Sex and Books

Ok I have to ask, what is up with all this sexual crap in books these days.  I mean yeah I completely understand the whole concept that sex sells but what is happening now is getting silly.  You pick up a “romance” today and I can pull open any misc page and find some kind of sexual action of reference.  It is fine to have a little sex in your story but does it have to consume the whole entire plot?  I look at some of these authors who I once admired as a reader and writer and see where their series have gone and wonder what the hell happened. 

I dont think I need to mention any names through their popularity they are kind of obvious.  But just for example, Laurell K Hamilton, years ago I was completely immersed in her books I mean completely addicted, aside from a couple men whining here and there her stories were superb.  Because there was excellent plots and intriguing mythos and action.  Then in the middle of her series she goes sex crazed and her books become literary porn.  There are so many people following suit these days I just wonder has everyone lost the ability to write that they need so much filler. 

What happened to true Romance you know the anticipation of the bond the small touches and make your blood boil and those small embarrassed looks and smiles that warm your heart.  What happened to that?  What about making the reader use their imagination, I mean I am all for a well done sex scene in the right place but I dont want to be spoon fed I want to use my imagination to fill in those much-needed gaps, thats what fuels the sexual engine in the reader. 

Yes I will say it those scenes are put in as part of the plot BUT they are also put in get the reader off, thats the elephant in the room that everyone knows but wont admit.  But do we need this on every chapter in every story, of course not.  I know there are some really good romances out there but in light of popular fiction everything is quickly shifting to that land of tongues and sweaty grinding flesh. 

We are now broaching on the fall of Rome the corrupted era of the human heart, hopefully one day we will revert back where those little demure touches and delightful whispers that entice us so strongly will be embraced by the masses again.

That is my rant for the day….

‘On Writing’ and the world there after.

It is a most amusing thing when you find a book that seems to be so in tune to exactly what you have been going through that it feels like your not the only one going through it.  That is similar with so many situations when hard times hit people feel like they are so alone in their own world that when they hear others stories it is like a small beacon of hope is released.  I come from five generations of writers, my father writes poetry but from my grandfather on back everyone has written fiction. 

 The amazing thing is as much as my heritage is about writing there was and never has been anyone I could really talk too about it. I have always felt alone in this endeavor the lack of support from everyone and the fact that no one reads fiction  in my family anyway, has always made me feel lost in my endeavor to write.  Thus I did anyway and through the years have crafted some somewhat interesting things. 

I recently went through a bit of a breakdown a couple months ago it was one of those pivotal moments where you really need to either shit or get off the pot.  I wrote about fifty pages in my state of madness thirty of which I would call potentially keepable.  But then as I pulled out from the brink, I lost it.  I dont know what happened, all I did know was  inspiration was like an on and off switch with me and some sadistic son of a bitch spirit was the one in control. 

I recently read a book again called On Writing, A memoir of the craft. By Stephen King.  Now Mr King has always been hit or miss for me sometimes I will absolutely love his work and other times I dont quite understand it.  But this book On Writing the first half of the book was about the man and his journey into the craft of writing.  It was actually very funny and immensely enjoyable.  But then when he started delving into the darker days of his life some of his stories started to make much more sense.  Take for instance Misery, It was a book about an author held hostage by his biggest fan and forced to write a novel for her and she went to every length to keep him unable to escape.  The book when I read it was different, I thought it was an interesting concept, but I felt he was trying to say more. 

Unfortunately I just couldnt get what he was trying to say.  So I put it away and it collected dust for years and years with the rest of my eclectic collection.  Upon reading On Writing he divulged a severe addiction problem, then it hit me like a friggen anvil I literally shouted out “HOLY SHIT THATS WHAT HE MEANT! IT WAS A METAPHOR”  it was absolutely brilliant the addiction was the fan and the author was him.  Thus in the next two days (last weekend) I read Misery from cover to cover.

So I read this on writing book for the second time and realize how many similarities in doubt and questions we had in common.  I felt as a writer I was alone completely to try to figure this shit out for myself and some stuff I did and others I didnt.  I found that most authors are not generous with even the slightest hint of advice about the craft.  I think it is because they are self conscious about themselves and dont want anyone who might be possibly better to get anywhere.  It is among many things a competition, no matter what genre or writing style most authors feel that and let it cloud their judgement in the future of the writing craft. 

