Nik Nicholson's Blog

So my first contemporary novel is in editing and scheduled to be out soon. I’ve enjoyed the journey with these characters so much I’m considering writing a sequel. I love the idea of showing these three people being human together and facing their life challenges. I’ve Googled polyamorous novels… Maybe I checked my library and different kinds of bookstores (online and physical). I feel like they were all erotica and romance. This book is too, but aren’t there couple stories that aren’t romantic? I think the three of them would make an amazing series.

Above are Nova St. Clair, Theodore “Teddy” Armstrong, and his wife of ten years, Genevieve “Vivi” Armstrong. This is a book cover I won’t use. I usually do book covers in Word. Did that sound like I was doing something different going forward? Anyway, when I plugged everything in and uploaded it, AI changed the characters’ facial features. I didn’t like this Teddy… He’s handsome, just not who I initially imagined and had become attached to.

I love how the lettering was changed to include a poly symbol. I like the background. But for some reason, every time the system rendered the cover it changed someone’s face. It wouldn’t let me keep the below Teddy. So, I just moved on. I am grateful for what I’ve learned in the process of building covers a different way.

Also, (I do tangents) everything asks if you used AI. But how can you not? I usually buy a background from some site, then do my own lettering. Now, Amazon won’t let you layer photos in a PDF unless you put them through some AI system to flatten all the images. Otherwise, there are demarcations.

This time, I took a chance and built my characters from the ground up. I crafted them out of words, then watched as an AI turned those words into living, breathing images. Do you know how wild that is? To picture someone in your mind, describe them out loud, and then watch a machine bring your imagination to life. It feels a little like magic. Honestly, I’m grateful to be alive right now, in a world where that’s even possible.

On top of that, now I’ve got some Meta program on my phone that allows you to animate photos… OMG! If I can figure out how, I have to come back to this post and add my characters moving. It’s humbling. Maybe I’m showing my age and you guys don’t’ care, but so what, I’m jazzed. Jazz hands.

I’m having a book release on August 22. It was initially set to be released in July, but the event space changed the date after confirming. I still haven’t told everyone it’s been moved. I have friends with landlines, flip phones, and no social media. I shouldn’t say friends, I should say loved ones. Some of my loved ones are in their eighties, gardening and slow cooking every day of the week as an act of revolt.

As an artist raised in the 1980s before 911, when operators answered business phones. When businesses realized you didn’t have to give them your money… So they made it easy to pay bills and didn’t charge you for simply wanting to put your money in someone’s hand. It’s a crazy world these days and I’m still struggling to acclimate at times.

Anyway, I hope you will join me at the West Las Vegas Art Center to celebrate. I haven’t written a novel… Well, I haven’t released a novel since 2013. It took me three years to write my first. This one took me a year, but I’ve learned some things over the years. I show up too. I think the first draft took me four to six months. The editing has been excruciating.

Anyway, I was able to access my blog without finding a circus where I could walk on hot coals to get in. So I wanted to check in.

This is also me avoiding calling my elders and telling them the jig is up. LOL! Actually, it just moved. I love some great folks. I’m an introvert and I spent a couple months planning calls, now I have to call folks who like talking on the phone… To the tune of three hours. They are entertaining, funny, and loving, but it can be challenging with my mental health and energy level.

I need to come back and talk about polyamory and how much I grew as a person writing this story. I am grateful for this gift and honored by all those who read me.

Love is life. Live.

House keeping details. The name of my upcoming novel is “Everyone For Themselves: A Polyamorous Novel.”

Welp, that blows. I have to use my phone and Jetpack to sign in. Still having issues… which as a writer that’s tantamount to walking away with my laptop for a moment and expecting me to keep my train of thought… See how I’m writing about this shit instead of what I came here for…

Anyway. I am working on my author profile. I love writing characters but writing about one’s self is so weird. You don’t want to give away too information… do you? I’ve heard this. You want to sound qualified and knowledgeable, you want to blow all the silent whistles for the people who need to know you didn’t just start saying, “I should write about my life.” I actually don’t have any desire to write about my life. I’m going to lie. I’m not telling anybody the whole truth. You couldn’t handle…Nah, I couldn’t handle telling the whole truth.

