Depression

Coming to Terms

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I went to the visitation service for my biological father last night. I’m not at all sure what I expected to happen there, but it was certainly not the way things went. Or maybe it was.

For those of you who don’t know, I was raised in a single parent household because my father made his own choices. Those choices did not involve me. Through the years I have made an abundance of attempts to reach out to him and create some sort of relationship, against the advice and better judgement of pretty much everyone around me. For a little while at one point it worked. When I was 12 I convinced my mother to take me to his adoptive parents house and ask about him. This resulted in his nephew taking us directly to his house and we began forming what I hoped would be a real friendship, if nothing else.

It may have lasted a year. During that time we went to a few movies, ate a couple of meals. he bought me an action figure or two and I paid for at least one of those movies with saved allowance. Of course, toward the end of this period of time as we were driving him back to his home he asked to stop at a convenience store and borrowed money from me for a beer. I probably should have known.

Not long after that the contact stopped. Again, his choice, not mine. He stopped answering calls and letters. Faded into the distance again with no explanation or excuses.

For five years I didn’t know if he was alive or dead until we received a letter from the state that he had been summoned to court for back child support. The state’s choice. Not ours. So, at the age of 17, I convinced my mother to go with me to the courthouse and see if he showed. Surprisingly he did. He was told to pay, said he would, walked out the door with barely a glance in my direction, but I followed. I shouted for him and watched as he thought about walking on and getting in the car as if he hadn’t heard me.

But he stopped. He turned around and came back with his shark-toothed grin and made me feel like he was happy to see me. More empty promises of future contact, blank apologies for a lack of communication, and we went our separate ways.

I never heard from him again.

For nearly 18 years I went without a single word from him. Nearly as long without any word about him, save the mention of him given by his brother after the man found me online. I could have had a child of my own in that time, and watched them grow to be the age I had been the last time I laid eyes on the man who contributed to my DNA. I know damn well I would have treated that child a lot better than I had ever been treated.

Several times during those 18 years I attempted contact again, including one shameful time when I went to his house and knocked on his door. As I looked at the window I saw him looking back out at me before the woman he lived with opened the door and told me he wasn’t there.

I told myself that was it. I had done more than enough. But, it didn’t stop me from sending some last ditch letters. Or from making a phone call after my grandmother passed. A phone call that asked me to leave a message on a voicemail that had his name on it. I told him I wanted nothing from him, no money, no goods, I just wanted to speak to him. Even once.

I won’t even pretend I was surprised when the call wasn’t returned. Or that the next time I tried the number it had been disconnected/my number was blocked.

That time it really was over. I stopped trying. I won’t pretend I hadn’t thought about trying again, but I hadn’t. I had no clue if the man was alive or dead, if he had other children, if he thought about me. I knew nothing. Until I got the message last week that he was actually dead.

If you haven’t lost a parent, I’m glad. It has been something of a whirlwind for me, and nothing like the standard I’m sure. In talking to friends who have reached out, I do realize how many of us have a non-standard (read non-glamorous, non-Hollywood, non-cookie-cutter) relationship with our parents, so I definitely know many of you will know what I mean. A parent who has been nothing but a repeated disappointment, who you truly had no relationship with despite your best efforts, suddenly passing, is still quite a shock.

As I said, I went to the service last night. A more than two hour drive from where I work and nearly the same back to my house. To say I was nervous is an understatement. I have always hated funeral homes and hospitals, and this made that even worse. But I went. I’ve asked myself why it was important that I do so, and others have wondered the same, and I think the full truth is exactly what I said from the start. This is the only time I have had full control over the way this relationship ended. I never got to say my goodbyes. I never got to be the one to really choose how things would progress, or whether they would progress.

Sure, I had decided to stop trying to reach out, but that was really tantamount to deciding to stop pounding a closed door and let my bloodied knuckles heal. It was already sealed. I merely gave in to the choice of others. No, this time I was the one who had the final say. So I went to the service. It took a while to work up the gumption to walk in, but I did it. Amanda and I were 2 of the 7 people there for the man who had isolated himself from his flesh and blood. I will never be able to thank her enough for putting herself through that for me, for supporting me in what she knew was a lost cause. Having her by my side was the only thing that kept me from losing my grip, as it so often is.

When I went to the casket he looked so different from the man I remember, the man who I have maybe three pictures of, that I was worried we were in the wrong chapel. But it was him. His mother was there. My grandmother. Whom I hadn’t seen in probably 25 or more years. She had to subtly walk to the sign-in book to see if I was who she thought I was, but she came up to me and spoke. Told me she knew the effort I had put in, but chalked it up with the true Appalachian “you know how he was.”

No, ma’am. I do not know how he was. He made sure of that. You all made sure of that. I know next to nothing about the man. Even the things my own mother can tell me about the father of her child is little more than three decade old facts. How much of that changed? How much different was the stranger in that box who made sure I never had a chance to know any version of him from the 22 year old she had once cared for? I have no idea. And, given the likelihood those who have chosen not to reach out in the past will continue on that trend, I may never know.

Not once did my grandmother ask about me, my life, my wellbeing. Would it matter to her? No. Just shrugging off the way her son had behaved the same way he shrugged off his own child. I can’t pretend I’m not upset by it all, but I finally am at a point where I can truly say I did everything I possibly could. I will be able to go to sleep tonight and every night knowing I never closed the door on my father, though I likely should have. At the end of the day I was able to say goodbye on my own terms, something that feels as close to satisfaction regarding the matter that I may ever get.

