He just looooves to remind me about those punctuation marks being in the wrong place, or being completely ignored altogether. He red-flagged that “missteaks” mistake too. Damn, nothing gets by him.

Did I tell myself I was going to wean off of the soda this month? Did I tell myself that I had not and will continue to suck those down frequently? At least until December 1st anyway.

The sun is almost up, the body has been cleansed, the soda is on the desk so I am out of excuses.

Let’s write this thing.

P.S. Ulysses missed a comma that I intentionally left out. I win.

October 31, 2024 / Writing

I Am A Writer

I make negative dollars for my writing, the collection is mostly on the internet, which costs money. It also costs me time, which is money. I’m the least profitable writer that I know.

I write to empty my brain, not to fill a page or a post on this site.

And I will keep doing it.

(maybe some day I will be an author)