Saturday, November 25, 2017

Me and Bruce

Let's start with my loathing of Bruce Springsteen, shall we?

"I've got a '69 Chevy with a 396
Fuelly heads and a Hurst on the floor"
                                          -Racing in the Street
                                         

No, Bruce, you didn't. And either none of the people involved with the album didn't even like or respect you enough to tell you, or you simply insisted that it was going on the album like that.
Either way, you didn't ever have one of those. At least not in that combination.

I heard these lyrics in, oh, 1983 or 1984, 5 or 6 years after it came out. I eventually discovered the truth about the engine block/head combination impossibility and that ended my relationship with the man. Just. Like. That. Eventually, the "Born in the USA" single hit and if there was ANY love inside me at all for the man, it died with that song.

Let's fast-forward to Summer of 2016.  A woman who would become my partner professed her love for all things Bruce. It was one of the truly heart-breaking moments of our relationship, but we agreed to accept each other's faults (hers, for loving Bruce "her first boyfriend" ... me, for loving a woman who loved Bruce like that). We would find opportunity to banter on the subject, teasing each other about our respective positions. She hinted at dragging me to a concert, and I suggested she find someone else to take. It went like that a lot.

Until today.

I listened to this interview:
https://www.newyorker.com/podcast/the-new-yorker-radio-hour/bruce-springsteen-talks-with-david-remnick

His emotional awareness and candor in the interview betray my view of the man called "The Boss". I  listened to him tell a story about his aging father dragged from a schoolyard fight by his grandmother (a woman who also had a hand in raising Bruce) and point out that his dad was most upset because "I was winning, Bruce. I was winning..." He talked of how he understood that his grandmother went to get her only living child from that fight because he was too precious to lose.  He spoke of how his wife saved his kids from his wanting to protect them from any time in the public eye. I listened to the man I couldn't stand for all of my adult life become a human being - a fellow traveler on the planet we share.

I thought of all the times I denounced his songwriting and his musical style. I thought of all the songs I never listened to. And as I sift though my new feelings for the man, I wonder to myself,"What else am I wrong about?"


I'm not wrong about that motor, but I can forgive one lyric in a career of artistic expression?
Yes, I can.
What can YOU forgive, my friends?

Friday, November 24, 2017

Sugar and Spice

Zero.

Diane watched it happen for the second time.
It was real.
Death was real.
Not in the sense that death was a real event, but rather that Death was a real character. A "person" of substance
And there he was again.
Closing the door behind him nonchalantly, and with a calm demeanor, he barely glanced in any direction. He just closed the door. Then he would not leave through it again, at least not that she'd seen yet. Diane waited at the counter, watching the function room doors. She didn't think Death was on the guest list for the party.
There was a scream and a large, red-faced woman screamed "CALL NINE ELEVEN!!"
Yep. That's Death. And he was damned cute.


One.

The mail carrier smiled when she gave him the cookie. "Thanks!" he said, "But I watch the sweets. Diabetes, you know!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... " the woman apologized. "I'll keep that in mind."
"Sure thing, Ms. Preston."
Smiling, the mail carrier slid into his van and began fussing with his clipboard. He wasn't paying attention when she appeared suddenly in the open door and jabbed him with the needle in the thigh.  He was stunned, and yelled at her to move away from the van. She grabbed his keys off the dashboard and ran inside, careful that nobody had been present on the deserted street. The postman wasn't feeling so good, but he was going to get to the bottom if this. He reached into his shirt pocket for his phone, but realized that she must have grabbed it when she got the keys. He made his way up the stairs to the house again and knocked.
"Lady, you're in a world of trouble. I called the cops and you're really screwed. They'll be here any minute." he called through the door. The street was empty, as always. He knew this route well enough, and if he could get his keys, he wasn't more than 8 or 10 minutes to the next house in the run. How far a walk, though... that was the question. And what did she stick him with? He knew it was a needle, he'd given himself enough insulin to know that... but what did she use? Could he walk that far? He began to feel worse. He thought about his glucose level... he'd felt like this before when his sugar was really high. Was his meter in the van? He didn't remember if he'd taken his bag from the locker this morning. He started down the steps and felt the world shift a little. he sat down and rubbed his eyes. "Shit. This sucks." He heard a car coming down the street, and stood up. It was unfamiliar. It pulled up behind his van, stopped running, and the driver stepped out. He was a good-looking young man in a black suit. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and squinted.
"Charlie? You okay?" He asked.
"How do you know me? And NO I"M FUCKING NOT OKAY, OKAY?" the mailman sat back down and slumped forward.
"I know. But you're gonna be coming with me. It's all good. You'll see." Death grinned as he approached. "You weren't on my schedule, man. What happened?"
"What are you talking about? Who ARE you?" there was a haze starting to fall over the mailman's mind. "I really need some help, whoever you are. Can you take me to the hospital?"
"I'll take you wherever you want to go in a few minutes. What happened?" Death asked.
"This woman... she stuck... me ...in the leg with some..." The mailman made a little gurgle and drooled onto the steps.
"Woman, huh?" Death asked. He looked at the house and squinted.


