November Announcement

Happy November, everyone!! I apologize for this post being a bit later than normal, but such is the strife associated with NaNoWriMo! I hope you all enjoyed last month’s read, as well as the short break you’ve gotten here. 

This month, I’m going to return to one of my tried and true authors, with a twist! I will be reviewing Stephen King’s newest work, “Sleeping Beauties.” This book is a collaboration King wrote with his son, Owen,  which makes it even better. The novel explores what happens in a small West Virginia town when women all over the world fall into a strange sleep that sees them wrapped in a strange cocoon. When waking the women proves deadly, men are given few options, while the women who have not yet fallen asleep will try nearly anything to stay awake and keep from knitting cocoons of their own. Can men find a way to come together and put an end to the Aurora sickness before it’s too late?

Admittedly I’ve already started the novel and I have to say I’m hooked. The book is set in the Appalachian Mountains, in a fictional county that would be around an hour from where I grew up. The idea of that setting had me quite excited when I realized exactly where fictional Dooling County was positioned on the map. 

I won’t say much more, because thisnisnt the review yet! Since it is so late in the month I think I will plan to post my reveal on December 4th, to give everyone a few extra days. This book falls in at 700 pages, so it’s not a rapid read, but it’s not grueling either.  I look very forward to discussing it with you all! 

For a quick update on my NaNoWriMo progress; my plans were changed a bit. I had hoped to finally bring Maverip to a close in October, but unforseen circumstances put a damper on that. Some of you may have noticed my originally planned work entitled “Last Christmas was replaced on my NaNo profiled by Maverip. I have decided that the time has come to really place the challenge on myself wholeheartedly. Part of me is terrified to finish this novel, as it is one book on my queue right now that I feel most compelled to push forward, and it is one that I have put a lot of pressure on. But this month will see it completed. I won’t let myself or you guys down any more! I look forward to sharing the completed work with you all ASAP, and as always, if anyone is interested in being a beta reader, just let me know! 

We’ll talk all things “Sleeping Beauties” in a few weeks, and from there we’ll examine a Christmas-themed work, so get some suggestions ready!!! 

The Exorcist

Happy Halloween, everyone!! I trust October has been a spectacularly spooky month for everyone, hopefully made all the much eerier thanks to this month’s book club read. William Peter Blatty’s “The Exorcist” has been fascinating and terrifying audiences for nearly half a century now, but the text itself is written in a fairly timeless manner that allows the spooks and scares within to still affect readers today. The subject of many controversies of both religious and moral natures, “The Exorcist” still finds a way to worm its way into the minds of those daring enough to delve into its demonic depths.

First and foremost I have to say that, as a horror buff, this book has long been on my list of must-reads. The fact that I got to read it in October, for my Halloween book club choice admittedly makes it even better to me. The way Blatty tackles the very difficult subjects of possession and its effects on those around the possessed are still admirable qualities of the book. The helplessness that seems to drip off the pages from both Chris MacNeil and Father Karras are enough to give the reader cause for tears with each new chapter. The fact that Reagan’s consciousness is completely absent for the majority of the novel is something that differs from other exorcism tales of similar caliber. I like that, rather than being made to feel sorry for her because she begs us to, we are made to feel sorry for her because she doesn’t get the option of asking. I think that was an incredibly wise choice on Blatty’s part.

The continuous allusion to Karras’s failed faith, and the hints that he had done or said something wrong that wasn’t explicitly laid out by those around him is one of the endearing qualities of the novel for me. I loved the constant struggle between his science and medicine-based training for psychiatry and his religious need to see the meaning behind things and try to save Reagan’s life – even her soul. One thing that has seen slight controversy and confusion for critics of the work is the reveal of what Karras’s guilt may stem from. It comes from the end of the novel, when the demon is pushing him and screaming at him, and it’s one word in a part of the novel that moves about as fast as a bullet car. “homosexual.” The demon tells Karras what he has feared throughout the entire novel; he is not worthy. He is, in fact, so corrupt that worms won’t eat his corpse. The fact that this has slipped by without scrutiny and analysis for so long, to me, is a testament to both the author and the readers. Blatty spun the web so well that we see Karras’s worth, despite his worry. Even the critics of a time when being gay was seen as incredibly taboo didn’t have much to say about this because Blatty made it obvious that this made Karras no less worthy, no less of a holy man. I am rather fond of that and applaud him for it. I would have liked to see a short scene with Karras finally feeling his worth, but of course that could be his death scene if one chooses to interpret it that way.

I like the research that was put into this book as well. So often popular culture spins exorcism as an easy thing to get. You just tell a priest you  have a demon and soon there’s holy water and pea soup everywhere. But that’s not the case. The Church (notice that organizational classification) has rendered exorcism as a very taboo last resort. There are definitely hoops that must be jumped through and proof that has to be gathered before priests will be bringing The Host into your house and trying to rend the devil from within. The fact the Blatty emphasized that heavily here, and even presented us with a knife’s edge that could have led to Reagan’s death had the church gone in the other direction are further reasons I respect his work to no end. I loved the use of other languages, mentions of both religious and occult texts, and the overall feeling of added stress the reader is given at having to follow this proof-gathering quest. Had Karras been able to walk in and say “yeah, let’s do an exorcism” I don’t think the book would be nearly the great piece of work it is today.

