Monday, November 10, 2008

Tradition, Change, and Holidays

There is something good about all seasons, and this, of course, is the beauty of fall, the pumpkins burning, the decorations, and the coming of good food, family, cheerful holidays, and the snow, which transfixes, hypnotizes, and sends me into a trance. Sometimes, I think something very bizarre and magical happened to me as a kid in the snow, and now, though I can't quite remember it, has left some long-lasting, subconscious effect. I simply love it. There is magic in all that white powder.

Aside from all that, though, I've been in a bizarre mood lately. Mom gave me word today that there is no longer a trace of cancer remaining in her system. Everyone has kept their fingers crossed, worn their pink ribbons, their pink bracelets, and prayed. Though, she still needs to be monitored, there is music in her voice. She is laughing like a loon. This has nothing to do with my own mood, though, I'm extremely happy for her.

It has been an interesting, odd year. How many of you can feel the changes as life moves by, the shifts in the air? It seems, for me, there is always some new perspective, some new thought to grasp, a new understanding about life, the universe, people, and all its little mysteries, nuances, and understandings. Sometimes the past can be a treacherous place, a reflection where very little shines, and it's not difficult to remain wedged there, stuck like some helpless child. Some of us need a little push in the right direction, and I am no exception.

I'm always on the lookout. That is, it seems hard to go through life without comparing yourself to others, resenting the past, or wondering why God put you here in these shoes instead of some one else's, things that could easily drive you mad if you aren't careful. It's hard to be grateful the things you have, no matter how little or how great. I guess a lot of that has to do with simplification, and understanding yourself and your life as much as you can. Accepting yourself, your position in society, and being okay with it. Everybody always wants more than what they have.

In writing, like in life, we express how we feel, and I have a tendency to get philosophical in my own pompous, pontifical sort of way. Maybe its the religion from years ago (which I fell away from), but still has a tendency to linger. Maybe it's the battles with personal demons, and the hope that I've conquered them to live a better life. What a better way to express the darkness of the past than through a dark tale? What I do know is that what works for me doesn't work for everybody else. You go through life by trial and error, and learn enough about yourself to understand what works for you, and what doesn't. Whatever it is, doesn't matter.

Lately, a new focus has taken shape, one I hope has a little more clarity than others before. Things don't seem as problematic, let alone, as dramatic as they used to, perhaps because other peoples problems, or the problems of the world seem vastly more important than mine. It's a good life here in the institution. I use that line comically, because I used it in one of my tales. But it is no longer, nor has it ever really seemed an institution now that I think about it. The prison I lived in, like for everybody, was of my own making.

I haven't been as disciplined sending out submissions. I sit here and think about all the novels I have behind me that have never seen the light of day, the short stories, the genres, the cross genres, the fantasy, the horror, even some coming of age, idyllic tales more of a wholesome quality. I think about the years I've gone over these novels and stories, the rewrites, the editing, the polishing, the pain, the rewards, the satisfaction, the tears as well. I think about my divorce, the religion, the failed relationships, the personal demons and hell, and I feel like I have a strong foundation to base a lot of ideas off of. I've been lucky to have this driving force to continue to express--for no real reason than because I love it. I do it for me, like you do it for you, and I put everything into it I can, like you do, and nothing makes me happier. It is--as perhaps a poet would say--a place among the stars.

Nevertheless, the tales that get penned now are not anything like what are at bloodredtales. Sure, they have their darker moments of emotion, their sadnesses, even their mental imbalances, but things change, and sometimes new perceptions allow room for newer ideas, perhaps bigger, grander, more emotional, meaningful, or long-lasting ideas. The dark is always home, a place I can go, love and appreciate. They always have room for me there, and often, when I've been away too long, I'm anxious to get back to some traditional roots.

Speaking of tradition, I've gone back to writing by hand, an intimate, virtually romantic way of getting closer to the words and the art. Purer, too, I guess. I've been reading Dickens, Poe, Hawthorne, James, even Jane Austen again, which I love because these people are our models. For people like you and me, it's hard to imagine life without them. I can't believe I forgot how beautiful A Tale of Two Cities was, or Dracula, not only as good as I remember it, but even better the second time around. Poe always has something new to teach me. There is simply abundance in each of his tales. This is why we keep the books on the shelves, I think. We don't want them, quite literally, to ever leave us. I could go on and on. For me, it's these classic stories and the language they are told in, something we just don't see these days, except by a talented, chosen few. The authors who pen lyrically, (Jonathan Carroll, Ramsey Campbell, Peter Straub--just to name a few) seem to take us back to their original love and appreciation for these writers of old. They do it in a contemporary way. What poetry! I think it's vitally important to remember, especially as writers. Of course, I'm just assuming here.

But back to the mood-thing, and why I'm writing this. I guess I don't feel the same as I do, say, five years ago, or even as short as a year. This is change in a good way, though. I might not know the exact reason for it, but I do know that. Still, it seems strange, like I'm always scrutinizing myself, always on the lookout, trying to figure out more about life and how to get a better handle on it. The American Dream...? I work full time, come home to a bachelor lifestyle, watch all the hockey I can ingest, read all I want, and write when the true inspiration hits. Not a bad way to go through each day, if I do say so myself.

The reason I talk about all this is because I fail to see it sometimes. I think about all the other things I'd rather not go into now, but the most important things are there. The writing, the reading, the leisure, and the relaxing time a body needs to recharge. Publication has opened a little door, and though rejections still bombard me, like I'm sure they do you, I always find the energy to send one off at the post office, or click the button, via email.

I want to thank everybody who has spent time at BloodRedTales and read the stories. You have no idea what this does for me. Many of you have contacted me personally and said some very nice things. Thank you for that. I might be shedding some tears after all this, because I am rather sensitive to this sort of thing. So thank you.

Also, I know the tales here have been up for a while, and its probably time I posted some new ones, but the fact is, I never realized having my own stories on the web was considered published until after the website had been designed. That was just me being naive. And, of course, now that they're up, no one will publish them except as reprints, and even that is hard to do. So, though I have maybe a hundred other tales, I thought it best getting those into other avenues. Besides, these tales are only a very, very small handful. Maybe you have some suggestions. If so, I'm all ears.

Anyway, now that this it's done, I realize it was something I needed to get off my chest, something I needed to express in order to bring us closer. That was my inspiration. I feel better having done it whether I came to a conclusion or not. I come to my own. You come to yours. I think that's good enough for both of us.

Here's to you and yours during the upcoming holidays. Be safe and festive!

We'll see you next time, friends, and thanks for stopping by.