She watched from the window as Death, dressed in his sexy black suit and shiny leather shoes, approached the mailman on the steps. They were having  a conversation of some kind, then they stopped and Death looked at the house.
"Goddamn is he beautiful" she whispered to herself while she watched him stare at the house. She closed her eyes, leaned against the door and masturbated in the stillness of the otherwise empty house to the thoughts of Death touching her anywhere he wanted. "Oh, you beautiful thing" she whispered as she finished. She thought of all the ways she'd read in fantasy novels about how to capture an unearthly being. She was pretty sure that she'd read something from Neil Gaiman about it, but she wasn't positive. "How do I catch him? How do I keep him as my own?"

Death looked at his watch. He'd been there for almost 20 minutes already. He looked up at the mailman and asked, "You going to finish this anytime soon?"
"Finish what?" the mailman asked, standing and staring blankly at Death. "And who the fuck ARE you, anyway?"
"Oh, good. About time. Let's go." Death said impatiently as he headed for the car. He gestured, "Come on. Charlie. It's not that hard. Get in."
"With you?" the mailman asked, looking down at his slumped-over body.
"Great," Death shook his head, "Another fucking dummy."

Diane began drawing Death. She drew him from memory, and she produced sketch after sketch, some nearly life-sized. She collected stories from the internet, printing them out and pinning them on to her living room wall. Her obsession grew.

Two.
Her contact was entirely correct...Insulin OD was the perfect murder weapon for the killer in her "story". The police didn't even give her a second look, and the paramedics carted the dead mailman off the steps less than an hour after she called them. There was an apology from the post office in way of a card and some free postage. She responded to the Postmaster's letter via email, didn't notice that autocorrect made sure she was offering her 'condiments' to his family. She snorted when she saw that. Condiments. Just in case they wanted a little mustard with that dead Uncle? Ridiculous.
Diane took her backpack and locked the front door behind her. It had been two weeks since she saw Death. She missed his face and would do almost anything to see  him again. She was so in love with that creature - she HAD to know more about him.  She'd been reading all about the relationship different cultures had with Death, and had no real explanation for his appearance, actions, or seemingly magnanimous nature.  To be honest, she told herself, she really had no idea if he was magnanimous or not, but the word looked great when she wrote it down in the "Death Journal" she'd been keeping.

Diane was more than ready for another date with Death.

The bus terminal was almost empty, but a brief conversation gleaned her a short ride with a nice woman who  got her within walking distance of the apartment she'd rented. "Oh, this is great, right here is fine" Diane pointed at the curb adjacent an emissions test station. The car pulled over. Diane got out and leaned back in, never taking off her hat or sunglasses "Thanks so much. My sister is going to be so excited to see me. I want it to be a surprise!"
The two women parted ways as women often do, and Diane wheeled her suitcase up the block after she'd waited until she was certain the woman was gone. It was only a few blocks, and Diane was very eager to get on with the day.

The rental apartment was nice enough, and Diane was able to remain mostly anonymous by using a pre-paid visa debit card she'd purchased on craigslist. She dropped her bags and transformed herself. a wig, contacts, and makeup offered a new woman in the mirror. Underneath, though, it was the same old Diane - ready and willing to do anything to get herself alone with that gorgeous hunk of man. She was careful about not leaving hairs around. She'd used a lint roller over and over in order to recover as much hair as possible. She'd taped the handles and knobs after wiping them,

Alex was an easy hit. He was, according to his Craigslist posting, "a recovering alcoholic looking for a second chance at love." Fifteen minutes after they met at the bar, he was on his third Vodka tonic. An hour after meeting him, he was on number five . They returned to the apartment. Diane kissed him at the door, they wrapped around each other and spun into the room, passion welling up between them. They chased each other into the bedroom, kissing and groping the whole time. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing him onto the bed and straddling him. He smiled up at her, sweating and red-faced. He slurred an "Oh, baby" at her in his light brogue, and she pushed against him. "Wait here" she said.

