Opera Rocks

Orbital Space: Box of Trouble is coming! And It deserves a brand new mixing and mastering studio in which to work! Couldn’t help but go all American in lighting today to celebrate one of the very best sci fi writers today: @Devon_Eriksen_ on the home stretch. Box of Trouble is gonna SING! Go Team 🔥 Theft of Fire 🔥 Free sample of first audiobook at DevonEriksen.com

@BurakYngn @pmarca Instant follow to both you AND Nick. Thx. And about your “shoulda studied music” thing… pretty sure yer doing just fine. It’s a rough (but yet exhilarating) time for musicians. My assumption is basically @pmarca is always right. :-)

Nick is the only acceptable twitter referee on this subject and sorry everyone looks like @pmarca was right

I chose my Lenten sacrifice well. When you refuse despair, it starts to feel uncomfortable when it settles down around you again. Gets easier to give it up. This is a good time to try it.

RE: The Way of War of Our Enemies In every hot war the United States has become involved in since the Korean War, we have enjoyed absolute tactical and operational dominance over our enemies. We win every tactical engagement, overwhelmingly. Operationally we can and do dominate any theater of our choosing. No one—and I mean NO ONE—can stand toe to toe with the US military. This has been true for decades. We’ve talked before about the elements of national power—the “DIME” (Diplomacy, Informational, Military, Economic). Our military power is unsurpassed. We are masters of diplomacy. We have the world’s strongest economy. So how do we lose? The INFORMATIONAL component. Our military opponents, from Ho Chi Minh to Osama bin Ladin, knew that the only way to defeat the USA is to demoralize the American populace such that it demands withdrawal and throws the then current Commander-in-Chief out of office. The ONLY way to defeat America militarily is to convince the American people that a war is unwinnable. The slow dribble of IED deaths in OIF was not actually targeting soldiers and Marines—it was targeting YOU, the American people. And CNN eagerly complied with death counts running across the bottom of the screen. The Tet Offensive? It was a decisive US victory that could have ended the Vietnam War in our favor. But Walter Cronkite instead declared the war lost, protests erupted nationwide, and the war was lost. The Highway of Death in Kuwait? We could have taken out Saddam Hussein in 1991 and never needed to go back in 2003, but international media made the attack on retreating Iraqis look “too cruel,” so we halted just short of the finish line. The strategic imperative of every one of America’s military enemies is to break the will of the American people with skewed information, propaganda, and extreme emphasis on America’s minor losses amidst overwhelming military victory. But the Ho Chi Minhs and Osama bin Ladins can’t do that by themselves. They need willing partners in the American media and government. And for Operation Epic Fury, boy oh boy do the Iranian mullahs have an over abundance of American morale killers to draw from in order to defeat America through the informational instrument of national power. Tucker Carlson. Senator Mark Kelly and the rest of the Seditious Six. CNN. ABC. NBC. CBS. NYT, WaPo. Pakistani bot armies on social media. X “influencers” like Cerno, Candace, MartyrMade and Ian Carroll. Every idiot claiming we are fighting “Israel’s war." There is an entire Army of American politicians and media figures who are willingly fighting Iran’s informational war on its behalf (and in some cases, at its behest). America is DECISIVELY WINNING the war on Iran in every measurable respect. Yet there are so many influential Americans who are desperately determined to make you believe otherwise. In days of old in non-US countries, such people would have been strung up for treason. Thankfully it’s 2026 and we have a First Amendment, so no one fear being treated in such a medieval manner. But we can still ostracize and ridicule such people and sources for the irreparable harm they are wreaking upon the USA as they do the bidding (intentionally or unintentionally) of Theo-fascist mullahs who are determined to set off a nuclear bomb so that the Twelfth Imam will arise from a well in Qom and precipitate the global apocalypse. We all need to choose sides. Are you with America, or are you with theologic-inspired, deliberate Armageddon? And anyone who chooses the latter needs to be the target of mockery, derision and clearly-stated facts disproving their lies. And if YOU are an American Patriot, you can fight that informational war on America’s behalf, right now, right here on social media, right there in your own living room. Your voice matters, and your voice is actually a part of the war. FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT.