Although Stephen King has shown me that even the most successful author is humble in so many ways, maybe it comes with age or maybe it is just the hippie spirit inside.  I have seen interviews with him speaking of the treasures of horror and many other things and feel that in some odd way we are kindred spirits.  One of may pieces of advice he has given was to write whenever you can.  I used to sit down and wrack my brain until the soft tissue was the consistency of paper mache goo trying to force myself to write with intensity and strength.  I used to come out emotionally drained and unable to write for days after, I guess it was the masochist inside that was speaking to me.   I realize now I dont have to do that just sitting down and doing the act of writing whenever I can doing what ever I can is the best way to perfect the craft and thus I will. 

I have many projects I have a very successful forum with a story that can span volumes and characters of every mental shape and size.  I also have a few people I write with somewhat normally, they are a good outlet and help me wet my palate controlling my urge to come out with the most intense story is going to be hard.  But the realization that you can challenge yourself and not sacrifice your mental sanity is finally starting to sink in.

I have those who support me as it is said every great writer needs that one person behind them pushing them every step of the way.  Well that person or persons have their hands full with me cause I am a mess, loveable most times but still a mess. It was stated in this book that a person should start off writing a 1000 words a day thats roughly a page or so.  I never really knew how long that took but today I do because this post is now 100o words long. 

I do want to thank Stephen King for helping me shed this malicious writers block and help me understand that there are always going to be immense obstacles but there are always ways to get around them..

My Dad…

I have been going through another one of these lulls in my writing where I just cant find inspiration so I thought I would go down a different track today and talk about someone who both means a great deal to me and is one of the people who gave me the imagination I have today.  My Dad..

When my sisters and brother and I were kids Dad used to tell us stories.  Now these were not documented stories nor did they consist of prethought.  They were what I call on the fly stories with one desired effect, to scare the hell out of us..  Driving down a dark and dreary road we crossed over a covered bridge and dad told us this story about this cursed headless chicken they scratched the eyes out of little children.  Over the course of five miles he relayed this story with picturesque divinity and left us all shaking in our seats until we got to the safety of our home.  And every time I cross that bridge I still remember the story of the headless chicken and its cursed talons.

Then one day we were walking in the woods, the wind was blowing and a whistling sound caught the air, my dad stopped and gave me this concerned look and told us the story about the willo of the whisp.  Now yes there is a mythology about such things but not like what my father told us.  These were spirits in the woods that consisted of witches that once lived on the property hundreds of years ago and every time the wind blew they came out looking for children to steal away to their underground caves and eat them.  Ofcourse there was more to it then that but that was the jist.

My father used anything he could come up with to scare us, and people wonder why I love horror so much..lol  There was one thing he used from television that he used to scare me personally.  Some of you may remember the Twilight Zone not the masterful ones of old but the ones they had in the eighties.  There was one episode called The Shadow Man about a dark figure who lived under this boys bed and protected him but would go out and kill other children.  The guys voice and the end of the episode scared the shit out of me.  Only being about six or seven children see things so much differently my dad knew I was scared shitless of this dark figure and one night he used it.  We had this old storage building that was once a long time ago a chicken house my dad went out one night and ofcourse I tagged along.  The building was about fifty yards or so from the house it was dark and walking through we heard a sound.  My dad said “It sounds like the shadow man we should hurry”  So he grabbed whatever he needed and we headed out, he looked back and then said “I SEE HIM” and he took off running to the porch.  I will be honest with ya all I think I crapped myself a little I freaked out and took off as fast as my little legs could carry me.  Ofcourse dad left me in the dust and even to this day I look over my shoulder when walking in the dark..

I look back and realize these stories are silly but it was the imagination and the fantastically mesmerizing tone of his voice that captivated both my attention and imagination that made these stories memorable.  Maybe one day I will write them out and see where it goes.  I do love my dad for everything he has given me he has been my biggest inspiration as a child, from the time he showed me my first monster movie to the delights of some of these stories.  Such immeasurable gifts that will never be wasted…

I love you..

I have never heard the words I love you whispered in my ear.  Maybe it was that wishful thinking that has me so disillusioned and disappointed that after all these years I have yet to hear those words.  I have had lost loves, and people who have loved me for who they wanted me to be but in the truest sense of the word I still havent found it.  The thought of waking up next to, and cradling her in my arms and feeling that tingle of exhilaration every time my eyes lay on her could possibly be all a dream, but it is one I adore. 

Can you truly put into words what love really means to you?  I am not sure anyone really can express the boldest feeling of love personified within the human soul.  I know I would never try.  I hope one day I feel that tingle behind my ear and hear those words I am dieing for.

