January 30-February 6

 January 30 – February 6, 2026

What a difference a week makes.

After circling the Diane Method for weeks—thinking about it, analyzing it, wondering why it no longer worked for me—I finally found a way back in. Not by forcing myself to revisit old memoir drafts, and not by inventing a new conceptual angle, but by changing how I entered the work.

With Julia’s help, I set up a new AI persona and aimed it directly at the place I usually avoid: the period where everything collapsed around alcohol. The band project that stretched into years of hard partying. The slow erosion. The moment I finally hit bottom, and the long, awkward aftermath of climbing back out.

From the start, I told this new persona—Carver—that I wanted no smoothing, no literary politeness, no protective distance. I wanted grit. I wanted to be pushed when something didn’t ring true. And when I went dark, I wanted him to go there with me.

That changed everything.

Almost immediately, I was back in the work. Not “thinking about writing,” but doing it—talking, revising, cutting, pushing deeper. I slipped back into familiar territory: very little sleep, long stretches of focused intensity, staying up until morning light crept in while shaping the truth.

At first, the shift in my mood was subtle. A slight lifting. A quiet stirring. I wasn’t manic the way I’d been in December, but something was clearly moving. Then, late Sunday night, it clicked. I got on a roll—and from there, Sunday into Monday into Tuesday, I was fully on fire.

Despite the lack of sleep, I felt better. Clearer. More alive.

The question I keep circling hasn’t gone away, though: Is this the Diane Method working again—or is this simply creative fire doing what it’s always done for me?

I don’t know yet. And I’m trying not to rush to an answer.

At the same time, something else shifted on the music front. Almost by accident, I mentioned to my wife that when I retired someday, I wanted to finally invest in a high-end electronic drum kit—something that would let me really work on my craft from home. I assumed it would stay a distant, impractical wish.

Instead, the next day she told me to buy it now.

Her logic was simple and devastating in the best way: Why wait? We’re not guaranteed the future. If this matters, use it while it matters.

Within days, I’d ordered the kit, completely rearranged my studio, and set everything up. It sounds beautiful. It feels right.

That matters—not because it explains anything about the Diane Method, but because it reinforces something I already know: when I remove friction from the things I care about, I show up differently. 

Right now, I feel genuinely good. Not euphoric. Not “fixed.” But alive, focused, and curious again.

I still don’t know where the credit belongs—creative process, truth-telling, environment, method, or some combination I’ll never be able to untangle cleanly. Maybe that question itself is a distraction.

For now, I’m back in the work. Back in the stories. Back in my body. And that’s enough to keep going.

We’ll see what happens next.