@ericernerstedt @coookwithchris Lord I hope so cuz while I love my chihuahua I ain’t workin that hard to feed it and dine with it under candlelight.

@Opera_Rocks @coookwithchris I’d guess she has a spouse, probably also kids.

“15 minute meal prep!”

@Executnr He would disagree. “Fun and fulfilling” is most def NOT what fitness is about. It’s about being able to kill effectively. Any watering down of that is just…rainbow oriented. But then again, I guess that’s why you mentioned “butter.”

Many people use him for inspiration, but I think he been going through a crisis for the last 10 years. His fitness philosophy doesn't broadcast fulfilment or happiness, sounds angry an butter. Fitness is supposed to be fun an fulfilling.

@CDoombeard @stillgoji Funny. But I worry about how he’d be at a party. He’s…that guy.

@stillgoji Hey @Opera_Rocks what do you think?

when I realized 🫨

@Devon_Eriksen_ @mattwriteguy @ikmultimedia Indeeeeeeeed, Maestro! It is going to kick ass! But more importantly, the turnaround is going to be a waaaaaaaay quicker. I predict you'll only call me 2 times to tell me I made a huge editing blunder, not 3,228. And won't THAT be somethin'....

@Opera_Rocks @mattwriteguy @ikmultimedia The BoT audiobook is going to have really good sound quality, isn't it?

Getting easier to get my thousand a day again.

Thx much Matt. Ceiling cloud are 2 3x6 panels airgapped at 6” & 6” deep. Side walls 6” deep with 2” air gap. Pulling that off on a vaulted ceiling nearly broke my noodle. Unseen back wall also treated. Currently using @ikmultimedia iLoud pair. 2nd to none for soundstage in their budget class, plus very portable for location work (sorry/notsorry, sound like I’m an advert!) I was absolutely gobsmacked after having spent a ton of time getting room and ceiling under control with panels what their ArcX room correction software was able to do. It just blew my mind, considering I’m fighting 75hz in this space. Also a cheap pair of presonus 800, soon to be upgraded to the Neumann KH series. Also using @realsteveslate vsx room modeling headphones, which thankfully now are not doing ALL the heavy lifting for mixing. They are capable, regardless. Best purchase of 2025.

@Opera_Rocks @Devon_Eriksen_ Nice setup. What monitors (audio) are you running?

@Devon_Eriksen_ @ID_AA_Carmack You, my friend, have my undying respect for writing this. This is what integrity looks like and I’m very proud to know you. Face the demons while u can. That, and play like a mofo! I think it was @CDoombeard who famously said: “HOLD FAST!”

Anger, like every human emotion, has an evolutionary purpose. It allows you to spot injustice and fight back. I think we have allowed our civilization, and the future of humanity itself, to be threatened by our own unwillingness to accept a little collateral meanness to the occasional person who doesn't deserve it, alongside those who do. But I agree with your major point. It's not good to be all angry all the time. It doesn't help us. We can't all be Alex Jones pounding the table, screaming that toxic waste is turning the freakin' frogs gay, even if that's exactly what was happening and we all owe Alex Jones a massive apology. Because happy, creative, joyful people are all unique, and angry people are all the same. If I'm angry all the time, depressed all the time, in pain all the time, I can't create... and that's where I was, and in some ways, still am. But I cannot allow my fear for the future of my people and my planet to get in the way of creating visions of hope. I'm trying. Thank you for your patience.