I have been asked on many occasions whether I am married or have any children of my own and the answer always stays the same.  “No I am not, I am still waiting for the right one, you know someone who can put up with me and love me for all my misgivings”.  More than not they ask me, what if she never comes?  and I kindly respond “Then I shall live on and watch the hourglass of time drift during my travels.”  I will not settle nor will I let time scare me into a believing love is anywhere I look. 

I have seen love before once or even twice it is rare find indeed.  Watching it delivers such mixed emotions, a whirlwind of happiness, warmth and envy take over.  But I typically on those rare occasions walk away smiling because love just does that to you.  Whether it lays within you or simply observing, it can put a smile on even the saddest face.

I am picky, I have been told this by many but I dont see it as they say it.  Their tone expresses it as a sickness a fatalistic one that poisons the soul and corrupts the mind.  I see  it as a gift for if I was to given in to the first pretty face that came my way I would be no better than those who expresses those two words “I do” so easily only to be cursed by them later. 

One day I will say those words with the most passionate luster, and that person will know they are not just words spoken but the opening of my heart and unveiling of my soul.

(this is just one of many musings the night affords me while staring at the starry sky)

Short Story for School..

We had to write a short story for this weeks assignment and I thought I would share what I came up with.. Sometimes I have to say that Dreams are Wonderful.. Hope you all enjoy!

 

It had been months of searching that drove me here; I would have never thought that my travels would take me into the bowels of London.  It was 1865 and my quest was to find the Hellfire club, it was a society under the veil of shadow that held the most powerful minds of the known world.  I Thomas Hayden would not be denied my holy grail.

 Mist poured up through the damp cobblestone streets, the community of Mayfair lay in utter desolation.  A place full of the desperate and depraved lingered upon every corner.  The stench of waste hung in the moist air like a poisonous cloud, I endured, for here among the wreckage lay the revelations I had been searching for.  Upon the corner of Mayfair and Hyde park sit a brothel that the rich come to dip their palate in the bowl of sin without tainting the sanctity of their name.  It was here Madam Catharine agreed to see me, we have met before.   Three slow knocks and two more after a mere moment was the sign of suitor wanting admission.  Catherine answered wearing a most breathtaking dress of emerald; it complimented the divinity of her pale skin and bronze hair.  I was mesmerized yet fought the urges any man would have and took her hand gracing her with the reverence of a queen.  “Ah Thomas my dear, please come in I have been expecting you, worry not we are alone tonight.”

Stepping up the house steeped in darkness flickered with lit sconces; the smell of perfume was overwhelming, covering the smell of shameful sin that saturated the walls.  As she led me through the halls and rooms we ended our small yet exhilarating journey in what looked like a tea room.  Lit with lights that were brighter than life the room was laid out with perfection, flawless doilies lay upon the table I was guided too.  “Please Thomas don’t look so surprised, this is my little piece of civilization among the uncivilized.”      It was then the questions started to come, as entranced as I was with the paradox that lay before me my quest brought me here for a reason. 

“So Ms Catherine you have sent word to me that you know something about the Hellfire myth.”  She looked at me with the eyes of a well fed wolf, betraying the natural look of innocence that always became her.  “Thomas my dear it is no myth, this group meets not far outside the city.  I know you well Thomas that’s why I took the liberty of talking to Sir Frances Dashwood, he said he would meet you at St. Peters Church tomorrow night.  I heed you warning though my dear Thomas this group deals in many dangerous things.  I would keep your meeting short.”  She stared at me for a moment as if I were a spectacle.  “I would hate to see you harmed”.  An unquenchable chill coursed through my spine, as if fate was warning me.

The night afforded me very little sleep, the excitement and faint looming horror swirled within.  The day quickly passed blissfully uneventful.  As the sun fell I picked up my coat and hat, looking at myself in the mirror my black hair in perfect disarray, my black eyes fearfully unaware of exactly what would greet me this evening.  I admitted to myself that night, I was over my head.  But my curiosity had no bounds and sating it was my only option.  St. Peters church was an hour out of London sitting on top of a hill that looked over many villages.  While traversing up this mountainous hill I saw the chaotic flickers of village flame, it was like the sky had fallen and the stars lay at our feet.  “Thomas?”  A voice came from the darkness.  “Come Thomas if you wish to see who we are you do as I say, no questions, no speaking”