Confusion and Grief

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 3 Comments

Last night, I found out my biological father died this week. No way to sugarcoat that information, really. I hadn’t spoken to the man in nearly 18 years, not for lack of trying. I sought him out time and time again, wanting to have a relationship with him, no matter how small it was. I put myself out there and gave it my all to try and be a son to a man who didn’t want to be my father. I’ve never gotten to share my accomplishments, my sadnesses, my truths, and myself with the man whose DNA I share. I might never have even known he was gone because of these decisions on his part.

I am forever grateful to the cousin who made sure I knew, also. A lifetime of potential memories gone. A lifetime spent wondering why I wasn’t good enough, if there was something wrong with me, if I would ever even know why he wanted nothing to do with me. Now I guess I will never know the answers.

I think that is the strangest part of the whole thing for me. I have thought about going to the last place I knew he lived and seeking him out, or pushing harder to find the relatives on that side of the family that are still alive (which, according to his obituary – in which my name is not even correct, I might add – is nearly everyone except his father), but ultimately have chosen against it. For the last few years, I honestly didn’t even know if he was still alive, with Covid running rampant as it did. Until his brother found me on Facebook last year and at least confirmed that much for me, that is.

Even until I got the obituary and saw the face of the man I barely remember looking back at me, some part of me said my cousin must be mistaken. But there it was. The first line in the obituary read that he died with his daughter by his side. A daughter I’ve never met. Not a biological sibling, I know now, but nonetheless, someone who mattered enough to him for him to raise. To stick by. To live for. Someone I never even knew existed. Did she know about me?

Did he ever mention me? Could she hold the answers to why she got a father figure out of him and I never did? Do I even want to ask?

Those questions and more have been flooding my mind for the last 16 or so hours, and I am no closer to deciding if they are even worth asking. I have a whole side of my family whom I know nothing about. My father’s obituary said he loved God, loved to cook, was a great dad. Two out three ain’t bad… we have those in common at least. Is there anything else we share?

There is a service for Scotty Wayne Osbourne on Monday. A time for those who knew him to grieve him, to say goodbye to him, to pay their respects for a man they now have to build a life without. Do I fit that mold? I know next to nothing about him. I only know life without him in it. But I’ve never gotten to say goodbye. I never knew I would have to. Until it was too late. Just like this time.

Stephen King’s Rage

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

As a lifelong fan of Stephen King, it is my mission to read everything the man has published, naturally. I’ve been on that track for quite a while, but the main book that has eluded me for much of that time is the one book King himself doesn’t want the world to experience. Given today’s climate and the subject of the book itself I had been understanding of that idea, since he is (some would say ironically) a huge supporter of human rights and simply being a good person. I still have not been able to purchase a copy of this book for myself, but I did get my hands on a copy so I could finally read the forbidden tale, and I have to say…. I think the world deserves to read it.

Woah, a teacher not wanting to see a book that, at it’s base description, is about a school shooting taken off the shelf? Polarizing, right? Keep in mind, also, that I am an author and a literature lover who has an extreme hatred of censorship as a whole, but kind of. Like I said, at its base description, Rage is about a school shooting. More specifically, about the shooter himself. But there is so much more to it than that.

Charlie Decker reacts to life the way he has, in part, because he has been consistently let down and crapped on by everyone he is supposed to be able to rely on. Being a teacher at two different alternative education centers I have seen this phenomenon more than I ever thought possible in such a small community. More often than not kids are being let down by everyone they know. They are being abused, disrespected, and not being given the love and guidance that is a parent’s obligation. Which is exactly what Charlie Decker dealt with.

While Decker did have his moments of abuse and neglect, he was also very obviously suffering from not only the social pressures of being a teenager, but I heartily believe he was suffering from mental illness as well. Charlie kills two teachers in the school a couple of weeks after striking another with a wrench, causing him considerable damage. There is no doubt he was a school shooter, and before the term was used in conventional conversation. His crimes, however, were small in comparison to even some of the smallest of real world attacks in this country. So how does that influence, or even potentially motivate others to take up the gun? During the late 80’s and 90’s there were multiple students who acted on feelings of anger and hatred and performed atrocious acts of school violence that were either openly attributed to the reading of King’s book or associated with it through mere familiarity.

I can completely understand being an author who has to deal with that and having to make the difficult decision to pull your work because of it. I fully support King’s decision to remove his book based on the idea that it was harmful to others, if only because it was associated with those who made poor decisions based on their own hurt. One of the bigger things in the book that I noticed, however, was the deeper meaning I associated with it. That, of course, is one of my favorite things about literature. We can all read the same words, but they speak to us all differently. The individual interpretation of works of art can not only be different from person to person, but one person going back to a familiar work might resonate with it differently based on maturity and changes of life and attitude. I can’t honestly say what I would have thought of Rage if I had read it ten or even 20 years years ago, but I do know that now it speaks to me in a very specific way.

The book itself, to me, is not just about the fact that Charlie comes into the school with a gun and uses it. It is about the fact that he poses no real threat to his classmates. He sits down and speaks to them. What’s more – they listen. Each and every student in that room understands Charlie – save one, of course. Decker is a boy who has been dealt a crappy hand, and he doesn’t make great choices. But he is real. He is relatable. Once he sits down and really levels with his classmates many of them open back up in the same way. We learn that all of their lives are not only connected, but that many of them have judged or been judged by their peers based on public or personal opinion. Several of them discuss their own hardships and come to understand Charlie’s point of view and why he has done what he has done. If they can’t agree with his decision to shoot their teachers they can at least see that he has enough hardship in life that it has taken him through avenues that are not totally unfamiliar to them.