Diane returned to the bed, the man now nearly naked. "I've got something for you..." and she pulled the needle from her shirt pocket. The man looked at her drunkenly...questioningly. She leaned in and kissed him again "This won't hurt, baby" and she slipped the needle into the meat of his arm. She kissed him over and over, her hands covering his flesh. He didn't even seem to mind the needle.

He went quiet, and she sat up in the chair, ready for her date.

Death opened the door and entered the room.
Diane went giddy.
Death looked around as the man suddenly jumped up and was surprised to see Death standing there.
"Who are you?" he asked Death. "Diane, What the fuck?" Diane looked at Death longingly. Death barely noticed her.

"Listen dummy,"Death said, "I've got a car waitng outside. You can't miss it. Go get in and I'll be right out."

"Oh. She called me a Lyft? Cool" He got up and went out,never noticing his dead body lying on the bed.

"Dummy." Death breathed. He looked at Diane. She looked back, swooning.  "You can see me, can't you?" he asked, folding his arms and leaning on the door jamb. "I'll be damned."

"I do. Fuck you're sexy. Can I kiss you?" Diane asked, standing up and unbuttoning her blouse. "I could do more if you let me..." she said, biting her lip seductively.

"You can see me. That's strange, you know? And no, you can't kiss me. Put those away." Death gestured at her bare breasts.

Diane sat in a huff."Come on, you. I want you so bad right now. I'm crazy about you."

"Crazy. I bet."

"Stop. I can't stop thinking about you. I have been planning this for so long..." She stared at him.

"The mailman, right? That was you in the house?"

"Yes. It was me." she smiled and beamed a little. "Pretty good, right?"

"If you say so.  I'm leaving. Dead people attract attention. Especially when you are around for more than one. Get my drift?"

"Don't worry, handsome. I'm clear. I want you."

"That's a little odd, lady. I'll see you around. " He turned and walked out the door. "Bye."

Diane deflated a bit. She'd spoken to him, though. That was something. Next time, she'd have him for sure.

She stood up and closed the door before going to the bed. She lay down next to the cooling body there and began to masturbate, her mind filled with the sound of Death's voice. "Next time, baby. You'll be mine..."


Three and Four.

Philip and Angela were a hot swinging couple into needleplay and bondage.  It took less than a week to work out the details. Philip and Angela found themselves hogtied and craving release when Diane pulled the needles out and waited patiently for the inevitable. She arranged the playroom so there was room for her coupling with Death, and she already looked fabulous from her encounter.  Death wasn't late. Philip and Angela were standing in the middle of the room looking confused and elated.

"I'll be damned. You." Death said, surprised. "Lady, we need to stop meeting like this. At least until it's your turn."

"Hello, Sexy. I'm here. They aren't going anywhere. Let's party some before you go." 

The two others began to talk, but Death cut them off. "Listen. No stupid questions. Sit down and shut up before you ... no, wait. Go upstairs and wait in the living room. I'll be right up. Not. A. Word."

"Are you the cops? Why are..." Philip began.

"Do you have fucking ears? I said No questions. Go." Death was cantankerous with them. "NOW."
They left, talking to each other as they did as they were told.

"Now, hot suff... We're alone. Let's you and I play some. Whattya say?" Diane was visibly aroused, her face and chest flush, and her eyes ablaze.

"I have a better idea, sweetheart." Death was smiling.

"Oh yes? Well come over here and we'll talk about it" Diane motioned to the bed and began to remove her panties."I've got a conversation starter for you..."

Death kept smiling. He reached out and kissed her on the lips. She felt so cold, and was no longer interested in fucking Death, she just wanted to warm up. She pushed him away, and crossed the room for the robe she'd dropped there before tying the couple up. When she looked at Death, still sitting on the couch next to her body, she reeled.

"You got what you wanted, lady. You had a real date with death. You had a brief, illustrious career as a serial killer, but it's going to be in all the papers that you died with your last kills. And to make it worse, you're going to be photographed like this." Death motioned to her body, reclining on the couch, her panties hooked onto the heel of her left shoe. "Pretty nice, don't you think?"