There were a couple of things I had problems with, of course. One thing that I’m sure many of you noticed ( at least I hope it wasn’t just me) was Blatty’s style. He was great at setting up a scene for the most part, but there were times when his execution fell flat. A lot of times in the novel I found myself wondering why such pointless dialogue and irrelevant detail made it into the scene. I don’t know if Blatty just wasn’t good at dialogue, or if that was just his way. I haven’t read anything else from him yet, so I may have to return to that question at a later date. I also would have liked some sort of clear resolution of the strange priest that appeared to Karras in his room before Merrin was approved. We get a very tense conversation for a strange, crutched man who ends in Karras being warned to leave the MacNeils alone and to beware of Sharon, and then he wakes up, leaving us to think the conversation was just a dream before he finds the cigarette in his ashtray. One obvious interpretation would be that it was a nightmare visit from the possessing demon in an attempt to scare him away, but why the strange fat priest, why the crutches, why have him smoke the same imported cigarette as Chris, and why the warning to beware of Sharon? Am I missing something? One more minor thing I have a slight confusion about; Pazuzu is mentioned by Merrin, the statue of Pazuzu is the forefront of the beginning of the novel, and the name comes up again, but I don’t recall the demon or even Merrin explicitly saying that Pazuzu is the entity tormenting Reagan. I only bring this up because it has somehow become all but canon with the novel and the culture surrounding it, but I never got the solid affirmation I expected.

Regardless of those things I do think this book is well worth the read. For any lover of horror or even just mystery, this novel will keep you on your toes. I know there are a lot of religious arguments against it, but I don’t know if I understand that. The book certainly doesn’t encourage witchcraft or seeking demonic possession. If anything it does the opposite. Maybe it’s just the fictional representation that can be interpreted as supporting the attempts at exorcism. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, follow your own inclination when considering whether or not to read the novel. I recommend it, particularly keeping in mind the faults I mentioned. As always, I look forward to everyone’s contribution and comments. Feel free to comment on any and all posts or send me a private message anytime (you can send me a message on the website, and you’re welcome to send Facebook messages or DMs on Twitter). I look forward to conversation and further book suggestions! Keep your jack-o-lanterns lit tomorrow night to protect yourself, and keep in mind that, for myself and many others, Wednesday means Christmas will take over everything!!

My Grandfather

I love Autumn. I love October. Leaves are changing, the spooky nature of the world is being celebrated, the weather is cooling off and nights are growing long and, most importantly, I got married in October! Tomorrow will make two years since my wife and I said “I Do.” The last two years have flown by and we’ve fallen more in love with each passing day. It definitely doesn’t seem like two years, so it’s a little hard to believe. But it’s harder to believe that it has been 13 years since my grandfather passed away.

As happy as the month makes me, October 3 is one of the hardest days of the year for me. October 3 was my grandfather’s birthday. For 13 years I’ve woken up knowing what day it is and knowing that I won’t be able to tell him to enjoy the day, or tell him how much he means to me. My grandfather was the biggest male role model I had growing up. From the time I was a little kid I can remember staying with my grandparents and knowing, if I didn’t wake up as he was leaving (or if he didn’t take me with him) that he would be gone fishing until at least breakfast time – closer to noon if he was having good luck. When he came in and ate he would immediately go outside and spend hours prepping or taking care of his garden, often while I “helped.”

The man wore hats and flannel nearly every day of his life, his white hair often sticking out below the back just a little, protecting the lightest part of his dark skin, the Native American blood in him more obvious than ever at the end of a nice long summer. In the winter he wouldn’t shave, a habit left over from the days he farmed for a living, knowing the best trick to keep the winter wind from biting too much was to keep as much body heat in as possible. I can still remember him teasing me if I got a haircut during the winter months, telling me I’d freeze if I wasn’t careful.

He and my grandmother raised their 3 children on a farm-hand’s wages, moving where the work took them and providing what they could for their kids. Retirement was kinder to him, my grandmother working when he was no longer able. He wasn’t a shirker by any means, working through at least one heart attack without stopping, only finding out he’d had it later on. Even after he stopped working for a living, he farmed and fished nearly every day of his life. Only the most extreme heat or cold could keep him from the water most of the time, and he always produced enough crop to feed most of the family – even just working out of his own backyard.

He saw the world much differently than others, in more ways than one. Being blind in one eye, he had to learn to do everything in his own way, but it never slowed him down. He could fix most things wrong with the family vehicles, could do basic home repair – and he could tie a hook on a fishing line as fast as anyone I’ve ever seen. He also wasn’t much for what he called ‘putting on airs.’ You are who you are, and there’s no reason to hide it. That’s one of many lessons from him I’ll never forget. From the time my grandfather opened his mouth until he closed it he was as real with you as anyone in the world, never pretending to be something he wasn’t. He loved good jokes, and loved to laugh – but he hated nonsense.

I can remember the sound of his laugh even now as I told him my lame jokes, and I remember how quickly that laughter dried up whenever someone turned on a goofy 90’s Jim Carrey movie. If he didn’t like something he made it obvious, and if he didn’t want to be somewhere he left. It was always easy to tell when he didn’t want to be around someone, because he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be rude to them, but if someone came in a room that he didn’t want to be around he would silently stand and leave. I think he realized that life is too short to waste it doing things that don’t make you happy. Of course, I like to think he had a lot of life’s answers tucked away in his hat somewhere, so maybe I’m putting a philosophical spin where one wasn’t intended.