I think that is the most important thing to look at for this book. These students bonded with the shooter in their midst because each and every one of them have been through some of the same horrible situations. It goes to show that everyone in the book itself is an example of how we can all react differently to any stimulus. That, in my opinion, is the real genius of the book. King presented us with a story that, yes, can be taken as offensive due to Charlie’s actions. But what book can’t? King has been through an extensive list of people, creatures, dimensions, and aliens intelligences that have massacred people in enough ways to supply the writers of even Game of Thrones with some new ideas, and we still return to his work. Because he gets it. He’s real. he gives us the honest truth about the world and the crappy humans that inhabit it.

Like I said, I respect his decision to want Rage off the shelves. No creator wants to think of their work contributing in any way to something and horrendous as an act of domestic terrorism and violence. But the strength and openness in the book are among the best pieces of helpful literature I’ve seen in a long time. As a review, I have to say that I highly recommend the book. Charlie Decker is to the world of the misunderstood and abused what Holden Caulfield is to the disenfranchised youth of the world. Any student familiar with the feelings of anger and neglect associated with an abusive, addicted, or absent parental figure can gain some real insight on how not to act based on Charlie’s tale. Until the world, this country in particular, comes to the realization that violence is not the solution to their problems, I think books like Rage both do and do not have a place in popular culture. Think of it like Schrodinger’s cat. A kid who never opens that book might still walk into the school with a gun and do horrible things. But the student who reads the book and truly makes an effort to understand it may have a chance to think about his or her actions a little longer. They could see the results of Charlie’s ordeal and understand they just have to hold on a little longer, just power through for a little more time. It could be the difference in another act of violence, or a true act of peace and restraint based on knowledge.

“Peace sells, but who’s buyin’?” -Megadeth

A Nefarious Encounter

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I recently got to sit down and watch the movie “Nefarious” for the first time. I’ve had it on my radar for a while and, as a fan of Sean Patrick Flanery, I knew I had to watch it. Now, like I’ve said approximately 8.2 million times before, I am traditionally not a fan of possession films, so I was a little wary of that going in. I knew, of course, the basic premise – that one of the main characters of the film claims to be a demon possessing a host body – but I risked it. And, boy am I glad I did. Talk about a thinker. In order for me to really discuss this movie the way I want to, I’m going to have to go ahead and say there may well be spoilers here, so if you haven’t watched the movie, go ahead and consider giving it a watch before reading on!

From the start, I was invested in the film and the subtle psychological tweaks the demon Nefariamus is able to make to the everyday life of those he uses. Just seeing that soft opening of the doctor adjusting his license before leaving his office and then seeing him go past the window… It honestly took me a second to make sure I saw what I thought I did. That really kind of set me up for the rest of the film. I had to know what was going on from there.

The basic premise of the movie, before I go on, is that a psychiatrist is called in to assess the mental status of a man awaiting the death penalty. The doctor has a handful of hours to talk with accused serial killer Edward Brady and determine if he is sane enough to be executed by the state. Simple enough, right? Well sure, until the inmate in question begins the conversation by saying he is actually a demon possessing Brady’s body (and the kicker from there is that he WANTS to be executed). From there the film takes several twists and turns and pushes the audience through countless instances of turmoil while we see Brady being mentally and emotionally put through the ringer – but is it really because of a demon, or is it a severe case of Dissociative Identity Disorder? That’s the thing to figure out.

Flanery’s acting skills are among the top in my opinion, and this role was one of the best of his I’ve seen. The facial tics and the manner of speaking he gives to both Nefarious and to Brady are awesome. I’m sure it’s not exactly easy to play multiple characters in the same frame, to literally code switch to a completely different personality and mannerism within the span of a few seconds, but he did it flawlessly.

The very nature of the movie was so back and forth and uncertain at times I felt like I was not only watching an amazing performance on film, but that Brady himself may well have been casting that charm over the good doctor as well. To say Brady/Nefarious was the best case of an unreliable narrator I’ve seen in a long time is an understatement. Returning to Flanery’s acting for a moment, though, I have rarely felt legitimately bad for a character like this before. The sometimes subtle, sometimes egregious things Brady goes through lend a lot of credibility to the idea that he is actually possessed – but also that the alternate identity within him could just show such an extreme hatred for the original identity that it would torture itself just to make him feel that same pain. Flanery’s portrayal of a man on the literal verge of mental and emotional break is something everyone needs to see, though. I would honestly put this movie on a list of films aspiring actors should watch in order to learn the craft and hone their emotions on camera/stage.

While a bit spoiler heavy, I won’t completely divulge the ending here. You’ll have to tune in for that (the movie is currently on Tubi and Peacock) and make your own conclusions. I do have to say, though, I came through the movie viewing from the perspective of a believer and a religious mindset and came to one conclusion. After speaking with a friend of mine who is of a different mindset I realized the multitude of interpretations one can come to here. Like I have said before, I am not one for possession films, but part of the genius of this movie is that you really have to pay attention and decide for yourself if that is even what’s happening here.

Because I am a completist at heart, once I realized the book that is mentioned in the movie is actually where the idea came from, I had to read it. The book, A Nefarious Plot, is a fairly fast read, and it can be fairly eye opening. The point of the book is to expose the horrible things humans, particularly Americans, do to one another and to humanity in general, especially from a religious point of view. It is written as though being a manuscript from the demon Nefarious and portends to explain basically how screwed up humans are and how far from God America has fallen. It is, for lack of a better term, religious propaganda, but I can also see the benefit of someone with a non-religious or alternately religious mindset reading it as well. It really does make you think about how crappy people can be to one another, regardless of politics or religion as a whole.