"Where's the sequel?" Any time this question gets asked nowdays, we are conversing by the flickering light of George Martin's spectacular self-immolation.   George Martin is an asshole. We can't just brush off the question like he does. Authors might not owe you another book, as Neil Gaiman pointed out while he wasn't busy being a sex pest, but... so what? I don't conduct relationships with my fans via double entry bookkeeping, in the same way that if I have a headache, Sara doesn't check the balance sheet before giving me a scalp massage. Readers pay my bills, they want a sequel, I want to deliver one, or least a transparent explanation of why it's taking a while. It's the obfuscations, false promises, and outright lies that make fans so angry. So here's what happened. I never expected Theft of Fire to hit as hard as it did. Debut novels don't do this, and if you think they do, that's not the first novel, just the first one that you heard of. I also never expected to take off on Twitter like I did. So, there were a lot of demands for attention. Appearing on podcasts, at conventions, that sort of thing. And that was, indeed, slowing down the writing. Handling a public presence was new to me. But had it been that alone, you'd have Box Of Trouble in your hands right now. It would have been later than a year, but not this late. But then I had to drive Sara to the ER at 5am in the morning, with the worst headache of her life, probably a fair description of what it feels like when you have a 5cm  stage 4 cancer bleeding into your brain. The next day, I read her the comments from people hoping and praying for her, as they wheeled her for brain surgery. That was the beginning of a very long year, full of more surgeries, radiation therapy, immunological infusions that made her sicker than the cancer itself, two hour drives to the treatment center, sometimes every other day. I tried to write. I tried. Not just because I was later than I wanted to be. Not because you asked me where the sequel was. Because I needed something I could do. Something I had control over. Something that felt like progress, instead of sitting around waiting to see if I was going to lose... Well, you know what it's like to love someone. We give hostages to fate when we love. Trying to work was a mistake. Brains work by association. For the meager payoff of what little progress I could make, I cross-linked my writing process with hospital waiting rooms, infusion centers, and that soft, empty feeling of waiting for death in blank rooms with old magazines and inoffensive white walls. When we were luckier than most, when our battle with cancer ended in triumph, I didn't feel triumphant. I didn't even feel relieved. I didn't feel anything. Something quiet and vital and nameless had switched off inside me, and because of that, I could keep marching forward. But the color had drained out of the world. I could rest now. Sleep. Sort of. A little bit. But I couldn't write. Whatever part of me had juggled ideas, tossing them up in the air with a laugh to see what came down, or whether they turned into birds and flew off and didn't down at all, well... that part wasn't laughing. It was curled up in the corner, tucked in a little ball with its arms around its knees, tunelessly humming a song I didn't like the lyrics of. I tried. So many authors, successful authors, far more experienced than I, talk about discipline and forming good habits and not waiting for inspiration. So I tried. I was late already, and it was eating at me. People were understanding, but I understand all too well that even a good excuse is not a result. I was... different. Angry. Snapping at people. Using my writing gifts to snarl at people over politics instead of play with fun ideas, saying things that were just expressions of frustration rather than insight. I lost some friends. I don't think I'll get all of them back. There are treatments for cancer. There aren't any treatments for the people in the splash zone. At the end of last November, the two-year mark since I published Theft of Fire, I realized I wasn't going to finish. Not like this. I had 85% of a complete manuscript, but you can't crawl across the finish line if you can't crawl. I had to stop and fix... everything. I sat down, stared at a wall, and thought about what I needed to do. Since I wasn't stupid enough to involve anyone who calls herself a "therapist", there were no lectures about intersectional feminism and toxic masculinity. Then I played video games for a month. And not much else. That doesn't sound like a great vacation. It sounds like laziness. But that's what it needed to be. I needed to not be responsible. If it were my job to build walls or dig ditches or fight wars or design aircraft parts or write software, I could have knuckled up and just done it. But telling stories isn't something that you can just work at. You have to play at it, too. And to do that, you have to remember what it feels like to play. So I had to ignore the advice that I'm sure was great for other people who aren't me, and I had to be lazy and play video games for a month, and then go scuba diving in the Florida keys, and then get sick and attend a convention as guest of honor while so drugged up that I barely remember anything I said. I had to realize that I was injured. And I had to put myself on the injured list. What do you do with a lifting injury? How do you rehab a damaged muscle? Well, you rest it until you can move it through the full range of motion, weakly. And then you lift weights again, but light ones. Only as much as you can handle without pain. So I sat down each day and wrote, just a little. A sentence or two, sometimes, if I couldn't get more. Never pushing myself, quitting when there wasn't any more in the tank, not nagging myself over deadlines long vanished in my rearview mirror. It started out as just 100 or 200 words, here and there. Then it started to feel okay again. Well, okayish. It wasn't enough. It wasn't the pace of a man trying to finish a race, or deliver on a delayed promise. But it was all I had to give. But yesterday, I wrote 1000 words. Today, 1100. And I didn't hate them. I'm still not 100%. I'm... diminished. Mentally and emotionally. Angry a lot of the time. Sometimes ashamed of myself over all this. A lot of things that used to bring me joy now bring... nothing. But I know what I have to do for myself so I can do this at all. And it's working enough to let me move forward. I have 132,000 words now. They're good. I don't hate them. They're better than Theft of Fire. I don't know where the finish line is, but I know it's somewhere out there. It feels closer now. I can't promise a date. I'm sorry. Things are still bad, even if they're better now, and I have to just do what I can, and not hate myself for it. There's a printed page taped to my wall. Above the monitors. Something I said to someone else once. Sometimes you have to be the person you wish you had. Cast your eyes down. You cannot see Samarkand from here, but the road is before you. Look to the road, see the footprints in the dust. Others have walked  this way. Take one step, and then another, and then a third. Rest in the  cool of the evening, and walk when the sun rises, when the muezzin  calls the faithful at dawn. Take one step, and then another, and then a  third. Others have walked this way. Look to the road, see the footprints  in the dust. The road is before you, though you cannot see Samarkand from here. Cast your eyes down. And walk.