So, I’ve got a few different versions of my author bio I’m meditating on… Or I might just use the first one. Then use a different one in a different book.

Speaking of books, I am a real crab apple today, Amazon KDP… God. Help.

What if this is the only night the stars will hang
outside your window, soft and reckless, like a secret
you almost shared?
What if you don’t get to press rewind, don’t get
to say the words that burn your tongue from the inside out
I love you, I’m sorry, I forgive, I remember you as you were
before the world chipped your edges?

Don’t wait for sunrise to prove you’re brave.
Let your laughter spill out, wild and ugly and real
build on the joke until your ribs ache and you forget
why you ever held back.
Tell the truth that sours in your chest,
the heavy thing you carry and tuck away for someday,
as if someday is promised, as if time owes you
anything but this thin, trembling now.

Take the risk. Leap before you’ve measured the distance.
Let fear be the proof you’re alive,
not the reason you freeze.
When you mess up—and you will—be the first
to admit you’re lost, but hungry to find your way.
Promise to be better, or say fuck it—
maybe imperfections got its own kind of beauty,
its own crooked perfection.

Love affirms life, so live.
Say I love you, again and again,
until the echo outlasts you;
til it fills the room, the years,
til it becomes the only thing
that ever mattered.

If tomorrow never comes,
let tonight be a feast of words and laughter,
a tender reckoning with your own wild heart.
Let love be loud. Let living be brave.
Let nothing go unsaid.

Describe a positive thing a family member has done for you.

My aunt taught me to draw as a kid. Which has evolved into all kinds of other art forms. I’m thinking about it because I talked to her about it yesterday.

A couple years ago she lost her vision. We’ve been discussing how she can continue moving in her creative power.

I called a friend I’ve known almost a decade. I can’t believe it’s been that long. Time slips by so fast when you get older. Sometimes I have to stop myself from typing stuff like, “I’m going to die soon,” even though it crosses my mind more than I’d like to admit. Self-editing is part of the deal now, I guess.

In case this is your first time reading me, I reserve the right to misspell words, use poor grammar, make up words, and go on tangents. I also reserve the right to start with one subject and get off into something else and never get back to the initial point. Read at your own risk. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!

So, anyway, this call. So because I’m an introvert, I’ve been trying to do at least one call a day, I’m averaging about three a week… I actually have a lot of friends to be a hermit. Soooo… I digress. I called to tell her about my book release; something I’ve been working toward since last year. But then I heard it: that tone people get when they don’t want good things to happen for you. Maybe it’s jealousy, or maybe they just want your life to suck. I don’t know why some adults end up like this. Who raised these miserable muthafuckas?

It hurt. It made me think of words like “frenemies” and “haters.” Labels I’ve never really believed in. I don’t think people actually hate you; they just hate something in themselves. I try to hold on to that, hold on to the humanness of it all. Still, I’m sitting here crying as I try to piece together what just happened, and how I’m supposed to move through it.

This isn’t even the first time I’ve dealt with this kind of thing. When I was in my early twenties, I had a friend I would hide my accomplishments from. If I shared something good, she’d get upset. Sometimes she’d disappear for weeks, or suddenly feel like she had to compete with me. I never understood it. I loved her dearly. She taught me a lot, and she always knew the best places to go. She was super outgoing, and I could just float in the background.

But sometimes, if someone noticed me for even a minute, it’d be World War One. I allowed that for almost a decade. Then one day, I was out with a different friend and we were doing something fun, and my phone rang. Without any thought I said, “I gotta go where it’s quiet so she doesn’t know where I’m at.” My friend looked at me and just asked, “Why are you hiding this?”