Anyway, if you can’t tell, I highly recommend at least watching the movie Nefarious. It will seriously put you through a mental ringer. Sean Patrick Flanery – you are amazing. No other way to put it. If you have watched the movie or if you decide to watch it based on my recommendation I would LOVE to know what you think. Be sure to comment and let me know!

Who Do You Need?

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Greetings and happy 2024, everyone! It has been a bit since I’ve been able to buckle myself to the keyboard and hash out a nice post to greet you all with. Partly, of course, that is due to my grad school work, and a lot of it is to do with my own mental health and just general level of business. This year, however, has started strong, and great things are coming. I declare it.

The important message on my mind today, which has been there for several days, comes from the mind of Wil Wheaton. While I was working on my thesis prep last week, I decided to tune into an episode of The Friendship Onion rather than music, and happened upon the episode with Wil as a guest. Of course, the whole episode was a lovely nerd fest that made my nerdy heart happy, but toward the end Wil said something that honestly floored me. He talked on and off about the trauma in his life and what it led him to, and Dominic Monaghan eventually thanked him for being such a passionate and enthusiastic human. Wil’s response:

“I work, on purpose, to be the person I need most in the world.”

That quote blew me away. I try to live my life with an understanding that there are billions of people on this ball of rock, and everyone’s life is different. I’m generally a good, happy guy, and I live by rule number one, which is essentially; Don’t be a Dick. Simple, understandable, easy to do. There is absolutely no reason to walk into the world and treat anyone negatively. I get that we all have bad days, but frankly, that’s no excuse to be a jerk. Everyone you encounter is living a life that is so similar, yet so uniquely different from your own, that there is no reason to bring them down.

Wil’s assertion that he makes a conscious decision to be a good, enthusiastic, big person brings me so much joy and so much thought, because it opened an entirely new world of possibilities to me. Life is literally a series of choices, decisions, and actions all based on the things going on in your own head. From the moment you wake up in the morning you have the ultimate power to be the human who can make all the positive difference in someone else’s life. That is the message that holds the most power to me. From the second your eyes open in the morning, the power of choice is with you, and your presence in the world is so heavily influenced by your internal understanding of that. You can choose to walk out into the world and be a positive and uplifting person, or you can bring negativity and anger into the world.

Frankly, the fact that there are people in the world who make the choice to bring others down with their negative garbage is one of the worst things I have ever had to understand. Granted, I have been in a negative mindset before, and I’m sure there have been days where I have not been a positive force for someone out there. For that, I am endlessly apologetic. Looking into my life from a new perspective with the real reminder that we all have the power to make the world a better place makes a big difference to me. Like Wheaton said, we each should work on purpose to be the type of person we need in the world.

Coming from a background that does contain trauma, with a life that has been touched and affected by depression and anxiety, I can tell you first hand that the way people around you act and behave toward you does have a very heavy effect on your mindset. Think about that, guys. Approaching someone, especially a stranger, knowing little to nothing about what they are already going through, but hitting them with anger and negativity is a harsh and irresponsible action like no other. Why should anyone feel like they have to right to bring someone else down? Should we, as a species, not feel like we have a responsibility to make the world a better place? Should we not make an active effort to help and bring our fellow man up, not tear them down?

That is the challenge I want to issue to everyone today. From the moment you wake up in the morning, think about the way you are going to approach the world. Think very presently and thoroughly about the type of person you want to be in the world. Do you really want to be responsible for making someone else’s life worse? If you do, then allow me to be the first to publicly tell you that you suck. Truly. You deserve to stub your pinky toe every single time you walk for the rest of your life. Just endless pinky toe pain. I lay that curse on you now.

But really, everyone, think about it. It’s a true and honest life-changer. Just be intentional. We all know there are bad days, and there are good days, but the thing that really needs to be considered is just how much good you can spread in spite of that. I’m not saying be fake. Don’t get me wrong. All I am saying is that we have the chance to make sure our own bad days do not make anyone else’s worse. If we can make the real decision to help make sure someone else does not have a bad day just because we are having one, just think about the difference that can make. For that matter, think about the kind of power we have to influence positivity on a good day!

In essence, friends, just be a good human. It is all about making conscious decisions to not harm others, whether that be physical or mental, and bringing more happiness into the world than we take away from it. What are your thoughts on that? Can you think of a time when you made a conscious decision to bring positivity into the world, despite having a bad day? Or maybe a time when you did the opposite? Feel free to share those thoughts and experiences. In the meantime, keep up with your creative endeavors and follow me on social media to stay up to date on mine. I am working to build my events list for the year, and I have a few lined up already, so head over to my event page to check them out. I look forward to interacting with everyone!

A New Decade

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

April is coming to a close in yet another year, this one filled with nearly as many surprises as the last. Hopefully the first four months of 2021 have gone well for all of you. I can honestly say there have been some pretty interesting changes come about so far this year, not the least of which is my entrance into the third decade of my life on this big blue ball.

That’s right, last weekend I celebrated my birthday and the start of my 30th year of life. It hardly seems possible, if I’m being honest. I don’t feel a day over 75… wait? But seriously, I feel like 30 years old is a pretty good milestone. I don’t feel like I should be that old, though. I still find myself looking around for an adult when I have a question about something I’m working on, only to realize I am the adult. Nevermind that I typically know the answer I’m looking for anyway, my brain doesn’t want to accept that it has pondered life’s larger questions for three decades already.

