The Word of Godbey

Here I sit. Another early morning, the sun still waiting somewhere below the horizon, tucked into my writing corner in the nerd cave. It’s not a dedicated writing cave. More of a small corner surrounded by shelves of books, collectible figures, video game posters, and all the other things that make it feel like mine. Normally, this is where I sit clacking away at the keyboard while the cats take their positions around me, standing guard against whatever imaginary intruders might threaten my concentration. I hammer away at whatever novel I happen to be working on. Except now, I’m not. The first draft of On Days It Rains is finished. It feels a little strange to write that. The truth is, I started writing it almost as soon as Beyond That Starry Sky went into proofreading, editing, beta reading, and polishing. I had read somewhere that if you want to be a successful author, you should start your next book before you finish your current one. So I did. And it worked. In fact, I also manag...

 I'm not normally one to use my limited daily writing time to update my blog instead of actually working on my books—particularly when On Days It Rains is so close to completion. And yet here I am at six in the morning, blogging. Apparently, something has been bothering me. I've spent the better part of the last year finding my way back into the writing world after a long absence. And while I've met some wonderful people along the way, I've also noticed something that has left me increasingly frustrated. I came back to writing because I wanted to tell stories. And talk about stories. In fact, two new writing acquaintances have even taught me that I enjoy a little poetry every now and then. But instead, I've discovered that apparently there are two other careers available to writers: Professional AI outrage. And full-time political commentator. I'm exaggerating, of course. Mostly. I have opinions about both subjects. Probably more opinions than I need. They are ...

 If you've been one of the one—or perhaps two—readers of my blog since my publishing journey began, you may have noticed that it has once again been quite some time since my last post. And once again, I apologize. I'll try not to make long periods of blog silence a habit. No promises, mind you. Just an attempt. Between everyday life, the day job, finishing up the manuscript for the next When the Hills Were Ours installment ( On Days It Rains , which I think readers are going to love), and continuing to try to put Beyond That Starry Sky in front of the people who might actually want to read it, well... let's just say there isn't a tremendous amount of time left on the table for regular blog entries. But I'm still here. And I'm still willing to share my often mundane, occasionally random, and sometimes mildly interesting thoughts with all of you. All one or two of you. And that brings me to the first thing you may notice about this particular post: The blog actu...

It’s been a while since my last blog update, and I apologize to any one—or possibly two—readers out there. Most of my time lately has been consumed by the less romantic side of being an author: trying (and often failing) to promote and market my book. It’s taken up more hours than I’d care to admit—sometimes even more than the more important task of actually writing the next one. But this morning, something small interrupted that cycle. I was outside, taking the garbage out—nothing glamorous about it—when I paused. The sun was just cresting the trees, that soft early light spilling across the yard. Two rabbits sat quietly in the grass I’d cut just a day or two before, completely at ease, enjoying the morning in a way that felt… deliberate. Peace. It made me wonder—what happened to that kind of peace? The kind we had when we were younger, when time itself felt abundant. Back then, days stretched endlessly. Hours moved slowly enough that we could settle into them. Now, you wake up, pour ...

It’s been almost two weeks since the launch of Beyond That Starry Sky . As much as I originally thought that moment would feel like the triumphant end of a year-long journey, I’ve quickly realized it was really just the beginning. So—now I’m a published author. Now what? Well… besides writing more books, of course. As of now, my debut novel has sold a bit. I don’t have the exact number in front of me, but it’s somewhere between “more than ten” and “definitely not a thousand.” Some days, I look at the reports and feel a wave of doubt, questioning whether I should have started this at all. Other days, I look at those same numbers and think: someone is reading it. And in those moments, it feels like mission accomplished. It’s a bit of a roller coaster. Then there’s the part I knew would be difficult—marketing and promotion. This is where the whole endeavor feels the most unnatural. I’ve never been much of a social media presence (nor do I particularly want to be), and I’ve always been ter...

The day is finally here. A little over a year ago, I began the journey to bring Beyond That Starry Sky to life. It started with early mornings, writing before the world woke up. It continued through long evenings after the day job, and weekends that stretched deep into the early hours of the night. There were drafts, revisions, and then more revisions—moments of doubt, followed by breakthroughs. My beta readers stepped in and helped shape the story further, and then came even more polishing. Along the way, the incredible Nakajima-san brought the cover to life—capturing in a single image what I had spent months trying to put into words. And now, today, all of that work—every hour, every late night, every rewrite—has led here. Beyond That Starry Sky is officially out in the wild. If you’ve been following this journey, thank you. Your support has meant more than I can put into words. You can find Beyond That Starry Sky available to order in softcover and jacketed hardcover through most...

We can get lost in the routines of everyday life. There’s a kind of quiet autopilot we slip into—days moving forward whether we’re fully present in them or not. The same motions. The same steps. Our bodies handling the work while our minds drift somewhere else entirely. And yet, those routines are also a kind of refuge. Familiar. Predictable. Safe. Mine lives somewhere in between. Most mornings start the same way: a slow shuffle downstairs, moving with the small, tired steps of a man twice my age, greeted by a pair of cats who are very much awake and very much ready to be fed. I divide their breakfast, start the coffee, and sit for a few quiet minutes with a hot cup and a quick Japanese lesson. Then it’s a shower, a bit of work on the latest book, and catching up with friends on the other side of the world during that narrow window where our time zones overlap. After that, the day job—the part I think most of us tolerate more than enjoy. Then home again. Feed the cats. Work out. Dinner...

