Writing

Looking back

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Sometimes in life we find ourselves so wrapped up in the “right now” that we find it nearly impossible to look at the past. We tend to put our heads down and pay no attention to the world around us, barely even looking up to see where we’re going, much less where we’ve been. I was granted a prime view of my own past as I found myself riding around in the town I grew up in yesterday. It was very eye-opening. I saw things that I remember from my past, and new things that weren’t there before.

It has been about 6 years since I lived in Tazewell, Virginia full time and about three years since I moved away altogether, but I can still smell the air, still see the first stars piercing the deepening blue veil of the night sky. I can remember so much without even trying, but the flood of memories that came back to me while I was riding around shocked even me. From seeing the old high school, to the first place I ever worked- Grant’s Supermarket, where I served just under two years as a bagger and cashier during high school –  my childhood was nearly tangible to me in those moments. Just riding the roads helped bring me back through the years to memories that I’d even forgotten I had. I saw things I’d enjoyed as a child and things that I’d never seen there before. Despite the years since my residence, little has changed in the old place. The roads are a little wider in places, the storefronts a little more modern, but the thing that struck me most was that the shape of the town is still the same. The mountains that looked over my youth, shaped my adolescence, sheltered me when the world around me threatened to press in too tightly, are still the same. They are the same mountains that looked over generations before me, are currently looking over my friends and family that remain there, and will look over the generations of future residents.

Isn’t that a comforting thought? Once upon a time I might not have thought so. I can remember, as I’m sure many of us do (perhaps particularly those of us who grew up in Tazewell, where sometimes you could literally just sit and watch the grass grow) I wanted nothing more than to put my hometown behind me and move on to bigger and better things. Now I’m a little older and, I like to think, a little wiser, and I do miss it. I miss the way the sun rises over the mountains in the winter, the fresh, hot rays pulling steam from the icy roadways and frigid waters. I miss the sounds of summer rolling through the fairground as the town prepared for the demolition derby – because who doesn’t like a bit of destruction, right? I miss the quiet that settled down over the town at night. I used to have bonfires with my friends in my backyard, and sometimes we would be laughing and talking and joking until sunrise, but even on the most raucous nights there would be times that we would just grow quiet and be in awe of the silence, the world seeming to end at the edge of the light produced by our tiny fire. Those were times of peace.

Of course, I thought my life was hard sometimes. I went to school, I worked, I did chores, and I maintained a social life. I was a regular marathon man. Looking back on it now, after graduating college twice, being a regular part of the full-time workforce and paying bills for years, I wish things could go back to being that simple. I wish I hadn’t taken the small town life for granted. Riding through the old park, below the lake where my grandfather and I used to go fishing, I saw a glimpse of the old town theater through the trees. I used to live within walking distance of the place, and memories of countless movies came flooding back. Midnight releases of the latest Harry Potter movie, watching “The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King” there no less than six times, seeing Toy Story there for the first time. Granted I remember the trip to the theater to see that more than I remember the full movie, but it’s the memories that brought me back to who I was in those days, who I still am, who I occasionally lose sight of when the bills seem too expensive or the days seem too short.

My experiences really inspired me to think about my life and who I am, and it hit me that I owe so much of my own life to where I came from. I can pinpoint so much of Tazewell and the surrounding areas that played crucial parts in helping create the man I am today. Most importantly I can look back at that life and remember the things that led to me being a writer, a lover of literature, a lover of music, a lover of family and laughter and happiness. Those things that I hold dear, the things that I was always sure would get me out of that small town life, are things that I can directly attribute to being part of that very thing. If I hadn’t had Larry Hypes as a teacher in high school I may not have such a love of “The Great Gatsby.” If I hadn’t had Jill Vogel (then Rhudy) as a teacher, I may not have been given the right nudge toward my writing. If I hadn’t had the friends I did, I may not have the lust for life that lets me know waking up in the morning is one of the most crucial and rewarding things I can do.

My point is that sometimes in life we have to look back on our past to appreciate where we are in the present, and remind us where we want to go in the future. Life is a huge and multi-faceted thing. Sometimes you’re on the top, sometimes you aren’t. Sometimes you’re the bug and sometimes you’re the windshield. But no matter where you are or where you go, there are memories that you hold dear that keep you going when times are tough. The older I get, the more I appreciate the place I came from. I told myself for years that I wanted nothing more than to get out of the town and never look back, but now I’m more than grateful for the things it gave me, for the person it made me. More importantly I’m beyond thankful to God for putting me there and giving me the life I’ve had.