I could write about my memories of him and tell stories of how, as I got older, my grandfather would talk on the phone with me for hours sometimes, even though we just lived across town from each other – but when we went fishing together the talking was minimal and hushed, so as not to scare the fish away.Of his grandchildren I think I was the only one that had the connection with him I did. We had our understandings and we liked many of the same things. We could sit in a room together for hours without uttering a word and could say all we needed to say in a moment.

I could tell any number of stories of how he was so selfless that he often went without in his own ways, wearing his clothes until they were threadbare and falling apart before he would worry about trying to buy a replacement. I live for hours in these memories sometimes, wishing for just one more day, one more hour to talk to him. Granted, I understand he wasn’t perfect. He smoked, he drank, he ate food that clogged his arteries and he lived life in an antiquated fashion. He was very much a product of his generation. But I think I would be the only one who would get the full effect of all of these stories and memories.

My grandfather would have been 76 years old today. So much has changed over the last 13 years. The world is nothing like it was when he left it. Technology has taken over, racism has become breaking news again, and everywhere we look there is a fear of bombs falling. I know none of these things would have changed him, though. He wouldn’t own a cellphone, and he certainly wouldn’t pay attention to things like vegan diets and low-carb foods. If there was ever a constant in my life, it would still be Calbert Mathews. He would get up at the crack of dawn and make coffee, watch a few minutes of the local news (I’d love to hear his opinion on his favorite weatherman retiring) and would hit the river bank or lakeside. Like clockwork he’d spend his afternoons weeding, tending the garden and resting on the porch until a little after sunset. I miss knowing that if I wanted to find him, there were usually only half a dozen places I’d have to look.

I often wonder, though, what he would think of me. He wasn’t one to talk about the future much, so I can’t be sure what he had in mind for me as I grew up. I chose a very different path than he did as I went on in life, picking books over farming equipment and writing over being a full time farmer. He always encouraged me in my reading, though. He maintained an interest in my grades and never seemed to mind if I did want to pick up a novel instead of weed the garden or fish. I had not made the decision to be a writer before his death, though. I would definitely like to have gotten his opinion on that. I wish I would have been able to see his face at my high school and college graduations- although I’m sure he would have ducked out and avoided the crowd after seeing me walk across the stage for each one. I wish I could have been able to hear his reaction when I told him I got my first post-college job or hear his frustrations that his house was just outside of the delivery range of the newspaper I worked at later on.

I would have loved to have seen him at my wedding, sure his dressy flannel shirt and fresh, clean jeans would have been perfect contrast to my own suit and Chuck Taylors. I’d give nearly anything to be able to pick up the phone and tell him that I still look up to him to this day. That his hard-working nature rubbed off on me, whether it is in a different field or not. That I strive to be myself as openly as possible and that I don’t ‘put on airs’ to make people think I’m someone I’m not. I like to think that he would be proud of the man I’ve become, the way I’ve handled myself and my life through thick and thin. I know one day I’ll see him in Heaven, and I look forward to seeing what he has to say about everything we never got to talk about. Until then, I have my memories, I have my mementos, and I have the strong will and morals that he provided me with – whether he knew it or not.

Happy birthday, Papaw. I love you and I miss you every day. I’ll see you again on God’s great golden shore and we’ll go fishing, or maybe just take a walk and catch up. It will be a glad reunion day.

October book announcement

Good Monday, everyone. I know life is too much like a horror story these days, but it’s time to make that October book announcement. This month I wanted to focus on something terrifying, yet fictional. Something we can feel afraid of, but understand that, when we close the book, the terror ends there.

To do this, I chose the novel that inspired the movie that has long been called the more terrifying movie in history (not to mention the subsequent television series, which just began its second season); William Peter Blatty’s “The Exorcist.” The novel tells the story a young girl who is possessed by the demon Pazuzu who threatens not only her immortal soul, but those of her mother and the priests who attempt to save her. It is certainly not for the faint of heart.

This novel and its franchise has been scaring audiences for more than four decades and has inspired multiple sequels/retellings, as well as the sequel series and some of the most iconic cult horror scenes and references in pop culture history.

If demonic possession and terrifying scenes of religious desecration are too much for you, you may not want to sit this one out. As a Christian man, I understand if anyone wants to sit out. Fortunately the novel is fiction so, as a horror author, I’ll be checking it out for posterity and research.

As always, feel free to comment and message me your suggestions for future reviews. I look forward to speaking with everyone who participates! Expect this review to go up on Halloween, naturally, for fright’s sake. I hope you’ll join me in reading this scary novel, and I hope you enjoy!

Bridge to Terabithia

Happy Banned Books Week! I’ve always been a huge fan of celebrating banned books, partly to stick it to the ridiculous censorship-loving administration, but mostly because I find that the books that people don’t want you to read can often offer you the most. This book is definitely a part of that list. I absolutely LOVE it. My first experience came from the movie, but I was immediately enthralled. For the last ten years I have adored the movie and the book. It is actually one of the inspirations behind my own decision to move forward with my desire to be an author.

One of the greatest things about this novel, for me, is the fact that it points to the total liberation of mankind via the imagination. Being written in the 70’s, it was kind of published in that time when kids were first being encouraged to let their imaginations guide them through portions of their lives, and this book captures the cusp of that idea. Jess’s family and fellow students represent those who feel imagination is not something to be given in to. Jess’s parents, consistently burdened with the challenge of feeding the children and running the farm in the fragile economy they live in, can be seen as the old style of shunning imagination and things that aren’t ‘real,’ where others – Leslie in particular – represent the new and liberating views of allowing imagination its place in life.