At the time, the woman calling was my best friend. She didn’t live in the same city, but I was afraid she’d punish me with silence and weeks of abandonment. This seemed totally normal to me too. So I told the friend I was with, in so many words, “She doesn’t like it when good things happen to me.” And my friend, lost, asked, “Then why are you friends?”

The friend ended up punishing me for dating someone who she deemed was out of my league. She actually stopped speaking to me for maybe two years. She wouldn’t return or answer my calls. I did some personal work in the process and ended up abandoning the friendship in her absence…Then one day, out of the blue, she came back, like, “My bad, let’s be cool, again.” Then, I officially ended the friendship. I don’t regret it.

But I am aware of my own human shittiness too. I’ve said and done things I hoped to be forgiven for. Not like that, because I genuinely love seeing my friends win. But I’m not perfect either; I don’t always answer my phone, I’m introverted, I rarely want to go out (but I do want to be invited). I don’t want my friends to say, “Why invite someone who never comes?” Because sometimes, I actually do show up.

This relationship also forced me to question why I allowed myself to be treated this way. First, it didn’t always hurt. I do have some mental health challenges, so I don’t know if something is wrong with me but sometimes things mutual friends pointed out about that relationship I didn’t notice. Also, I have a delayed reaction at times. I don’t always know how I feel in the moment.

Plus when we were in the same city the relationship was beneficial. We were both poets, we liked similar music, and we made each other laugh. I am an only child and self contained. Sometimes, people say only children are spoiled. In my life, it’s been the opposite—if something was broken, I was blamed. If something was missing, I was the suspect. My parents loved me, but they were young and made it clear they sacrificed because I was born. I grew up during the era where children were supposed to be invisible. Being her friend let me fall in that role.

We went places, she didn’t introduce me and I didn’t care cause I barely could keep up with the people I knew. I’d disappear into whatever room we entered. She had big ideas, she liked to join boards of organizations of things we loved. Me, I’m going to show up and help… Do whatever I’m instructed to do, but I don’t want to be in the front. I don’t want any official duties. I don’t want my name on anything. I just want to see the project through to the end.

I ended up being known by a lot of folks, but not really knowing anyone. I can’t remember names anyway. I’m also incredibly shy I recently realized. I don’t know why it took me so long to realize that… accept it. I won’t say how many events I’ve ended up hosting because I forget this small detail, and then someone gives me the mic and I’m like, “Fuck, I don’t want to go up there.”

We’re all messy in our own ways.

Back to 2026, my friend is beautiful and accomplished. We’re all aging, but she’s beyond beautiful. Her life, like anyone’s, has setbacks. I thought she’d be glad to hear I kept pushing through my health challenges and finally made it to this milestone. She wasn’t.

And before anyone jumps in with “maybe she had her own stuff going on.” Nah, I know her. I love odd people. I’m odd myself. I study human behavior for fun. I see the patterns. I wasn’t trying to be petty or sure of myself, I genuinely tried to ignore her shittiness and just keep sharing. She asked about the book, I told her. But spiritually, it felt like I was drowning in her disdain. So I cut it short and asked about her instead.

She rattled off a list of successes, then waved them away because of some minor inconvenience; classic Virgo, always finding the flaw. I let it go.

It’s been almost a month now, and I’m still processing. I’m trying to write the same chapter I’ve been stuck on for two weeks. Procrastinating is blogging.

Unrelated related: I’m finally able to access my online journal from my laptop. Even though initially, even this morning, WordPress told me I wasn’t me. But this time they provided a workaround. I’d started to think I might have to start another blog somewhere else, but where? (walking away from the rabbit hole)

The thing is, when someone you care about can’t be happy for you, it is hard to know why it hurts. It’s easy to tell yourself not to care, or to try to rationalize their behavior, but I’m not sure we should let it go without some kind of change that feels good to our soul. I know most people are just fighting their own battles, sometimes in ways that make them ugly to others. But it still sucks.