As my ten year high school reunion grows nearer, I realize a part of me has been worried of where I will be at that time in my life. Often in popular culture we see references to high school reunions that indicate it should be little more than a one-up contest. Who got old? Who got fat? Who went to jail? Who has kids? Is anyone famous? Naturally, that worries me. As someone who has been writing for more than a decade I always expected to be able to walk into that reunion with a novel or two under my belt, maybe even be able to walk into the school library and find my own title on the shelves. So far that hasn’t happened. I’m still plugging away, blogging and writing, publishing when I can. I’ve got a couple of novels complete, but for one reason or another I haven’t pushed them out to publishers yet. Maybe it’s because I’ve been afraid of NOT being able to have the pleasure of putting that on my resume for anyone interested in seeing what Damean Mathews is up to. Yesterday showed me how wasteful that is. When I go back to that place and see all the people I grew up with again, I’ll going with some amazing memories to share with everyone. Sure, there will hopefully be a book or two along for the ride, but those things won’t be what makes me who I am. It’s the love and the memories I have and the ones I continue to make that contribute to who I will become.

I fully believe – and have since I first seriously put pen to paper – that God put me on this earth to write. I have stories in me that are bigger than even I understand, and I know that this is my purpose. Seeing the things that helped inspire my writing, visiting my old haunts where I used to write for hours, and seeing the places that I still associate with some of my favorite memories really showed me that I have a lot left to do to get where I want to be in that aspect. But it also showed me that my dreams have never been more attainable. I’m a hard-working, fully dedicated man with a passion and a destiny, and I see that now more than ever. The dedication and determination that helped put me through the tough times in my life were reignited with a fiery passion in those moments, and I know now that I can’t rest until I make it happen. And it’s all because I took the time to stop and revisit the past.

If you’re having a hard time in life, feeling a little lost, or even if you’re on top of the game and loving every aspect of your life, take the time to stop and revisit where you came from. Step out of your present and leap into the memories of the past. See what you saw before, put yourself in the shoes of the person you used to be and see if you’ve accomplished what you intended. See if there is anything you can do to be be truer to yourself. There’s nothing like a blast from the past to remind you what you want for your future. Looking back I would probably take the time to breathe in the night air more often, enjoy the simple things. I would spend a few more hours on the front porch, take the time to throw a few extra logs on the bonfire and ride out the sunrise one more time. I wouldn’t complain so much at the slow speed of things in town. Life will be speeding up plenty soon enough.

Have you revisited your past? When was the last time you rode through the town you grew up in? What has changed? What did you learn? I look forward to seeing if this has happened to anyone else, and if you’re out there reading this and you feel like you need a nudge to push you in the right direction in your life, I suggest taking a step backward and looking where you were and using that knowledge to help you take a step forward and go where you want to be. Trust me, it’s worth it.

I’d like to say a special thanks to my amazing friends and my awesome family who have helped me be the man I am today. I know I sometimes let the rough patches in life make me step back from my purpose, but I think now I’ve got a great way to combat that. Thank you all for your support through the years, and thank you for helping me build the life I have, and the life I’m continuously working toward.

 

My Grandfather

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

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. But it’s hard 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’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.

Bridge to Terabithia

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

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

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

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.

It Matters

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 4 Comments

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.

August Book Announcement

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

Hey there friends and fans! I hope August has treated you all fairly so far. It’s been a bit of a roller coaster month already for me, but hopefully things will climb to the top and stay there! As you all know, I am a HUGE Stephen King fan, so the fact that two King movies are hitting theaters in the next month is just making me absolutely giddy.

In light of that, I have decided that August’s book is going to be the absolute classic “IT”. This has been one of my favorite books since I first started reading it in third grade – which I have come to accept is very nearly 20 years ago, no matter how much it sucks to admit it. I love the weight within the book and the struggle these individuals go through, so I am immensely excited to do this book for my review. Hopefully this will give everyone a refresher course on the novel before the Sept. 8 release date of the first part of the movie, too!

Now, I’m aware this is a BEAST of a book, coming in at over 1,000 pages, so don’t hate me for doing this. It’s such a good book, and a very fast read, and it is more than worth taking the time to check it out, either the first time or as a refresher course. I hope you all enjoy the novel as much as I do, and I absolutely can’t wait to have the discussion!!