There’s a piece of writing advice you hear so often it almost fades into the background: write what you know. It didn’t really land for me until it suddenly did. Writers like Stephen King returning again and again to a fictionalized version of Maine, or Celeste Ng grounding her stories in Ohio—you’ve seen it before. Familiar places, reshaped just enough to serve the story while still carrying the weight of something real. For me, that place was West Virginia. More specifically, the Kanawha Valley. And if I’m being honest, I hesitated. There was a voice in the back of my mind—one I even ended up echoing through a fictional conversation in Beyond That Starry Sky —that said something along the lines of: no one is going to want to read a novel set in West Virginia unless it involves Mothman or the Flatwoods Monster. But I did it anyway. Because the truth is, that place isn’t just a setting to me. It’s where I grew up. It’s where a lot of life happened—the kind of moments that shape you in ...

When I returned to long-form fiction after so many years away, I did so with more excitement than hesitation. I’ve lived over half a century now, gathered enough experience to feel like I finally had something worth saying, and when I sat down to write, the pages came quickly. My niche felt clear. My stories followed. From the beginning, I’ve always been my own first editor. I write freely, then go back with a critical eye—trimming, reshaping, asking myself a simple question: If I were the reader, what version of this would I respect the most? Somewhere along the way, I added a new step to that process. I started using ChatGPT. At first, it was nothing more than a proofreader. I’d feed it pages and ask for a report—grammar, clarity, consistency. I’d already done my own pass, of course, but it offered a second set of eyes that didn’t get tired and didn’t miss much. More importantly, it could be guided. It could be told that voice mattered more than rigid adherence to rules. Sometimes a ...

I thought Beyond That Starry Sky was the first novel I ever finished. It isn’t. It’s just the first one that matters. I’ve been writing stories since elementary school—page after page of adventures, fan-fiction, sci-fi, and fantasy. Groups of heroes on urgent missions, racing to stop some catastrophe or right a great wrong. That was always the pattern. Recently, a question was put to me: What stories did you think of as a child? Back then, it was all spacefaring adventures starring thinly veiled versions of my friends and me. I even self-published a short-lived (and, in my mid, wildly successful) comic series—run off on a Xerox machine and sold to classmates for a quarter—that spoofed Star Trek: The Next Generation. But the first full novel I ever completed was something else entirely: a fantasy epic I wrote when I was thirteen. I don’t remember the title anymore, but I remember the shape of it. An evil sorcerer kidnaps a princess—because, let’s be honest, that’s what evil sorcerers d...

Easter is almost here, which means—like so many of us—I found myself outside tending to the small, ordinary tasks that come with preparing for it. The lawn needed attention, especially if there’s to be an Easter egg hunt. So I went through the routine: trimming, clearing, straightening edges. The kind of work you don’t think too much about. Until I reached the gate. Toward the back of the yard is a small, fenced-in space we call Joe’s Garden. It’s where our first family cat, Crosseyed Joe, rests. Over time, it’s become a quiet place of memory for others too—our sweet Twitchy, our old friend Floof. But Joe was the first. He made it sacred. I pushed open the stiff metal gate and got to work like I always do—cutting back the grass, pulling weeds, setting things right again. And then, as predictably as the seasons themselves, I reached the headstones. And the tears came. Every. Single. Time. It’s been nearly a decade, and still, nothing about that moment has dulled. For a long time, I thou...

My writing journey began almost before my reading journey. As early as first grade. Walking the halls of Clendenin Elementary—which was once, if memory serves (and if memory can be trusted to reach that far back), Big Sandy High School—I was already scribbling stories and sketching crude little comics inspired by the sci-fi programs I loved. Then, somewhere around second grade, I discovered media tie-in novels. They were meant for readers a bit older than I was at the time, but the librarian let me check them out anyway. That was all the permission I needed. That love of stories—both reading them and trying to tell my own—followed me into adulthood. I always fancied myself a writer of science fiction and fantasy. In reality, I was someone very good at starting things… and far less consistent at finishing them. Then single fatherhood happened, and even starting became a luxury. Fast forward a few decades—yes, a few—and in 2025, I had what I can only call an epiphany. Years too late, may...

To be honest, that title might be a bit of a misnomer. The journey started in the spring of 2025 as a whisper in the middle of the night—the kind of idea that sneaks in while you’re hovering between sleep and wakefulness. That whisper grew into a single word: compAnIon From there, and a few notebooks later, I was scribbling character names, sketching places, and building my vision of a West Virginia that felt both recognizable and fictional. And before I realized it, I was writing again—for the first time in nearly twenty years. The late nights and early mornings that followed eventually produced a completed draft. Then came my invaluable beta readers—Kelly H., Lorien M., and others who prefer to remain more private—whose feedback guided multiple revisions until the manuscript was as polished as a mostly one-person effort could make it. My debut novel, Beyond That Starry Sky, was born. As of now, the release is still on schedule for May 2026, so keep checking in here for updates and be...