Diane stood with her mouth open, staring.

"It's a good thing I have a big car. Let's go for a ride, shall we?" Death said crossing the room and taking her arm. "A date with Death. Really? That's what you wanted?"

She looked at him, cold and tearing up.

"Come on, Dummy. I've got heat in the car." 

Saturday, October 14, 2017

The Girl's Dragon

The little girl looked up, her perfect eyes reflecting the perfect sky. Clouds rolled slowly and lazily past the sun, slightly dimming the light, but replacing it with the faintest of prismatic color changes just around the edges. She smiled and let herself get dizzy from the enormity of the boundlessness.

From a long distance, it would seem that this one child was all alone in the universe. A single point of laughing innocence in a field of green almost as large as the sky. The grass waved like the ocean tide, low hills and shallow swails interrupted by an occasional rocky outcropping. She stood at the edge of a cliff where the field met the sky, and far below the ocean roared and foamed onto a rocky shore. The wind caressed the cliff face, blowing the little girl's dress up from time to time, as she giggled.

She used her hand as a visor to shield her eyes from the sun and scanned the horizon. There He was. Enormous even from this distance, she never ceased to feel giddy when she saw him. It wasn't the seeing that delighted her so much as feeling him rise into the sky long before that. She could feel his joy, his freedom. She could feel the weightlessness of his heart when he flew, soaring high or skimming low at breakneck speeds. He was pure joy in the sky, and to her soul.  She waved to him, laughing the whole time.

The dragon pivoted sharply against the blue, a black shape made of blades and spines. He tightened his wings and careened seemingly out of control towards her and the cliff. She stood her ground and held her breath, as she always did. He approached with such speed that it seemed impossible for him to escape crashing headlong into the stone face or rocky beach. But with a mighty effort, the dragon turned his face upwards, strained his body against the pull of the ground, and began to turn skyward again. he skimmed the edge of the ocean, picking up water and releasing it against the rocky cliff higher and higher until the last of it became a fine mist that covered the giggling child. He rose up, unfurling his wings against the sky and hovered for just a moment to gaze upon her. She smiled up at him and he landed beside her, gently so as not to knock her over. He flattened his bristles and spines, smoothed his scales, and curled around her as a 60 foot long cat might curl around a mouse. She wrapped her arms around his muzzle and kissed him incessantly. He nuzzled her, sliding his face against her gently, and lovingly. she squealed in delight.

The dragon nosed her, easing her up onto his muzzle. She sat astride, and leaned down onto her elbows, staring into his enormous face. She leaned all the way down and kissed him between the eyes. He blinked, made a tender expression, and she understood. He loved her, too. She hugged his muzzle again, lying prone against it. He closed his eyes and relaxed in the sunshine. The breeze blew gently and they slept together, safe in each other as the sun slipped closer and closer to the horizon. The girl dreamed of flying, of being a tiny little dragon, herself. She opened her tiny little wings and soared in her tiny little way. She was happy to feel this free, as she had felt through her enormous friend so many times before. The dragon dreamed of being a boy, earthbound and average. A boy who could hold a girl's hand and kiss her cheek in the dark under the sky. They woke together, as they often did, and worked the nap-induced fog from their minds. The dragon rearing up, the girl clinging casually to his muzzle. He turned his head and allowed the girl to slip onto his back. She scrambled to her spot between his shoulders and settled down. It was time to fly.

And fly, they did. A series of deceivingly smooth steps, a beat of those circus-tent-wide wings, and a leap of faith and passion over the edge of the cliff found them skybound. The girl chuckled and grinned, the dragon felt her tiny hands on his neck and embraced the tenderness. She held on tight, as she'd been taught, and he trusted her to not let go. They barrel tolled, and spun, and swooped, and pivoted. They dd all manner of acrobatics, and without fail, each trick make the girl laugh.  They went so high that the very ocean looked small. They fell for minutes at a time as the dragon listened to the squeals and pips from his companion, each one a song that fed his heart. They cavorted until the sun disappeared behind the horizon, and the air grew chill. But Dragon had a trick or two inside of his ancient body. He could keep her warm. She let his heat fill her entirely, her cheeks flushing. She looked up to see the field of stars, then down to see the tiny island she had been standing on. It was bewildering to be here, to have a dragon to love and cherish. It was a gift to her that an old monster would accept and love her with all the tenderness she was shown.  She let her head swoon with happiness, then leaned forward and kissed his neck.  The Dragon felt it, closed his eyes for just a second, and in that eternity felt the love of a child smooth over all the old wounds. He spiraled up, then began a long, slow descent to the ocean.  They watched the luminous creatures beneath the waves as they meandered over the water. They saw the sky reflected, and even the old dragon felt a little small at this. Everything was so big. Dragon gracefully alighted on the cliff, and crouched so the girl could slide off. She hit the grass, turned and gave him the biggest hug she could muster.  Dragon smiled and touched her with his muzzle.