I was able to celebrate my birthday in a pretty fantastic way, thanks to my amazing wife. We got some great food, and I got some fantastic gifts (not the least of which was the full series of “The Office” on DVD with more than 15 hours of extras) and we spent the actual day of my birthday enjoying the Flower and Food Festival at Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tn. Arriving shortly before the park opened, we spent the entire day celebrating great rides, delicious semi-international cuisine, and wonderful Appalachian culture in the Great Smoky Mountains. It was definitely a day to remember.

All of that got me thinking, of course, about just what sort of wonderful memories I had created throughout the day and my life, and what others I would still be able to create within my life span. There are a lot of things I want to do in my life. Plenty of travel, cruising, writing, exploring nature, and having a fantastic life with my wife. Frankly, continuing to think about the things I want to do is making me quite excited for the years to come and what they will hold. But it is also making me beyond thankful that I have had the opportunities I have had already in this life.

I have seen a lot of things in my short 30 years (ouch, saying it that way kind of stings a bit…) and I have accomplished a fair bit as well. As of now my books are being sold, not only by me personally and on Amazon, but in several local stores as well. I have created a page for those locations here, to make it easy to find!

That being said, I have to admit I have been struggling recently with feeling like I have truly accomplished anything in my life. Between receiving more rejections than I care to admit on my recent agent queries for Maverip and seeing fluctuations in my sales for Moonlight and Tales of the Mysterious and the Macabre, it has been a touch and go situation for my own positivity lately. My wife has done an amazing job reminding me that I have plenty to be proud of and feel accomplished for, however. As of this writing, my books are being sold in 3 book stores and 3 local boutique and general store type locations. It’s kind of hard to believe, but I do fully appreciate the magnitude of that figure. To know that there are people in two states able to physically walk into a store and see my work on the shelves of a store is a fantastic feeling.

I plan to continue trying to expand my distribution to new locations and continue writing and publishing more work as well. Mainly, with this post, I just wanted to take the time to encourage you all and remind anyone reading that, no matter how old you are or what stage of life you find yourself in, you have unlimited possibilities for what you can accomplish. You might not have achieved every goal you wanted to achieve, and you might not feel like things are going exactly as planned, but the only way to change that is by not giving up. Believe me when I tell you I know it is not always easy, by any means, but it is definitely worth it. One day soon you will look back at when you didn’t think these things were possible and you won’t believe how much you have done!

As a tip for those days where you feel you haven’t accomplished anything worthwhile – because they will come, believe me, I recommend removing yourself from the situation for a moment and looking at your work with an outside view. Look at the creative works you have completed, especially if people are paying money to enjoy them and are talking about them in a positive way. Take a moment to truly examine the magnitude of what you have done. Look at the personal goals you have achieved and the things you have to hold dear. Frankly, seeing it in that light may well make you more proud than you ever thought you would have a right to be. From there, I recommend setting realistic goals to look back on later. Finish that chapter, that painting, complete the edits you have been putting off. It will make a difference, which may well be the thing that continues to inspire you and help you believe in your work and yourself in the long run. I am always available to help with encouraging and inspiring, too. Don’t hesitate to talk to me about the ongoing frustrations of being a creative in this climate – believe me I know!

Keep your eyes open for more news coming up, and enjoy every minute of your lives. Another year will be starting before we know it!

Where All Light Tends To Go

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 1 Comment

As many of you know, I am a proud Appalachian man with a serious love of literature and of my region. I try, on occasion, to immerse myself in regional pieces, and see my culture from the eyes of other local authors. I recently had the pleasure of diving into the incredible novel “Where All Light Tends To Go,” by David Joy. This amazing piece of Appalachian Literature, or Appalachian Noir as Joy considers it, explores the life of Jacob McNeely, the son of a drug addict and what passes for a drug kingpin in the small mountain town.

I’ve read several Appalachian works, and know several regional authors, and this tale stands at the pinnacle of Appalachian literature for me. I immediately felt drawn in by Jacob’s story. He is an outcast in his life, largely forgotten by a mother who spends most of her time riding her current high or pursuing the next one, and pushed aside by a father who finds him to be weak and useless. A dropout, Jacob can’t even rely on his peers for comfort.

Being from a small town myself, I related to Jacob’s plight as a young Applachian man, living in a town where opportunities aren’t exactly aplenty. Jacob feels he is limited in many ways, not the least being that, as a McNeely, he is almost instantly branded a failure. He talks several times throughout the first person narrative of being trash, nothing but trash, pure McNeely trash. Our main character perhaps it explains it best by saying;

“A name like Jacob McNeely raised eyebrows and questions. In a town this small all eyes were prying eyes.”

Joy’s writing explores the depth of the Appalachian region, while tugging the heart strings in an attempt to show the truth of the struggle some feel growing up in these beautiful mountains. The McNeelys are a family that has been condemned by their choices, their actions, and the unfortunate judgement of others. Jacob, who some say has a chance to become more, struggles throughout the entire book with the penalties associated with being a McNeely and the decisions he makes because of it.

An underlying, but interesting element of the text is the repeated conflict Jacob has with religion. From his early childhood Jacob was encouraged to go to church, his mother and grandfather religious individuals for a time. His father, whom he ends up living with, however, is not the religious type. Jacob says more than once that he doesn’t believe in God, but follows that up by saying that God doesn’t answer McNeely prayers. I found this element to be very interesting, as most Appalachian literature brings religion into the text by presenting us with the heavily (if not overly) religious individuals who do nothing but judge others based on their beliefs. We get none of that from Jacob.