Leslie’s introduction into Jess’s life really allows him to open up and be who he is meant to be. She doesn’t act or think like the rest of the kids, or even the adults (with the exception of Ms. Edmunds) that he is used to, and that makes him feel more free than he ever imagined. When Jess and Leslie create Terabithia I truly resonated with his description of the mythical magic of the place. He allows Leslie to bring him into this magical realm, but he still has his doubts. Many times he says that he can’t do it without Leslie, or can’t think of it the same as her. His love for Leslie and Ms. Edmunds is what allows him to embrace the creative side of his own life. After Leslie’s death Jess is obviously devastated, particularly considering the fact that his day had been spent further embracing his own love of art and imagination.

I love the way Paterson brings Jess to reality while allowing him to avoid everything involving Leslie’s death. He adamantly denies that she is gone, so much so that after he runs away and is brought home he wakes up almost completely convinced that it was all a guilt-ridden nightmare because he didn’t invite her to the museum. When he is forced to confront the fact of her death he reacts in much the way a child would, destroying memories of her in anger. Once he calms down he begins to instantly doubt himself again. The inspiration and freedom that Leslie brought him threatens to leave. When considering Terabithia he is terrified that he won’t be able to make the magic happen without Leslie, even worries that the make-believe kingdom won’t be there if he goes without her.

The fact that he is able to make the magic happen is, to me, a testament to the amazing power of love and imagination and creativity. Jess is able to keep the magic he and Leslie created, is even able to be in touch with her memory as he reflects on his friendship with her. I love that. I feel like it is a huge representation of the strength we all possess, even in the midst of a tragedy that threatens everything we hold dear.

Another thing I loved about this book is the way Paterson makes Leslie and Ms. Edmunds strong female figures who refuse to fall into the social norms. The feminist themes that offer these two strong female characters a whole other kind of freedom were both embraced and feared when this book was published (and still are today). I find it very important that there is so much emphasis on Leslie and Ms. Edmunds breaking the norms and being their own women, without holding to social construct or listening to “girls can’t do that.” It is a huge testament to the nature of the piece and its deep running themes of freedom and exceptional behavior.

Of course, this is one of the things that has lead to the book being challenged. The language and the obviously difficult ending are two others. The fact that Paterson wrote such a strong and impactful book 40 years ago, that still stands the test of time today, says a lot about the topics and her own prowess as a writer. Putting my own hatred of literary censorship aside, I find these reasons to be abhorrent for shunning such an awesome work of literature. When children can pick up a book and see that their creativity and imagination should be embraced, find out that it is OK to be different, even see someone their own age faced with and learning how to handle death, that book is a treasure. To push it out of libraries, schools and off of reading lists is a real travesty and I shudder to think there are parents out there who think otherwise.

But I’ll get off my soapbox. I don’t have many faults with this book. I would like a little more explanation of why Jess’s father doesn’t show affection to him the way he does the girls. Granted, this was 40 years ago and many people, particularly in rural America, were still under the impression that showing too much love to boys made them ‘soft,’ I think that knowledge is lost on a lot of youth and they may come away with the impression that the father is just a jerk. Which is harmful to an overall interpretation of the text, I think.

Overall, this book will always have a huge place in my heart. Aside from being a piece of YA literature that truly has the means to empower kids, it is an easy-to-read work that is educational about real-life issues. I love it. I hope you all enjoyed it as well. But what are your thoughts? Do you agree with its challenged/banned status? Tell me your thoughts! And be sure to give me your ideas for the best horror novel we can cover in October!!

Stand, Sit, Whine

Anyone who sees any kind of mass media news, be it via TV, newspaper or even just Facebook, has seen the latest (although not really new) scandal rocking our nation’s collective conscience. Some athletes have chosen to sit, kneel, or stand and not participate during the National Anthem. How terrible! How can we ever overcome this latest threat to our once-great unified country? Surely this will bring the end of all happiness as we know it. Funny thing the sun’s still shining and we’re still free (for now), though, ain’t it? Since Kaepernick decided he was going to take a knee last year during the National Anthem in support of his desire for equality and unity, the whole country has more or less gone batshit crazy over it. Now, a number of others have chosen to take up this mantle and do the same, with entire professional teams making the choice to stand out of the public eye or drop a knee during the song that we have adopted to show our strength as a nation. Their reasons are similar, for the most part. This country is becoming more divided each day, with massive amounts of people waging active assaults against those they see as ‘different,’ ‘less equal,’ or ‘dangerous’ (read; bullshit excuse for racism). Sensible people want to see that behavior come to an end, and this is how some have chosen to make a difference.

Before I continue here, let me say that I don’t have a dog in this fight. I can stand, I can sit or I can play hopscotch – because I know it is my right. I’m not calling out the sitters or the kneelers any more than I am calling out the people who stand and shed tears every time they hear the words we all know by heart before first grade. What I am calling out is the ridiculous fight about the whole thing. I understand that many people feel it is their (our?) duty to stand and sing along with the National Anthem, perhaps while they imagine fighter jets circling overhead, fireworks exploding in the background and bald eagles laying eggs filled with freedom all around them. But then again maybe that’s a bit much. Regardless, a lot of people find it a point of pride that they are free enough to stand and belt out the tune that has stood the test of time in honoring our country and what it stands for. I get that and I fully respect it. As someone with family who has served in the armed forces and in-laws who both have and continue to serve, I feel that pride and honor as well. I’m insanely happy and grateful to live in this country and I can be the most patriotic individual you’ve ever seen in the most clichéd sense of the term – but along with that comes the knowledge that if I choose not to stand there is not a single thing that can make me.