On other notes, I have been really enjoying my return to Wattpad. In not quite two weeks you guys have helped me get so many reads that I’ve placed as high as #626 in Wattpad’s horror category. Of the amount of authors on the site, that’s pretty cool! I appreciate all of the reads and all of the votes and I hope you’ll all check out both “The Dollhouse,” my new horror story or “Rain,” my detective-style noir piece. If you’re interested, you can find my Wattpad profile here; https://www.wattpad.com/user/DameanMathews.

There you go, folks! Look for the review to go up on or around the 31st, so there’s plenty of time to read! Let’s dive into “IT,” read some Wattpad and remember – we all float!

Gwendy’s Button Box

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

This story is a perfect example of the amazing nature of King. He and Chizmar created a tale that is just phenomenal. The possibilities are endless with the concept they presented here, and I would LOVE to see it come back in a more lengthy work from either or both of them. I was excited to pick the novella up and I tore through it in a matter of hours. It was a very smooth and lively read that kept me guessing and kept me captivated.

Gwendy Peterson recieves this strange box from a strange man who seems to be something a little more than human – classic King characterization. I love that she just followed through with the situation, even though she questioned everything that was happening, she literally did the exact opposite of what she should have done when approached by a strange man who says he’s had his eye on her – right down to literally taking chocolate from a stranger. I loved seeing her questioning her actions and what is going on around her, but, like Pandora’s own secret-filled box, she can’t resist.

I liked the idea that this box, like many inanimate objects in King’s works, has a greater power over her life and over reality itself. Gwendy’s whole life is changed one small bit at a time. She starts to lose weight, she grows up to be a knockout, her parents stop drinking and those people who disrespect her seem to quickly get theirs. She pulls her levers and gets her silver dollars and her candy, and she avoids the buttons at all costs – until she doesn’t. The concept of a random strange box out there that contains the power to cause some sort of devastating natural disaster to any part of the world – or the whole thing – with just the push of a button is mesmerizing and terrifying. Gwendy handles that with a similar grain of disbelief, which leads to her pushing the red button for the first time.

I really loved the way the authors made the Jim Jones massacre a direct result of this curiosity. King is great at including actual historical events in his works, especially in the last ten years or so. She pushes the button after careful consideration, choosing a part of the world that was very sparsely populated just to see if it really did blow everything up. The next day she sees the story of Jones’ cult and its mass murder/suicide. The fact that King and Chizmar used this tragedy as a way to explain the power of the box was awesome to me, suggesting almost that the box itself had the power to make people go completely insane and do the most asinine things imaginable (an idea later supported by green teeth killing her boyfriend). I was interested in reading of Gwendy’s life after she accepted the true nature of the box. She continued to be affected by whatever power the box had, and she respected and feared it more than ever, not pushing the buttons again until she had to and even weaning herself off of the candy and trying to let the box be just a thing she rarely thought about.

I was a bit surprised at the way the book wrapped up after the box got its way, by causing the murder of the boy Gwendy loved. In regards to that event; I felt almost like it was like the box was telling her that she belonged to it as much as it to her, and it would not tolerate her indifference anymore. The boy who  had started making fun of her – whom the box sent on a terrible course in life – broke into her home and waited on her to come back. When she did Gwendy’s boyfriend fought to keep her safe until the box presented itself to the attacker. Gwendy gets to see the box that has sent her on this course be the very tool that takes her happiness from her. It definitely breaks something inside of her. I loved the fact that she used the red button to both kill the boy and make his body disappear. It was an insanely creative way to bring home the literal “this button will get you whatever you want” element. From this point on, though, I felt like the end was a bit rushed. We got some vague descriptions of Gwendy’s life and pursuits after those events, and then the man in black was there to take the box and be on his way.

I really enjoyed the story. I felt a lot of familiar vibes, with the nature of it reminding me a lot of King works like “From a Buick 8,” “11/22/63″and things in that vein. I love the idea that there are beings out there, sometimes with devices, sometimes without, who are charged with watching over the world and being the door between dimensions or timelines. That element has always fascinated me, so this story is definitely one of my new favorites.

That being said, the only real complaint I had was, as I mentioned, it was a bit short and the end came a bit quickly. I think it could have been fleshed out and become more novel-length, but at the same time it would really be a lot of the same thing if that were the case. Gwendy loves the box, it loves her, she forgets the box, it tortures her, etc… I would have liked to se what would have happened if she actually tried to get rid of it or destroy it. Would it have retaliated against her personally, killing or hurting her, or would it have gone after someone she loved because she was its designated protector? So many questions… I do think I would have gone a little more in depth in her life post box-murder, but that’s just me. I would like a few more words about what happened to her after, too. And, for that matter, how was she chosen? Who is the man who gave and took the box? Did he make the box or is he likewise charged with its protection? If it’s the latter, why does he give it to others to protect? I can ask questions all day, but the bottom line is this; the book was great, and I will remain somewhat hopeful for a related tale.