@CDoombeard That’s a nice phrase. Mental hygiene. Stealing it. I hope this doesn’t make you feel unsafe. [/snark]

Ok, bullshit. Except for people who are just pathologically unable, everyone introspects to some degree. Everyone checks themselves, thinks about their own reactions, manages their emotions. That's not aDvAnCeD iNtElLiGeNcE, that's just basic mental hygeine.

To feel useful and important at scale. To silence the voices that whisper nihilism in the dark recesses of an unquiet mind. To feel something, anything, will finally convince oneself they have a voice, they matter. Because to NOT be here means one has to invest in the real problems in one’s life and finally admit they are ultimately powerless… without God’s help.

Cherokee proud. We are blessed to have him serving.

@AnEriksenWife @Slatzism That was NICE! Ask me what I REALLY think!!

@Opera_Rocks @Slatzism HARSH

there’s a classically trained opera baritone currently working at a Chrysler dealership in Cocoa, Florida and he makes advertisements for the cars in the style of different arias and I just had to share that with everybody because he’s my favorite person in the world rn

How may I say this with kindness: Bruh over darkens. No squillo (a pronounced “ping” evidenced by enhanced harmonics from 2-4k). Over-manufactured singing means obstruction which leads to not being able to be heard in a large acoustical space and…. Selling cars and no performances. Fun car tho.

@Slatzism @Opera_Rocks new best friend??

@wesley_jenks @Devon_Eriksen_ I keep sayin’ it!! :-) Tho I’m partial to the audiobook fwiw. You can get a free sample at devoneriksen.com

@Devon_Eriksen_ I really need to buy your book. Making a note.

Every other race thinks I am evil for having ethnic solidarity. Every other race thinks I am evil for noticing their ethnic solidarity.

When St. Ephrem the Syrian was nearing death in 373 AD, he wrote what is known as his Testament. He did not ask for honor. He did not ask for monuments. He did not ask to be remembered as a theologian. He asked for humility. The man who shaped Syriac hymnography, defended the faith against heresies, and became one of the greatest Christian poets in history saw himself not as a master but as a sinner in need of mercy. He warned the faithful not to turn his grave into a shrine of pride. He reminded them that repentance is greater than reputation. He emphasized charity to the poor over ceremonial display. This is the spirit of the Syriac Fathers. Not power. Not empire. Not fame. But humility, tears, and truth. St. Ephrem died in Edessa serving plague victims. He wrote theology with fire and left this world in humility. That is holiness. #StEphrem #SyriacOrthodox #OrientalOrthodox #Suryoye #Aramaic #ChristianHeritage