My great-uncle, my friends, my in-laws have all served this country, fought for this county, had their lives inexplicably changed in service for this country, so that I can have the right and freedom to make the choices I want to make. While seeing the stories about this ridiculous controversy (why does everything have to be a controversy??), one of the things we see quite often is a large amount of people screaming about how generations of soldiers have died in battle so that people could stand while the National Anthem plays. This is often accompanied by the political cartoon that depicts soldiers in fatigues correctly stating they are actually fighting for our right to sit OR stand during the song. But you know, that must be an exaggeration, right? Soldiers who fought for our freedom can’t have been fighting for total freedom, right? They were fighting only for the freedom for us to live and work and worship freely, but there must be a clause in there somewhere saying we have to stand during the anthem. Wrong again.

One of the greatest things about this nation is the freedom we have to live and worship and serve as we please – as long as it is not damaging another’s right to do the same. So explain to me again how someone kneeling during the National Anthem hinders your right to stand and sing and hoop, holler and cry. That’s right. It doesn’t.

What hinders someone’s right to be free is thousands of people shouting about how someone kneeling is wrong. It is free citizens calling for the punishment and even imprisonment of people exercising their rights. It is the president calling those kneelers “sons of bitches” in front of the whole world and calling for their dismissal from their jobs. The only thing hindering anyone’s right here is the injustice being done to the people who are making a stand for unity. The National Anthem is a song of pride and strength, meant to symbolize the power and unity displayed by this country, even in its darkest hours. It is a song that is intended to fuel the strength and honor we as citizens of the United States are able to feel knowing that we live in a free country. There’s that word again. Free. A free country. That’s what we are. That’s one of the things that sets the United States apart from other countries. We are free. I am absolutely free to get up tomorrow morning and put on a T-shirt celebrating my favorite band or author or tourist destination and go to work listening to rock & roll music and, if I feel like it, I can choose to sit and observe while others sing the National Anthem. And, ideally, that would be perfectly acceptable. It hinders no one’s freedom and it harms no one’s right to stand and sing.

The problem comes when we try to force people to do what we want them to do. The more dangerous situation comes in when the government tries to step in and force people to stand, act or react a certain way to the anthem. Freedom means we’re free. If our government is allowed the power to tell us we have to stand and react a certain way to a song being played before a sporting event (or anywhere for that matter), that government is no longer supporting the rights of a free country. It is a totalitarian system that is infringing on the rights of everyone. In a perfect world everyone would be truly equal, would be treated as such, and there wouldn’t be a large faction of people being discriminated against. There wouldn’t be murder and racism dividing our country hundreds of years after we fought a war to help end it. And there wouldn’t HAVE to be people who feel the need to take a knee during our nation’s song in order to fight the injustice running rampant in its borders. But that is not the world we live in, is it?

Innocent people are ridiculed, judged, even murdered for the color of their skin or their place of birth EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. We are in the 21st century, people. We are all people, we all bleed red, we all deserve freedom and life and rights. Maybe instead of focusing so damn hard on what people are doing when a song plays over a loudspeaker, we should focus more on why they choose to do it. If we want to truly unify and be a country, we have to learn to stop trash-talking people who live, act or believe differently than we do. Then, and only then, will the National Anthem be able to stand for what it was truly intended to stand for. So next someone takes a knee during the song, how about you ask them why they made that choice instead of feeling offended. As much as it pains me to say it this way; snowflakes do melt. The cold weight of injustice doesn’t.

Today’s the day!

I hope you’ve all gotten plenty of rest after that long-haul read last month. I wanted to give you all a few extra days to recover before I made this month’s announcement, but today is the day! In more ways than one, you’ll see soon enough.

For this month, I thought we would read a classic banned book, since Banned Book Week is at the end of September. I chose “Bridge to Terabithia” as the book for this month. This is a great YA novella that has been adapted into a good-quality film as well. I have a soft spot for this work, because it’s on the list of books that helped inspired me to really tackle my own desire to write. It’s relatively short and a really good read, so I’m sure you’ll all enjoy the break after August’s marathon with “IT.”

Speaking of “IT,” today is the official unofficial movie release in my region! I’ll be seeing the new film tonight and I couldn’t be more excited! I may even be inspired to do a movie review post as a companion to the book review, depending on how inspired I am after seeing the movie. I hope you’ll all be able to hit some early premieres and let us know what your thoughts are as well.

Anyway, this month’s book will hopefully impress everyone and help bring you to a heightened and effective state of mind and spirit! Have you ever  read this book before? Did you see the movie? Do you like them? Let me know what you think in the comments below. And, as always, if you have any suggestions of what you’d like me to review in the future, leave me a comment or shoot me a message! Have a great weekend, everyone!

IT

Good Thursday to all of you! As fall approaches with heavy, dried and dying hands, so comes the release of the new “IT” movie adaptation. King has actually released his review of the film, in which he says he was “unprepared for how good it was.” This gives me immense hope for the film and its impending sequel. Being a diehard fan of all things King (I even stuck it out through most of the final season of the atrocious “Under the Dome” adaptation) I had to make sure we all had a chance to re-read the masterpiece that started the truly terrifying clown trend. I hope you all covered your boats in paraffin and remembered to thrust your fists against the post, because by the end of this, we’ll all be seeing the ghost!