All I could do was nod, I followed him into the church, he wore a mask of cloth.  “We must blindfold you for the entrance is concealed”  I was blinded, and guided down for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the stone walls I assumed we were underground but the turns and corridors were vast.  Feeling the dirt shuffle under my feet, having walked easily a mile we finally stopped.  I was met by an entrance that looked like the bowels of hell.  “Welcome, come he is waiting for you.”  The deep cryptic voice echoed through the cave there were five members guiding me, all masked and all silent.  My blood chilled with fear.  We entered a large room, the men kneeled and I was left by all but one.  “Father we hope you accept this able body and grant us the gifts of the deep.”  With that I was left alone; at least that’s what I thought.  As my eyes adjusted to the depths, I saw a figure, it was there in the shadows, someone I could not identify yet somehow I knew I was in great danger. 

“So you are Thomas, I have heard much about you.  I am going to grant you a choice that my followers never had.”

The man did not reveal himself and I had a feeling, life as I knew it would be no more…

Writing and the enemy from within

Writing for me has always been a sanctuary.  It allows me to go to different times and play a part of a patron that has a completely different personality and does things that I only wish I could do.  Lately I have been working on this new book project and I realized a couple things.  First I have forgotten how hard it is to write an extensive story that covers a century of history creating characters with personalities so far from my own.  It is fun yet hard as hell. 

Secondly I have had many people who tell me I write well or great and that I have this wonderful gift with the written word.  No one I know had ever talked down about my writing, well no-one worth mentioning anyway.  But what it really comes down too is what I feel about the writing I do.  You know someone can have a thousand people tell them that they are a great talent but it is really what the person thinks of themselves that is everything.  I have always found that to be a most astounding  thing that we are our greatest critic and greatest motivator and sometimes one cancels out the other one. Then you get nowhere. 

I was reading some work I did on am online forum I write in and sat there and thought “Man did I write that?”  I was literally taken back by some of these personalities I had written for, how they were so different and flowed so well.  Then I turned around and looked tried to write and just couldnt, I was intimidated and spooked by my own writing..lol I know this sounds strange and I am in no way tooting my own horn it is just a way of perception that has really freaked me out a bit.  As proud as I am about the things I have done, I sometimes believe them to be my worst enemy.

Have any of you had this problem?

The true definition of Friendship…

“You know there are people that come in and out of your life”  Thats a phrase I have used allot in my time on here and offline and in general conversation it is not a typical start to things I say but when your being reflective I think it is a damn good start.

Anyway during my time off you know you really get to know who your friends are and that becomes more and more obvious as we get older.  These people I know have been nothing but generous with their time and their ears, just being there was simply amazing sometimes I truly dont take in consideration how lucky I am to have them in my life.  I got numerous phone calls and emails just simply asking one question, “are you ok?” 

You know I love these people, they accept me for everything I mean hell I know I can be a prick, a smartass, extremely defiant and gets unnerved so easily.  These people accept me for who I am what decisions I make and know eventually I will get over whatever bitch ass mood I am in and continue on without any further rehashing.  I am lucky and blessed to have these people in my life.  I will not mention any names but there are four people and they are all women and amazingly enough I have not scared any of them off.  Could it be I am that kick ass.. YEAH RIGHT!..lol

These people know who they are and let me just say thank you so much I love you all more then words can say.  You all standing by me during the good the bad and the ugly just proves that genuine friendship really and truly does exist.  Believe me you are all a testiment to this it is a rare gem and I am blessed to be surrounded by it.

A Dedication…

You know it isnt until something passes on that you really appreciate it for what it was.  One of my dogs passed away yesterday it was the one female out of four bully dogs.  She was a mother of two and forever the caretaker.  You know I think back on her and all those little things she used to do that may annoy people always comes back to be some of the fondest memories.  She had a way about her where she could sneak in under your arm without you knowing it. 

I remember when she came to the house for the first time, she was this peppy little puppy that just dominated everything even the love and affection of her owners.  Her husband Mugsy the stoic and quiet one would just sit there while Macey took charge of the house in dramatic fashion.  The way I see it she was in people lingo a diva, that sounds so funny talking about a bulldog being that way.  She was beautiful. 

When I woke up this morning my ritual changed, typically I would eat and upon the first couple bites of breakfast I would feel her head on my knee wanting to go out.  Then her paw would come up and rest on my lap until I petted her.  This morning felt empty, and even though I am thankful she went quietly it truly doesnt fill the emptiness every time I look at certain places in the house.  This is typically why I dont have pets, the hurt is just simply unbearable.

