Tricking the brain


Hi Reader,

Kath grabbed me by the shoulders on my way up to my writing room this morning and turned me toward her.

"Smile," she said. "It tricks the brain."

I nodded.

"Do it."

So I did.

She's right. My brain falls for anything.

This week, I've been telling it that I'm not enough. I should be doing more. Achieving more. Finishing more.

Not helpful.

Noble Reckoning releases next week. I should be writing about the launch. But that's not what's on my mind today.

This morning, I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. I leaned forward into the mirror to look at myself.

Really look.

I don't usually do that.

The days of flexing, combing, and attending to pimples are long gone.

Good news. I found some hairs at the top of my skull. You gotta catch them in the right light to see them.

Thin strands—the meager remnants of a once thriving civilization.

Back in the day, I used to carry a comb in my back pocket.

When I was a teenager, my hair was full and feathered. Dressed in my fashionable snap-button denim vest and Sears dungarees, I'd have been quite the catch at junior high school dances.

Would have been.

My hair was the best part of my personality. I was awkward. Frenetic. A ball of misplaced energy.

Back then, all I wanted was to fit in. To find my place. To be accepted.

I realized this morning that, for most of the week, I'd been listening to the voice of that kid in the denim vest.

Fitting in?

This is a ridiculous thing for a man my age to consider.

But the voice was insistent—making me feel puny.

Why am I comparing myself to authors who are household names? Why am I pretending anyone else has it easy? Why am I still waiting for some imaginary magic dust?

Blech.

Why would I listen to that awkward kid?

Great question. No good answer.

When you're in a funk, sometimes you need someone to just grab you by the shoulders.

"Smile."

It's good to have someone to remind you to trick your brain.

It's good to remember there's still a teenager inside this worn-out body.

And it's good to be bald and sixty-one.

Fitting in?

Not my worry.

Happy Friday!

Andy

Reviews are coming in: Noble Reckoning

It's a huge relief to see that reviews are overwhelmingly positive for Noble Reckoning.

See for yourself. Check out what readers say about the third book in the series at Goodreads (link below).

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Available for pre-order wherever you buy books.

book cover of Fortunate Son Book cover of A Noble Sin
book cover of Noble Reckoning

Okay Reader, we'll stick a fork in it here. After all, it's called The Briefing for a reason.

If you enjoy The Briefing and are interested in seeing other "interesting" stuff from me, please follow me on Facebook and Instagram.

600 1st Ave, Ste 330 PMB 92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2246
Unsubscribe · Preferences

The Briefing

Life behind the writing desk

Read more from The Briefing
Books by Andrew Bridgeman showing the Emma Noble series and 99¢ price with Math or Gambling? in the title

Hi Reader, I'm not a gambler. But I kinda love watching people bet—the more, the better. It's fascinating and kind of dark. A study in human behavior. By the way, that's a writer thing. Standing around—watching people. I once stood next to a guy and watched him lose an absurd amount at a blackjack table at a resort in the Bahamas. It was an absolute train wreck that, apparently, the idiot could afford. The dealers rotated and I asked him how he was doing. "Down a quarter mil." "When do you...

Andrew Bridgeman writing on a train

Hi Reader, The 'word of the day' is schema. Ever heard of it? Me neither. At least I hadn't until I confronted one of the central challenges of being an author in 2026. I've been riding this writing train for a while now. I've seen things. The biggest disappointment was being fired by a famous literary agent because, after two years, she couldn't get US publishers to bite on my debut thriller. "Out of bullets. We tried. Sorry." It was no small consolation that she'd managed to sell it abroad....

Andrew Bridgeman and wife Kathy

Hi Reader, I was not optimistic about Kath's big interview. A few hours before it started, I watched a tear slide down her cheek. She'd never done anything like this before. She had nerves. Lots of them. That's when I decided I'd better put on a good shirt because there was a fair chance I'd be pinch hitting. Let me back up here. When Kath was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer, I asked how she wanted to handle this. Privately? Publicly? Her answer: "Publicly. Through you, Andy. I'm not good...