What did you guys think? Did you, like me, find yourself enthralled with the mysteries of the box and what it can do? What do you think of stories like this in general? If you have any suggestions of works in a similar vein, please share them. It’s right up my alley.

As always, make your comments on what you’d like to see and discuss next. I look forward to hearing what everyone likes to read, so it’s always fun for me! Also, in case you  haven’t been keeping up or need a reminder; I’ve returned to Wattpad! I’ve been using the free service to present a horror story that I’ve wanted to write for a while and to experiment with a noir detective fiction tale that I’ve gotten a lot of good feedback from. I’d love it if you guys would check any of my Wattpad works out. Don’t forget to comment and vote on the stories so they can be exposed to more readers. Check it all out here (https://www.wattpad.com/user/DameanMathews)

I hope you enjoyed the book, and I hope you’re enjoying the book club. If you have any other ideas for what sort of content you’d like to see on the blog, let me know about that, too! I’m here for you guys and I want to make sure you get what you need and want! have a great rest of July and look for my August announcement in the general vicinity of the 2nd or 3rd!

Return to Wattpad!

/ Damean Mathews, Author / 2 Comments

Hey there friends and fans, I just wanted to post this update to let you all know that I have finally made my return to Wattpad! I haven’t been on the site for more than a year, but I blew the dust off yesterday and returned to my profile. I haven’t looked into working on my old stories just yet, but instead started a brand new piece! I’m very excited about the work and I would love for you all to read it! I don’t know if any of you are involved in Wattpad, but if you are I want to connect with you there, as well, so make sure you either follow me or post your username so I can follow you!

I know that Wattpad has produced some of the world’s bestsellers (looking at you Grey….) so I’m excited to see the levels of talent that exist on the site. Who do you all follow on there? Is there a writer who has blown your mind with their Wattpad works? Inquiring minds want to know!

Without further ado, I’m going to share my story description and my username (with a link) so you can all get connected!

My username is “DameanMathews” and my story is called “The Dollhouse.” It’s an idea I had earlier this year and I’m beyond excited to get to publish it in this way. It really reminds me of the old serial novels that people used to wait eagerly for each week. Very Dickens-esque… Anyway, here’s the decription;

After moving his family to a new town 500 miles from anyone they know a struggling father stumbles across the perfect gift for his depressed daughter. Shortly after the discovery strange things start happening in the McKinrow house. But it can’t be anything serious…. can it?

https://www.wattpad.com/user/DameanMathews

Share with me and share this post with anyone and everyone you know who uses Wattpad!

Make it Natural

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

As I’ve written about before, life can very easily get in the way of our crafts at times. Writing is a huge part of my life and, in essence, is literally who I am. So it should be the easiest thing in the world to belt out page after page day in and day out, right? Unfortunately that isn’t the case. With a full time job, a crazy and unpredictable schedule, and family that lives an hour away, life is very busy these days. So busy that I have had the unfortunate displeasure of seeing my writing dwindle in the past month or so.

I wake up each  morning and tell myself that I’ll write x amount of pages today, or I’ll spend x amount of time writing today- no matter what. How often do you think that happens? Not nearly as much as I’d like. I hate to admit it, but the most important things I’ve written in the last two weeks have been the short story I shared in a previous post and what I consider a fun twist in Maverip. And it hurts! I want to write more, and I know it’s my own responsibility to make it happen. That’s what I wanted to talk about today.

I read an article recently on the topic of time and it said the most cliche, blatant and helpful thing possible. More or less, it asserted that,  if you want to be a writer you have to do only one thing: write! Of course that’s painfully obvious, but it was a reminder. The article went on to enforce the idea that, no matter what is going on in life, you can make time for your writing – or any other craft, of course.

Yes, life crowds around us and responsibility sets in, but how much time do we spend watching TV or playing with our smart phones? How many hours in a week do we waste performing mindless tasks that take away from our lives?

That’s not to say we should abandon these things altogether, not at all. But, and I know this is true for me, if we’ve been called to write or produce any sort of art, then we have to do what it takes to make sure that we do it. I have said it before, and I’ll say it again; I was created to be a writer.  God put me on this earth to be an author, to produce written works unlike any other (not to sound too full of myself). So why should I allow life to take that from me? Why should any of us?