Jacob’s relationship with the woman he loves, his childhood best friend, Maggie, is nothing short of remarkable. We enter Jacob’s life to see him watching Maggie graduate high school (from a distance, granted), and throughout his story he is insistent that Maggie has everything it takes to get be more, to escape their small town prison and do incredible things. In essence, Jacob puts everything into Maggie that he refuses to give to himself. She becomes romanticized and placed on a pedestal that I never could quite tell if she deserves.

I think the most heart-wrenching part of Jacob’s life is the strained relationship he has with his father. Charles McNeely is, in essence, the worst kind of person. A drug pushing, abusive, womanizing fiend with no regard for life, he neglects his child and causes pain to everyone he knows. Between his father’s treatment of him, his mother’s abandonment, and his own inability to break free of the burdens placed on him, Jacob is haunted by the pain of a broken life. His pain bleeds from the pages in places, particularly during one of the hardest hitting lines in the text, which has Jacob mentioning how funny it is that it only takes one person taking the time to show you they care for the bad things in life to not seem so bad anymore.

I have no shame in admitting that I didn’t have any idea how this book would end, but, after reading it, I don’t think any other ending would have sufficed. Although not bogged down with the supernatural, or with the inescapable horror I usually seek out, this text has quickly risen to my top ten books right now. Jacob’s journey is not necessarily one for the faint of heart, but I feel like this is a book most anyone can enjoy. Fans of Appalachian literature in particular will love this representation of the difficulties of life in a small North Carolina town.

I’m the kind of reader who loves marking passages that I enjoy so I can go back and look at them later and explore their meaning and depth. Usually I try to do this with sticky tabs that I can slap on the page right beside of my preferred quote. I have no shame admitting that I used an entire stack of sticky notes for this novel, as the featured image above shows. I will absolutely be seeking out more of Joy’s writing in the near future, and will be keeping my eyes open for a chance to meet this fantastic author and delve into his creative genius. If any of you pick up this masterpiece, I would love to know what you think. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or send me a message. As always, if you have any suggestions for a future review, or even just a book recommendation feel free to let me know!

I must leave you with this final line, that I am convinced will go down in history right alongside “So we beat on…” Though it gives nothing away, I have to admit it literally gave me chills. It is only a part of the power this text holds, and I’m sure everyone will love it.

“Only the middle ground of this wicked world mattered, the vast gap that stretched between, and those who were born with enough grit to brave it.”

Nature of Perspective

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Hey there, friends and fans! I hope this strange new world we live in is treating you all fairly and well. Many of us have been touched in negative ways by the changes to the landscape of our daily lives. Plans have been changed, jobs have been lost or put on hold, lives have been taken both because of the global pandemic and the disease that is racism and inequality. Basically, it seems like we wake up each day with no clue what strange new terror the day is going to hold – and it takes its toll.

I’ve been reminded this morning, however, the nothing has the power to control us unless we let it. Multiple times in multiple places throughout my morning I have seen a message that basically reminds me that our own ideas and perspective have a much stronger hold on us than anything coming at us from outside. The things that come against us can seem to be terrible, inconvenient, dangerous, worrisome, angering – I could go on. But the only thing that matters is us.

My amazing fiancee has reminded me more than once in the past few months that we can’t control the things that happen to us, but we can control how we react to it. I think that’s the main point my mind is latching onto today. So many things have shattered the world as we knew it in various ways so far this year, but the heart of our own understanding of it all comes from just how we let it affect us. Do we get angry because our plans changed and we suddenly have to wear masks, or do we sit back and take a moment to be thankful we still have breath in our lungs and those masks will (hopefully) help keep us and others a little safer – for those able to wear them, of course.

I’ve seen so much unhappiness around me stemming from the fact that this year has, in no way, gone the way any of us planned or imagined it would. From sick loved ones having to deal with surgeries or hospital visits alone due to hospital restrictions, to schools cancelling or postponing such coming-of-age events as prom and graduation, almost no one in the states can look at the events that have taken place since March and say that everything has gone exactly as planned. In my own life, I’ve already written about the ghost town that is my library and the almost complete lack of creative inspiration. In addition to that I’ve not seen some friends and family in months, my wedding has been pushed back, even vacations have been rearranged. The year 2020 has been nothing like anything many of us have seen before.

I won’t pretend I’ve handled it all graciously, either. It’s taken its toll at times. I’ve had angry days and sad days. Days where I could scream at the top of my lungs at the injustice of it all, and days where it’s all I can do to get out of bed and get moving. I’ve also had days where things seem almost completely normal and I’m happy beyond my own ability to describe. None of that is unique to me, though. I’ve seen people the world over saying similar things. We are in no way used to the changes we’ve seen in the last few months, but then again, who is?

My biggest point in all this is that we must learn to find a reason or a way to stay on top. Yes, the world is throwing things at us we’ve never even thought of, but we’re still going. The human machine of brain, heart, body, and soul is a force to be reckoned with. Already rays of light are coming through the darkness. The world is slowly finding hope in the amount of recoveries around us. We are finding new reasons to unite and come together in spite of adversities. Violence is being overcome with positivity in many places, and things are struggling to return back to a place we can consider, perhaps not quite normal, but acceptable.