"I love you, Dragon" She said, her voice as tiny as she was.
"And I love you, Little One." He replied.
They fell asleep under the free and open sky, a dragon and his treasure

And everything was right in the 'verse.


For Nancy.
Happy Birthday. <3
2017

Sunday, October 8, 2017

Death is a Busy Guy

I.

     Death knocked at my door, but I wouldn't answer. He stood there, quiet and still, kept his hands clasped in front and waited I could clearly see him through the window, his jacket neatly buttoned, and watched as he turned his face to meet mine in the window.

"Hey Chuck. You might as well come out. I can stand here literally forever." Death said to me through smiling lips. "I actually do have all night."

I grimaced and pulled by face back from the window and closed the blinds. Sitting on the floor below the window, I pressed my hot face into my knees. "This can't be right" I thought to myself. "That can't really be Death. I mean, not THE Death..." my thoughts trailed off. I lifted my face and craned my neck to peek outside between the blind and the casing. He was just standing there. Who says Death waits for no one?"There's got to be a way out of this" I thought to myself. "There's got to be..."

The doorbell rang again.

"Chuck. C'mon, This is embarrassing. I've been out here for long enough. You can't get away, and there's no use running."

"What do you want from me?" I bellowed into the empty house. "WHAT?"

"Dude, your soul and all that. I'm fucking Death. What do you think I want, girl scout cookies? Open up and we can get on with it."

I stood up. made my way to the door, and opened it. "What do you want, man?" I asked.

"You"

Death reached out and touched my chest. I felt oddly still for a long moment, then realized that my body was lying on the floor at my feet.

"Son of a bitch. I really am dead?" I asked.

Death smiled. "Yeah. That's that.  Come on with me" he said grinning.




II.

Death had a really nice car. It was a '29 Rolls, I think, but it was really pristine.  It was white, of course. I mean really- if Death was going to drive ANYTHING, wouldn't it be white? What color is "pale" anyway?  I looked across the seat at him. He drove, oh fuck, "Casually" is the best I got. He didn't seem interested in slowing down or in avoiding traffic, right? He's Death. right? What's he going to do, die?

"So, where are we going?" I asked intentionally. Death had been pretty quiet since he picked me up. "Like, Purgatory or something?"

"Very Funny. I thought we'd go get some Thai. Are you hungry?" he answered, never turning his gaze.

I considered the question, not really having thought of that. "Fuck, yeah! I'm famished!"

"Good. I know a great place in Trang. We'll be there in no time."

"Trang? Like in Thailand? We're going to drive to fucking Thailand?" I was astonished and disoriented.

"What are you, stupid? You can't drive Thailand. We're gong to take a goddamned plane Like you have to."

""Oh." My face wet a little flat. I felt stupid and childish.


Six hours later, I was pushing the plate away from in front of me. Death was right. It was really good.  "So, now what? Are you going to tell me what's next? Seems like there must be a lot of people dying while we cavort around the globe getting lunch, no?" I picked the remains of rice noodles out of my teeth.

"Honestly, when I pulled your name, I had heard you were a little slower than the rest... But you keep making the point, don't you? I'm not the only Death, you know. I'm one of countless beings known as Death. You'll see others in our travels... like that guy over there... watch ...see? Red shirt. Watch the guy across from him in the booth. That what a food poisoning looks like in Thailand..." Death smiled a little, a guilty grin...

The man in the red shirt smiled, then seemed shocked... then his companion reached across the table and touched him in the chest. He fell over immediately, yet, remained seated upright. He looked at me, smiled, waved, and then seemed to realize his situation. Panic crossed his face as his companion stood up and turned to Death. "HEY! How's your guy?" he asked from across the room.

"Dumb as a box of rocks. Yours?" Death answered.

"He just ate 2 servings of fugo and never asked about certifications. Not so bright..."