First and foremost, this book is awesome. The length of the novel is something that often intimidates nearly everyone who looks at it, but once you dive in the pages seem to turn with a mind of their own. As always, I was instantly drawn in by King’s almost nonchalant description of the terrible goings on in Derry. I feel like he fills the pages with all of the tragedy and evil, but it isn’t forced and it doesn’t seem out of place like the villains in some horror works. From the first time we get a mention of Pennywise a sense of almost manic dread falls over the text. From the very beginning we see the clown as a symbol of everything evil which, when it has a mind to, can utterly destroy anyone and everyone it sees. Of course, it typically goes after children who tend to fear more, believe more and harder, and have a much higher energy force (as described in countless other King works).

The first hard murder we learn of, Georgie’s, brings us face to face with the leader of the Losers Club and throws us in the thick of childhood problems, love, and a sense of complete isolation from those who should be protecting the kids. This is one element I absolutely adore. King does an immense job of bringing these kids into the center of their own fears and making them face it all with only each other to turn to. No adult in this novel, save Officer Nell, can be remotely helpful when the kids are in need. In my mind, this is indicative of the sense of helplessness and isolation most kids feel even today as they go through puberty and coming-of-age, which is why so many of them slip into depression and begin to go to drastic measures both to gain attention of their elders and to feel like something they do matters.

Watching the devastation that rips through each of them, bringing them closer together and pitting them against this ageless, formless relic of a demon is something that never gets old for me. The idea that the extravagant minds and wills of seven fearful and angry children are enough to tear this ancient being from the fabric of the universe is something I find incredible. To me it’s a testament to what our minds are able to accomplish in reality. We can survive so much trauma, fear, and heartache and still come back with a vengeance. This is something King never has trouble describing.

The sense of companionship in this novel is one of my favorite elements, as well. Knowing that these children have bared their very souls to one another, and are consistently putting their lives in each other’s and Bill’s hands is amazing. King does a great job giving each of the children a reason to want personal revenge against It and he does it without making any of them seem petty. Some would argue that Bill’s initial motivation, to get revenge for Georgie’s death, is a bit immature – but they are 12. Come on, people! But seriously, it is such an awesome concept to get inside each of their heads and see what truly terrifies them. And the idea of a creature that can take the form of whatever you are most afraid of is something that has been around for millennia, but never becomes less terrifying.

I think the writing style in this novel is incredible as well. The various sections of the book go from a third-person omniscient point of view where we can see everything everyone is thinking based on what the narrator wants us to know to seeing Mike’s first-hand account of his own end of the tale in his journals. I think this is the first book I read where I got such varying and alternating points of view. Granted, I first read it in the third grade, so I’m sure that had something to do with that.  It has definitely inspired my own work and how I approach a novel. To see an author use this sort of method is very liberating after watching so many novels pass by in the third person. Of course, that doesn’t make them of any lesser quality, it is always a breath of fresh air to get a fresh take every now and then.

The thing that really makes this novel exquisite for me is the absolute terror the monster brings. Nothing is safe. From the man next door, to an abandoned refrigerator, from your kitchen sink to the 30 foot tall plastic statue in the center of town – anything can and will be a vessel for It to terrify and/or devour you. I love that. I love the absolute helplessness that fills this novel to the brim. No matter where you go or what you do, the only people you can be sure aren’t doing It’s work for for It are your six 12 year old friends. Nothing could bring our young heroes and heroin to a more exalted state while simultaneously dropping them into the deepest, darkest pit of despair than knowing that they have no one else to turn to to save themselves and their town. They are completely and utterly on their own – except for The Turtle.

This tie in to classic world mythos and King’s own other worlds is impeccable. The icing on the proverbial cake. The fact that The Turtle, this celestial force that vomited out the universe is not only exceedingly familiar with the ancient evil that lives under Derry, but that it is also doing as much as it is able (however little that may be) to help the kids defeat It is awesome.

Finally, the description in this novel, as with other King works, is perfect. I always feel like I can see everything he is writing about as if it’s playing out in my mind like the coolest 35mm projector in the world. And I LOVE it. When the end of the book rolls around I can seriously see the huge spider being torn apart from the inside out by this mental and existential Ritual of CHUD the Losers are forcing it into. I feel like I’m in the cavern with them while the acidic web (another King trope) is falling down around them. I am one with them as they collectively lose their memories and are released from the curse It laid on them. I love the conclusion, with Ben and Bev finally together, Audra getting her soul back (that’s how I think of it) and Mike finally able to move on as well. It is a truly novel resolution to the 30 years of pain and suspense these heroic individuals have been trapped in.

All of that being said, I do have some questions. First and foremost, of course is one that has eluded even my own overly critical mind for more than a decade. If It only awakens once every 25-30 years, how can the guise of Pennywise, or Bob Gray, be seen and photographed numerous times in these periods of hibernation? Many of the photos and incidents that are described in the book take place while It should be asleep in its lair, including, if I remember correctly, the infamous shootout and the axe murder in the bar. Both times multiple people saw Pennywise in various locations. Granted, I don’t think King ever explicitly says “yeah, he’s always sleeping in these periods,” I feel it’s sort of implied.

The other main issue I had with the book was how fast the ending happened. I know some of you are probably groaning that I said a 1,000+ page novel was over too fast, but I feel like some of the lesser involved portions of the book could have been removed in order to give us that much more of a struggle in the end. Obviously a lot is happening, between changing perspectives and different characters and a universal voyage of consciousness with the ‘eater of worlds’ ( you didn’t think I’d make this without a Tim Curry nod, did you?), I would still like to see the final battle drawn out a little more. There was a bit of a race, which again I know was intentional, to get the battle over and find a victor in this decades long battle, but I would love a little more actual banter between the characters. I really want to see into the mind and heart of It, get more of an answer of what It is, where It came from, whether more of them exist, what It wants, etc… But, alas, I guess the remainder of that information will remain in King’s own head! Unless, of course, he can offer us a sequel… but that may be too hopeful even for me.