In the midst of all this, the most important thing we can do is find our own reason for carrying on, our own motivation to keep struggling forward, our own way to climb as close to the top as we can be and conquer the things that have been trying as hard as they can to slam us back to the ground. A friend on social media recently told a story of how they had experienced an incredible sensation when they realized they were listening to the world around them for the first time since the world began changing. Countless things stood out as they realized they had been going about their life almost on autopilot. They were sure the sounds they heard and the feelings they experienced had been going on all along, but they finally felt connected and open enough to hear them – and that made all the difference.

So, I challenge everyone today to take the time to listen and feel. Reconnect with yourself, with the world around you, with the things you love. Move away from the things that have been bothering you about the way the world is changing, and move into a place where you can make sure it doesn’t stop you from being you. Find the things you love and put your effort and essence into them. For creatives like myself, it has been a struggle finding the motivation to bring your ideas to life, but I encourage you to try. Channel the upset you’ve felt at this strange new life and make something beautiful out of it. If you aren’t creative, channel the same frustration into anything that makes you happy. Whether it’s reading, gardening, watching television, or making plans. Whatever you can find that makes you feel even just a little bit like yourself again, go for it. Make it your own.

I know these things are in no way easy, but if you can make the world work for you just that much, it does seem to make it a little better. Like I mentioned earlier, the way we react to what happens to us is much more important than what happens. Stand up and fight for happiness and freedom. Fight to keep your head above water and out of the funk of depression and distaste with the world around us. For me, a breath of fresh air while I’m eating some food on a much needed outdoor lunch break has made things a little clearer for me. Rather than react with annoyance and anger at the things I don’t like about the world right now, I’m going to do my best to focus on being happy about the things that are making my life amazing and worth fighting for to the very end. Our reactions under pressure say almost everything there is to be said and help determine what sort of world we live in. What kind of world are you making for yourself?

Resurrect Creativity

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Hey there, friends and fans! How is everyone holding up in plague land? Life goes on here in the states. Virginia and Tennessee are slowly opening to life again, but things are nothing like they were this time one year ago. They may never be that way again – and that may not necessarily be a bad thing, but that’s a topic for a whole other discussion. My main purpose for writing this post is to touch on the point of creativity in our current climate. I think it goes without saying that, for a lot of people, it has died a painful death.

Personally, I’ve found myself in a long slump that has my creativity on a roller coaster and hiding behind quite a veil. Some days I really have an insane urge to create and put down line after line to build on what I hope to be the next great American novel, while other days I feel like there is nothing but a dusty lump of coal where my creative heart lies. Worse, on more than half the days I feel creative, I can’t decipher what idea I should write, or even have one that I can consider. Which, having more than 60 pieces in various stages of completion is some special kind of Hell.

I’ve seen a lot of authors and artists saying similar things as the problems continue to burn on, and not many seem to have found a good way around it. For many people being in social situations is helpful for inspiration, even if it’s literally just sitting in a coffee shop listening to those around you while you recharge your human interaction batteries a bit. Others hate creating in public, but they still find themselves in the midst of a creative block during these trying times. Personally, I am more of a private writer as well, finding it easiest to write when immersing myself in nature, or listening to music, or letting the TV play in the background and just letting the words flow. Despite all this, I still find myself forcing the words sometimes, which obviously works, but it hurts morale beyond a shadow of a doubt.

There have been a lot of theories about why this is, but I think my own personal philosophy is the unexpected changes we are all facing have thrown us through a loop and confused even the most reclusive of us. With such a sudden and intense change to pretty much the entire way the world works our minds and habits don’t quite know how to cope. It’s taking us a bit to catch up, basically. And the fact that things continue to change really don’t help. Going from life as we knew it, to being locked down, to being allowed to have a little freedom is presenting us with different ways of living our lives, and it is more than a little shocking, even terrifying to some. Waking up each and every day not knowing what to expect is causing us to almost have a complete reset each day. Our once standard routines like going to the grocery store, seeing a movie, taking a walk in the park, or grabbing a mean in a restaurant are now almost privilege. It’s like nothing any of us has seen before, and that in itself is like being trapped in one of the weirdest bits of creative fiction I’ve ever heard of. So, how do we combat it?

That may be the hardest question of all, since we never know what’s next. Some people need to have a set routine to write, putting aside a certain time-frame each day which, if deviated from, can be devastating to their creative blood. For these people the change in what life looks like has surely been one of the biggest reasons creativity is dead. I have complete sympathy. For others, writing or creating only happens when the moment’s right and no amount of scheduling makes much of a difference since you can’t force the muse. I tend to lean toward the latter myself, but, in an effort to combat the destructive force of the world’s changes, I’m going to try and change my own methods up a bit.

I’m going to try and set aside a time each day, likely in the evening, to write, edit, or do whatever the winds blows me toward that day. I’m hopeful that setting aside a specific time to create might become something habitual and it will at least inspire me to find new creative limits to push. If you are feeling a lack of creativity and seeing a general fall in your own production I might suggest the same for you. Since the world is nothing like what it was, we should all make an effort to adapt a bit and try to resurrect our poor shattered creative spirits. By putting the pieces back together with a schedule, at least a minimal scheduled time to put pen to paper, perhaps we can find a way to return to some semblance of life as we knew it and at least get some release for our pent up creativity.

As we move forward and try to find exactly what works for each of us, I send you all positive thoughts and encouragement. I know the world is not what any of us expected, but I’m sure a bunch of imaginative creatives can find a way to make it work in our favor. What sort of things have worked for you, if anything has? Have you all been feeling let down by your own mind’s lack of production like I have? Moreover, if you do make an effort to start a schedule I encourage you to share your stories and experiences with me. What type of thing is working to help you find a creative solution, or least a happy medium? Now, more than ever, is a time creative people should be more than willing to be open and help each other with our blocks and trials. I’m always willing to talk to a fellow artist, so feel free to reach out any time! As always, stay safe and healthy everyone.