"Jeesh. See you around." Death waved and stood. "C'mon... let's go."

"Where now?" I was getting tired of the whole thing.

"I've gotta show you a little something in Alaska. We'll take the car." He looked at me and smiled.

"Really?" I smiled back.

"No, Stupid. You can't drive from Thailand to Alaska." He blurted as he turned and shook his head.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

The Fifteenth Remembrance

It's September eleventh again.

I know. It's surprising to me as well. I seem to write every year about this particular tragedy and this year is no different, I suppose. But this year I won't be naming the names, nor sharing pictures, nor ranting about how meaningless the changes made since then to fight the war on tourism have been, Not this time.

This year, please let me say this one thing:


I love you.



Simple, right? Just like that. Here... here's some love. It's for you. No box, no bag, no bow, no packaging. Just my love. Leave it there, take it with you, or stare at me while you question my motives. It's yours, so I'll leave what you do with it all up to you.

No, I don't want anything in return for it. I'm sharing love with you because you might not have love right now, or you might be having a really hard time in your own life, and a little extra love might make the difference.

See, THIS is what I think we all need, especially on days like today when we had an event that impacted so many lives. I think we all need a little extra.  I think the world in general could use more love and less hate. More tolerance and less judgement. More kindness and less greed. I think the world needs us: the artists, the musicians, the lovers, the dreamers (and me... sorry, Kermit). I'm pretty sure if I open my heart wide and give all the love I have inside to you, then my heart will make more of it to share. Neat trick, that. I believe that the best Magick is that which creates, not destroys, and I mean to create more love in my life than I ever dreamed possible. Today. Right now.

And while I'm giving you this unconditional love, I'll be remembering the particulars of my day fifteen years ago. I'm sure you can remember, too. Please don't forget because when we forget we disrespect those who willingly or unwillingly gave their lives.

Here's my love for you. It's boundless.


With all my heart, I remember. For all of them, I'll love all of you.


9-11-16

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Four Months

The pages of my calendar slip away so deliberately that I think there must be some kind of conspiracy against me keeping track of time.  I look up, it's been less than fifteen minutes on the clock. I go back to what I was doing, feel the weight of time, and check again to find that it's been two weeks, or tow months, or two years. Time is not something I watch closely. It is a companion, oft forgotten, and left to grow feral along the side of the road. It is not something I keep a close eye on.

Let me leave you this:

Four resonant strings
Accompany the singing
Playing my life's song

Where is my muse? Why can't she pop up when my heart is full and I am loving uncontrollably? Why does it take something to pull the drain plug on my soul in order to get something worth writing?

I'll ponder it some more, I think.


Let's hope it's not another four months before I write again.

<3

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Let's Begin Again...


“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland


     It's so hard to get back into the swing of writing. I've been away so long, and the Muse is tired of my bullshit. I re-read the list of half-started posts sitting in the list and I just want to delete the entire bunch.  But I will not because that would be like eating my own children. Delicious, but riddled with guilt. Well, at least for a little while.

Instead, I'll start yet another new entry even though I've not published a new Angus piece in far, far too long, nor have I written a meaningful holiday post, completed the Doctor Who fanfic I've got in the can, or much of anything else. Yes, a new post is in order.

Some haiku?

the keys click away
fingers the conduit to
my mind's eye speaking


thrice I have begun
unfinished business waiting
my Muse slumbering


...



I challenged someone I respect to write more in her blog. In response, I agreed to write once a week as well. So, if my Muse won't visit, perhaps another inspiration can apply leverage to my slumbering thoughts. I am looking forward to seeing what she writes. One of my problems with writing is that it is far, far easier to produce when there is difficulty in life rather than bliss. Things have been marching along fairly well in the chaotic maelstrom I call my life, but the Muse has found fairer havens for her work.  Darkness, sadness, anger, and fear are far better driving forces for quality work in my neck of the woods. Joy? Not so much. But I'll have to learn, won't I?

Actually, I had a conversation like this one fairly recently. How does one tap the light in the same way we tap the darkness? How do we access the same emotional sharpness when things are a less focused? How did the greats keep their Muse engaged? It will be an interesting journey to discover the lighter, more positive side of writing (if I can), or a lesson in stirring the demons up.

As I've said before, I'm intimately familiar with my monsters. I keep them close just in case I need to stroke them a little. Even monsters need to be loved.


SlĂ inte mhath!

Let's get writing.