But thinking back I am thankful that she was in my life I love her to death and always will.  I know she is blessing the angels with her spunk and love.  To you my dear Macey girl, I have and will always love you, may you rest in peace and win over the heavens above…

Dedicated to Macey Stuckey 2001 – 2009

Getting there and then some

Things are finally starting to pick up a little.  This weekend was probably the most productive one I have had in the past month.  I made pickles, vinegar and washing detergent as well as painted my dining room and started trimming the inside of the house.  I think in the long run that has been my saving grace is just trying to keep myself busy.

This is my third week offline and I have to say that it has been awesome.  There are no voices in my head bitching and moaning at me nor is there the stress of playing a fantasy game that is suppose to reduce stress.  So the question I ask myself is should I go back to it because believe it or not I did enjoy it at one point and time.  Well I am thinking probably not, aside from writing with a couple people I am done.  I have to say I am much better off without it, simply because I was really wasting my potential.  During my time off I have written over fifty pages for the current novel I am working on and its been great.  I am really loving this story, the characters are so different with personality and attitude and more than anything else I love them all.  The one person who is privy to the ins and outs of this story has always told me that these characters would make excellent book characters and she is right.  I am thinking it is going to branch out into a trilogy and even if it never gets published at least I will have the knowledge that this epic is completed.

I do want to take a moment to thank those of you who wrote me and gave me support during my time of need, I cant tell you how wonderful it was to hear some of your stories and some of your questions.  I know some of you really wanted to know what I was thinking when I was going through all that.  I will most definitely write it out one day, as personal as it is if it helps one person get through that feeling and know they are not alone then it is well worth opening up.  Thanks again everyone, I will talk to you all soon.

Peaceful Pastures..

You know it is interesting what isolating yourself from the general populace can do for you after a while.  I have basically unplugged myself from on-line communication with people for a week now and have cut much communication off from everyone else as well.  This is something I desperately needed I had many worried including myself, I think the mind can only take so much and when you don’t have an outlet for those stressers then one day something pops.  One of my biggest problems is I internalize everything, typically I have to be bubbling over before I explode on anyone which is never good..lol

This week has been more of a mental rest week, I have done my best to shut my brain down and for the most part it has worked.  I really dont miss being online, I mean I miss some of the people ofcourse but over all the internet can be addictive and I have been hooked for years.  Am I completely well and ready to get back into the thick of things, not by a long shot.. But I see that ray of hope through life and some people, thats what I am grasping on too.  Although I have to say one thing that I know to be true, in a situation like this you definately find who your true friends are and who are just lip servicing peckers.  So I am currently making some decisions on the things I will be taking on and the things I will be giving up.  I think all in all things are going to be alright as long as I am able to rationlize things..

It is amazing through how creativity can hit you when your in rest mode.  Typically when I am in bed about to go to sleep is my inspiration time.  I watch the night sky through my bedroom window and let my mind go blank.  The sky was stunning last night, the moon had just started coming off its full cycle beginning to once again drift into nothingness.  But the stars, they were still amazingly brilliant, twinkling constellations brought on moments of contimiplation about ideas that have been burrowing into my brain for what seems like an eternity.  The past three nights have been the same, it was like a cloud lifted and I could see again and I could only feel one thing and that was freedom!  So I wrote down some interesting dreams I had and even wrote a chapter of a book that one person in particular has been badgering me to write.  It just seemed like for that hour I was just where I was suppose to be in the universe. 

I do have to say that one badgering voice has been a godsend to me during this time.  She is a phenomenal writer, and we have written together for the past two years creating some awesome stories.  None based on sex and romance but just plot intensity and deviant personalities it has been a most illuminating experience one that I have and will always cherish.  Basically in so many words she gave me her support and said the stories can wait, for  a month or even six.  Thats a pretty rare thing when it comes to people online, most move on within a flicker of the eye I do appreciate that support greatly. 

So I am taking up an old practice I used to do, mediation and self hypnosis.  I did this years ago daily and was able to put myself in a trance for almost an hour.  It was an amazing experience but it also takes time, which is why I believe I fell out of practice.  But at this point I think my body is telling me to go back to it and this is something I advise to everyone.  Meditation can be a wonderful thing, it can open up things that you have long forgotten and relax the body in ways that you can’t imagine.  Try it sometime, and if you dont know how it works, drop me a line and I will explain..

So those of you who have sent me emails in support I wholeheartedly thank you.  Your blessings and prayers have really touched me greatly…