Checking In

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

Hey there, friends and fans! The world certainly looks a bit different from last time I reached out to say hello. I hope each and every one of you are safe and secure from the global illness we are experiencing, and all the challenges we are faced with in its wake. I understand many parts of the world are, for better or worse, locked down. The states are facing their own similar situation, with each state and local government making decisions for its citizens.

In my situation, living very near the border of several populous south-eastern states, we are seeing a varying degree of changes to everyday life. Everything that we never really thought about, never really considered a privilege, has been altered. Grocery stores are now limiting the amount of customers that can enter the facility at one time (the general rule for one large chain being no more than 5 people per 1,000 square feet of building space). Restaurants are now only allowing drive-thru, delivery, or curbside service. Many non-essential businesses have been forced to close their doors, although provisions in my state allow them to remain open as long as there are only 10 non-employees in the store at one time. Even outdoor social gatherings have been restricted, with new orders in place that prevent groups of more than 10 individuals meeting at once.

Fortunately, as a bit of a recluse and private-loving person (I know, a blogger being private, how is that possible?) that last regulation doesn’t hit all that hard for me. I think I’ve only been in a group of ten or more people two or three times in the last couple years. But, for some, it’s life-changing. Certainly everything else is. My fiancee and I have resorted to ordering groceries online and doing a contact-free grocery pickup. Many retail establishments in my area have offered this service for a while, and it’s great for people with busy lives and a lack of desire to deal with big crowds on an average basis. Typically you go online and schedule your order and you can have it ready for pick-up in a matter of hours, almost always on the same day, but now the service is so bogged down some stores have no time slots for days. Literally for days. One large retailer is drowning in orders to the point their service just allows you to fill a cart and asks you to check back daily for an opening.

Schools are another hard hit area of life, especially in my state. Our governor made the decision weeks ago to close schools for the remainder of the school year, affecting a lot of people’s lives and abilities. Entertainment and educational facilities went along with that. In other words, libraries, although not called out by name, were guided into closure. My own library has been closed to the public since March 17th or so. That’s nearly a month without patrons. Of course, the initial excitement of being in a building so filled with mental weapons (looking at you David Tennant) was hard to ignore. Walking in this massive building with its (at last estimate) more than 5 million titles was nothing short of exhilarating. Employees have been kept on for cleaning and digital services, all given the option to take their annual leave hours if anyone felt unsafe. At first no one did that. We all came in and it was business as usual – almost.

As the days drug on, COVID-19 grew more threatening, its tendrils slowly creeping even into our rural mountains, the feeling changed. A staff of around 30 people started to dwindle. Some are over the age of 65 and felt it was much safer to follow CDC guidelines, which state people over that threshold stay at home at all costs. Some are immunocompromised and felt it was better to be safe than sorry. As of this writing our maximum in-building staff is around 18 or so. Granted, not everyone is in the building at the exact same time, and there is usually enough space for moderate social distancing, but still that figure is pretty telling.

And the feeling in the building has definitely changed. I have always been a huge lover of libraries and all things literary. One of the first things I do when I move to a new town or city is go get a library card. I’ve always loved the atmosphere of a library and have worked in a few during my career, with each one having its own special qualities. But there is definitely something unsettling about a huge library completely devoid of patrons. No books being checked out (at least not by the public. That hasn’t stopped me from grabbing a couple or few dozen for our use in the Mathews household), no programs to tell people about, no public computers being used, no one asking reference questions, or any of the other things that make a librarian’s job important. Libraries are always quiet, even to the point of satire, but there is something eerie about literally being able to hear a pin drop in such a building. Especially on another floor.

With all of the other changes happening daily, it’s no surprise that creative motivation has also taken quite a hit. Shortly after the infection reached a notable level in the states I received my second or third rejection of 2020 and had a change in my job expectations and schedule. These things alone sent me off the creative rails for a little bit, but with the world undergoing such unprecedented experiences, I’ve found it harder than ever to focus on creating fictional material, or even writing blogs on a regular basis. I have been journaling almost daily and reading more than  I had been before the plague hit, but it hasn’t done a lot to lift that creative veil I’ve found sliding over my writing. I’ve completed a couple of short stories so far this year, and Maverip is currently being examined by another great beta reader. My book sales have been fluctuating, however I did discover that someone checked my short story collection out of the library alongside Slyvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, which was nothing short of flattering. But none of it has done anything to open the floodgates and allow me to really kick out the pages on any new material, unfortunately.

I’ve seen a lot of my creative friends posting on social media (our only means of public communication these days) about their own lack of creative motivation, and I definitely feel that burden. I hope none of you all have been hit by this block, but if so, I believe there has to be a way out. This creative constipation can’t last forever, especially in a time when the world needs creatives and escapes more than ever. I plan to keep pushing through until I find what works to collapse the wall being built between mind and hands and allow my words to flow. In the meantime, have any of you faced a similar challenge? Have any of you found yourselves unable to create, unable to escape from the real world into that of your own creation?

What challenges are you facing in your day-to-day lives? Have you seen similar quarantine efforts in your location? Feel free to reach out and share your experiences in this strange situation. If nothing else, it’s a reminder that it’s not just in your hometown. We’re all facing it. But we will make it through.