Anyway, what did you think? Are you a fan of “IT?” Did “IT” give you nightmares, or make you despise clowns in the worst way? What was favorite, or least favorite, part? Comment below, send me an email, whatever works best for you. Let me know your thoughts. And let’s share this far and wide in anticipation of the movie!!

A Nation Torn (Again)

I’ve kept my mouth shut about this – largely because no one has any reason to care what I think, but the rioting in the states is getting stupider by the day. Since Saturday there have been daily riots and destruction, leading to at least one death when a self-proclaimed White Supremacist ran his car through a group of protestors who were marching against racism. Racism. In the 21st Century. Have we not lived long enough on this rock to get how absolutely freaking idiotic that is?

Since Saturday there have been riots of multiple people who are disagreeing about what to do with Confederate era statues. The removal of a couple of these is what sparked the two-sided protestors on Saturday, if you aren’t aware. Supremacists  (read “Nazis) were against the removal of these statues, and protested in very violent fashion, while the counter-protestors gathered in a somewhat less violent manner, only to be ran over by a car. Those vying for the removal of the statues are convinced they are a symbol of racism and discrimination that is somehow damaging their way of life, while those who wish to see them remain where they are are split between Nazis (which I DO NOT agree with) who believe the statues represent racism and that it is deserved, and the sane people who recognize that these statues are a piece of our history that should be preserved at any cost.

As a well-educated 26 year-old with Native American ancestry living near my ancestral land and the start of the Trail of Tears, I definitely get racism. I do. But do you see Native Americans up in arms about things that celebrate the racism against them – which, might I add, is pretty much everything that celebrates the arrival of the white man on this continent? No. Because we have better sense. We understand that if we revolt against the past, it changes nothing. It doesn’t bring back any of the millions of people who were killed in the largest genocide to ever disgrace the face of this planet. It doesn’t mean that the murders and mistreatment and centuries of harmful stereotypes are suddenly gone or repaired. It doesn’t magically make anything better.

What it does do is cause further discord between peoples who have been living together in the world long enough to understand that we are all the same. It doesn’t matter if you’re white, black, red, yellow, purple or orange as a pumpkin – the same blood runs through all our veins. The same creator made us all – no matter what you believe, we literally all come from the same place, whether you believe that it’s dirt shaped by God or space dust from the celestial fart scientists call the Big Bang. So what gives anyone of any color, creed or race the right to think they are superior because of the amount of melanin in their skin or their country of origin? Nothing more than pathetic, pointless ego. It’s nonsense.

This is 2017, not year 17. We know better than this. When science and religion and common sense and every single other sensible and factual thing on the planet can show you that the only differences from you and your black neighbor and her Asian neighbor and his Russian neighbor is the language your ancestors spoke and the food you grew up with (aside from predispositions to certain illnesses, of course – God knows if I don’t get completely medical and scientific here someone will call it out), why do you insist on acting like skin color and nationality matters?

In addition to this consistently pathetic ideology, how can this ridiculous and pointless violent behavior be the answer? It isn’t. Not in any possible sense of the idea. In no way is acting like a primitive moron the answer. It isn’t going to change the past and it sure isn’t going to change the future.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of this whole issue to me right now is the fact that those people who are out there protesting these Confederate statues – which in their minds celebrate racism, violence and discrimination – are now doing so with with violence and discrimination. What? Seriously? Seeing people get run down by a car wasn’t enough to make you realize that a violent reaction – from anyone involved – is the exact opposite of what we should be doing? Apparently not, because protestors in North Carolina were filmed tearing down a Confederate statue and then taking turns kicking, punching, spitting on and otherwise desecrating it.

Why? What good does this do? These statues, which in the minds of the protestors represent the bigotry and racism that pulled this country apart for centuries, are actually there to remind us of the time that racial and political strife almost caused us to destroy ourselves completely. They stand there to represent the type of brother-hating behavior that should be avoided for the rest of time. But these neo-Nazis and misinformed spoiled brats are literally using them to do the exact opposite. Rather than looking at them as reminders not to be complete assholes to our fellow man, they are using pieces of stone and metal as an excuse to lash out at those they feel aren’t as good as them.

How will tearing these statues down change the past? It won’t. It is nothing more than an attempt to hide and erase the history that built this country. Again, it’s a terrible history. That’s obvious. But by denying that we as a nation have overcome such harmful ideas, we open ourselves up to falling in the same hole again. By allowing ourselves to become divided because of a bunch of statues, we are weakening the bonds of civility that have kept us together since these statues were erected. If we literally find ourselves killing each other in the streets because we can’t just leave a statue alone, how can we possibly pretend that we are a civilized country the rest of the world should model itself after? How can we possibly pretend that we are worthy of being called a superpower – which, by definition, is a country with dominating power and influence in multiple regions of the world at one time? And if we are still considered a superpower, how can we possibly sleep at night knowing the influence we are spreading is full of hate and ignorance and pointless violence?