I’m learning to give myself grace. To recognize that it’s okay to want community, and it’s okay to be hurt when you don’t get it. That this isn’t weakness. It just makes me human. We literally need community. Most of us are unhappy in the absence of it.

So, if you’re reading this and you’ve felt that sting, when your joy gets met with someone else’s bitterness, I see you. Don’t let it dim your light. Celebrate yourself. Even if you have to do it alone sometimes. (Cause I feel like a drama queen, I need to say this: other mofos are happy for me, and connecting has been amazing. Like I have friends flying in to celebrate with me. Shout out to the crew!!!)

If this resonates or you’ve been through something similar, feel free to share your story below. We’re all out here trying to find our people; and sometimes, that starts with showing up for ourselves.

Thanks for reading. If you want to keep up with my messy, meandering thoughts, stick around. I reserve the right to go off on tangents at any time.

It was a cycle. Your saved password from the browser and laptop you’ve been using is incorrect.

Let us send you a link. Clicks link to email I’ve had forever. Opens browser, your password is wrong. You’re not you. You’ve tried to access your shit with the wrong information too many times. Let us punish you for trying to be yourself.

Months have gone by where I couldn’t prove I was myself from different devices.

For your protection, we are not accepting you are who you say you are.

In an identity crisis

Writer needing to write it

Isn’t fiction but parables

So, I started signing into Facebook

To prove I wasn’t a robot.

Then putting in a separate password for messenger. 

Why don’t we just text? 

Facebook offers me a marketing plan to socially network with my own social network

while my feed is full of strangers…

I wouldn’t call myself a content creator cause I just be talking…

Am I always a consumer because noise can be streamed distraction as Im actively trying to tune out of the moment and in to friends who can’t hear me cause now showing them funny memes cost

Because who’s listening

Because social network became social engineering

And Zuckerman has become a eugenicist

Blue

Check

Mark

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Is it just me, or did Tartar Sauce get sweet? If you are still eating Mc Donald’s, their filet fish, still has the older better kind. Long John Silvers and Captain D’s… I can’t remember which one, but one of them makes their tartar sauce. The other has the sweet sauce in the packets. I never can remember.

Anyway, I made my own today. Sour cream, Mayonnaise, dill, dill relish (overkill I didn’t realize I had dill relish when I bought the fresh dill), lemon juice, white pepper, salt, smoked paprika, chives, parsley and horse radish. I don’t do measurements, but sour cream and mayo should be about the same amount and the most of all ingredients, they’re the base. I used paprika and fresh dill as a topping.

It was so good… It tasted slightly better than the one I grew up eating. Tartar sauce is such a weird thing to add sugar to. If anyone knows why they did it, let me know.

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Today is a regular day. I was listening to some seventies grooves. It’s raining for the real melodrama. I tried to talk my partner into swimming in the rain. There are still songs I am learning the meaning of.

The Chi-lites, Have You Seen Her, started playing. And I could see my dad two stepping singing and disappearing in the song. I mentioned he loved music and this would have been a good day…

We were chilling just listening to music. My dad would have loved to be here with me… I miss him so much right now.

First, I’m grateful I didn’t fall walking up here. That is one of my greatest fears. I want to thank you for standing as I came up. I love us. I love people.

Ok. I want to thank IZ for standing with me when I did not stand with myself. I want to thank IZ for allowing me to reach self acceptance. I want to thank my parents. Sending peace to my father in the other realm.

I want to thank my grandmother for leaving me with her dreams. I want to thank my characters for breathing and being.

I appreciate being seen. Thank you for this moment. Love and Light

Writers’ retreat where I have days to myself to plot and write. Then we come together to discuss our projects or share what we are proud of from our projects. Late night talks about the state of the world. Laughing til I ache… Coffee hot chocolate, cause I don’t really like coffee alone…

Meeting other writers and having an opportunity to bond and establish a connection. Poetry readings, pastries and revolution.