We shouldn’t! We are the people in charge of our lives. We have complete control over what we do, how we spend our time and how we use our gifts. Granted, that doesn’t exactly extend to when or how inspiration hits, but that’s a story all of its own. We, as artists, need to take control of our lives, assert ourselves against the mundane things that threaten to pull us away from our purpose.

We all know that every little bit of inspiration can lead to the next 30 chapters of a book, or our next Monet-esque masterpiece. So why not make it happen? One thing the article I mentioned pushed was that sometimes writing doesn’t come easy. Some days you can sit down and write a dozen chapters without blinking, but other days its hard to get a sentence to come out.  But WE HAVE TO KEEP TRYING.

Some people will tell you that you shouldn’t force it. You shouldn’t push the writing or the craft. When it’s ready it’ll come. That’s crap. I’ve told you all before; it’s yours. You are in the care of it. You have the unique pleasure of cultivating this lovely bit of art, whatever form it is in, and you have to take the time to make it happen. So that’s my advice for today, friends and fans.

It gets hard sometimes, it does, but there is not another other person on the planet who can do what you can do with your ideas. There’s no one who can produce the same thing you can. There is no one who can do it for you. So my challenge to each of you is this; take one hour a day for yourself.

No matter what else you have going on in your life, take an hour every single day for yourself,  for your craft. If you’re pressed for time, write in those few minutes between appointments. Jot down a sentence here and there, while you’re waiting on your coffee, while you’re on hold during a phone call with those people who get paid for wasting our time, whenever. Make it happen.

I read somewhere once that it only takes 21 days to form a habit. Three weeks to create an automatic repeated motion, an action that you literally don’t have to think about anymore. It becomes NATURAL. So try it. Find that hour every day and make it happen. Take an hour of your own time back and dedicate it to the gifts you have been given. You won’t be doing it alone, by any means. I’ll be doing it, too. Try this for one whole month and see what difference it makes for you. Does it become a habit? Does it open the floodgates from 8-9 p.m. every night? Do you find yourself anticipating the coming hour? Keep me posted! Of course, I’m not saying limit yourself to one hour – that time frame is a minimum! I’m hoping that this will literally open the doors and inspire you to be able to reclaim your craft in the best possible way. So let’s do it. Let’s take back our gifts, our skills, our crafts, our purpose. Let’s make it as NATURAL as it should be.

Starting today, take an hour for yourself. Write, paint, draw, do whatever it is that makes you happy, and don’t accept anything less any more. I’m certain you’ll notice a difference in yourself, and I’m excited to hear all about it!  Keep me posted in the comments, or send me a private message and let’s take back our lives! Remember to read “Gwendy’s Button Box” for the July review and keep your eyes open for the post in a couple of weeks!

New book, happy holiday

/ Damean Mathews, Author / Leave a comment

I hope everyone in the states had an awesome Independence Day yesterday! Naturally, for the rest of you, I hope it was a great Tuesday, as well. I spent my day catching up on Doctor Who and writing for the most part. It was quite pleasant. I wanted to take the time to thank everyone for reading my posts and participating recently. I’m working on some interesting pieces and still plan to try and have Maverip ready for beta readers by the end of August. It’s a rough go, and I’ve actually decided that, rather than handwriting first and then transcribing, I’m just going to type what’s left. This is as much a safety measure as a time saver.

That decision is somewhat bittersweet. Some of you know that when I started writing I wrote everything by hand, no matter what. For years that’s how I handled myself. I would write by hand for days, then type up what I’d written. That served as a sort of semi-editing process along the way, but it has been very slow going. Admittedly, I also have had dreams of leaving my original manuscripts for my children to look at someday – although some would argue that no one could read it anyway. I can still do that with everything leading up to this current point, but the rest may be just have to be typed so I can cut back on time and get my novel to a publisher by Halloween! Of course, that would be the perfect time to begin the publishing process on a horror novel, but I digress.  As always, anyone interested in being a beta reader for an modern, non-sparkly vampire novel please contact me and I’ll get everything set up!

But anyway, on to what we’re here for; July’s book selection! I decided to go with another new release with this month’s pick. Since the Summer is going strong, I’ve chosen a bit of a short work that promises to be really awesome. This month’s read will be “Gwendy’s Button Box,” by Richard Chizmar and Stephen King. It was released last month and has plenty of good reviews. Being a work even just partially created by King, I’m sure it will be an awesome piece. I’ll plan to post my review around July 26 or 27. I look very forward to discussing this piece with everyone and hope you enjoy your July!!