I don’t know that my words matter to anyone other than myself, but this has to stop. Leave the statues alone, pick up the pieces, and move on. Open a bible or even a science book. There is ample evidence all around you that we are all the same. We all need food, water, oxygen, human interaction. We all function thanks to our nervous and digestive systems and we must take care of both to make either remain functional. We can reproduce with anyone of any race or nationality. We can interact with most anyone through the most basic of universal symbols – even if it just comes down to pointing at our stomachs to symbolize hunger or thirst. We get it. We. Are. All. The. Same. Frankly, if none of these examples convince you, just look at the blood that has been shed. Streets run red with blood that leaks out of bodies with every color skin imaginable. The bodies lie broken in the gutters, all made of the same things, all torn to shreds because of hatred that means nothing. Just look at the blood and try to understand. Because, if you don’t, blood may soon be all that is left.

It Matters

Have you ever been down and out, feeling like things were going all wrong and life was a bit much, but you encountered a piece of art that changed everything? Have you ever looked on or listened to something that completely altered your mood, your mindset, your attitude, your entire day – or even your life? If you haven’t, don’t worry, you’ll find it when you need it most. And if you have, I want you to take a moment to think about it. Remember what you felt both before and after. Remember the way it felt to have everything change in that moment. Go on, I’ll wait.

There. You remember? What does it make you feel now? Grateful? Surprised? Genuinely happy for the art and artist that changed, and may well have saved, your life? Good. I want you to hold on to that and never let it go. That is what art is. That’s what it does. That is the complete and entire reason it exists. It is motivation. It is inspiration. It is emotion. It is pure, unadulterated soul laid bare on a piece of paper or in a note of music. It is the very core and essence of human life, passed down to us by God, or the universe or whatever it is you choose to believe. Art, in every form, from painting to drawing to music and literature, is here to help us and inspire us, to allow us to lay down our burdens and look into the timeless web that connects each and every soul that was, is and shall ever be in this universe.

I was taking a small social media break today, despite the damaging effects of such things on one’s creative ability at times, and one of my oldest friends sent me a video of Jim Carrey. Now, I can take a wild guess and say that your minds automatically went to one of his hilarious and memorable film roles that have been forever embedded in our hearts and minds, but that wasn’t it. It was a video of Carrey talking, painting and discussing why he paints. In the video he discusses what painting is to him and what it can be to everyone, the release it gives, the fact that it saved his mind and soul from incredibly dark times. It inspired me so much I couldn’t stop myself. I had to share it, I had to write about, I had to obsess over it.

Carrey has always been one of my favorite actors, and his influence has meant so much to me over the years. I know the things he’s been through. I’ve followed his life and career fairly closely a good portion of the time and, while I don’t fully agree with everything he’s done, I get why he’s done it.

So often people just look at the slapstick, hilarity inducing roles Jim Carrey plays, but they don’t look at the man. He does that on purpose. He understands the world around him. He understands pain, and sadness and remorse and guilt – and he understands joy. He uses his presence, his influence in the world, to instill the latter because he knows the world is torn from the inside out by all the rest. He understands that if he can make just one person laugh, get one sad human being to just crack a smile, then he has gone a great distance toward healing the human heart. And that is immensely important.

To me it’s everything. If we, as artists, can use our gifts and talents and abilities instill that same joy, that same mirth, that same sense of happiness in at least one person, then things will be better. If you can relate to the feeling of needing something, anything, to make your life a little better, a little easier, a little happier, then you need to understand why you have the calling you do. If you take nothing else away from this, remember; when you have a calling – like Carrey’s comedy and his painting, like Bob Dylan’s music, like my writing – you don’t have it or use it just for you.

You use it because somewhere, somebody is needing exactly what you have to offer in whatever form you have to offer it in. Someone out there is struggling and, when they need it most, they’ll find your work – and it will change their life. You do it because one of the best and most worthwhile things we can have is to know that we made a difference in the world. You use it to fight as hard as you can to make this agonized rock a better place than you found it. And, if you’re lucky, you’ll succeed. Even if it’s just for one person. You’ll succeed.

I had to write this blog and share these ideas with you all, because there comes a time in every artist’s life that they question whether or not their work is even worth it. Whether the effort they are putting forth is ever going to make a difference for themselves or for someone else – whether or not any of it even matters. I’m here to tell each and every one of you now that it does. It absolutely does. I’ve said this before, but it’s well worth repeating; you have your ideas and your calling because there isn’t a single person out there who can produce what you can produce. Do you think artists like Van Gogh woke up every day and felt like painting? Do you think anyone in the history of the world has ever lived without experiencing at least a twinge of doubt, depression, even outright disgust at what they do? No. But they fought through. Van Gogh battled crippling depression to become one of the most famous and most notable artists in history. Edgar Allan Poe fought depression and a lifetime of death and despair to become one of the most prolific writers to ever live. Your gift matters. Your talent matters. Your work matters. You matter. Just keep going. Never give up. Even if you don’t see it pay off, someone else will. It’s all being produced for a reason.

Jim Carrey has always been a huge influence on me, and continues to be so. I’d love to meet him, spend just five minutes of time with him. I’d never be the same. I know that some of his work has made a huge impact on me, and I’m so glad I stumbled across that video at a time when I needed it most. I hope this blog has done something to help at least one person who was going through a tough time and questioning their work. If it has, then I’ve already succeeded. Please share it where it may be needed in the hopes that someone else in need may get a glimpse of it as well. Oh, and if any of you happen to have Jim Carrey’s number, feel free to pass my info along. I’d like to thank him myself.

Have a good day, and keep up the good work, everyone.