It has been said to me that I should start a blog, a way to chronicle the development of the stories which I began with one written in 2014. After a slow start, the first three years producing a total of six stories, I picked up a little speed and now, as of this day, the first day of 2021, I have 73 stories which I have completed with 24 of those stories sold and in print or awaiting publication. What began as a distraction awakened by a chance comment has become an obsession as this whole has taken on a life far greater than I could have imagined. It has at this point developed into a vast tapestry stretching millennia, a history of a place that never was but does not exist too far from where we are now. This is the world I am building.
The reason for beginning this blog, as it was suggested to me, was to explain some of what I am doing, the liberties which I am taking and the details which appear throughout my tales. I state it this way because I have been, well, I don't know how to say it. I've been doing some weird stuff. It'll come out. That's why I have this, right?
Let us start at the beginning...
I live in the ghost town suburb of a ghost town in the mountains outside of Prescott, Arizona. Even were I to go to town, there is still not much happening to be excited about thus it was to my great luck one day that I met someone who shared certain literary interests, primarily a fondness for the writings of Robert E. Howard. As a confession, I was in my early 40's and had not read that author's work since I was a teenager, and then the watered down versions available then. My friendship here inspired a fresh dive into Howard's works and has ultimately inspired three road trips to Cross Plains, Texas, to celebrate Howard Days.
On a very personal level though, the power of those words re-read, that flash of fire put my fingers to the personal endeavor of rendering a true-to-story screenplay from one (pssst... yeah, it's possible if you stick to Howard's stories). My friend as well introduced me to an author who I had, believe it or not, never read. I was not my whole life through a reader of horror with Mr. King's books up to "It" not yet all read. I was Mythos unaware. Seeing my plight, he handed me a couple books by A. Derleth and to tell you the truth, I was not taken at all with them. It was when I was given a book of Lovecraft's shorts that I learned what he offered and I was taken most by his beautiful prose. (BTW, I still haven't read "The Call of Cthulhu")
It was around this time I invited him to come see the ruins that abut the family property. In the 1930s, there was an old CCC camp on the site, some of those ruins on this property bequeathed to the generations by my great-grandmother. On that same site, heavy on the hill opposite the camp as our property was the town site of Howells. This is what I had taken my friend to see, these few ruins left from where a smelter once stood.
At the top of the hill overlooking the success of nature's return on this gloomy, overcast day, my friend mused over the amount of concrete that was used to seal the underground entrances to the smelter beneath us, something which was done by the Forest Service in the 1960s. He wondered aloud if it was to keep people from going inside.
My answer slipped forth the only way it could, "It's not who they were trying to keep out..."
I remember that moment clearly, standing on the edge of a great glory hole (an exploratory pit dug looking for traces of ore... get your damn minds out of the gutter!) beneath skies taken from a Hammer Studios production and hearing in my head the name "Baird's Holler". The town was born in that moment. That was in November of 2013.
I remember sitting late that following February with pen in hand and pad on lap as I sat on a rock towards the bottom of the Howells smelter slag pile. This is a steep drop to the creek where three pools are carved by the waters of the Lynx Creek into the granite. As a child, these pools were where I played but this day, another gloomy and overcast, I sat scribbling furiously. About a week later, I met my friend again to give him a copy of "Where Lies Hope", the first of these Tales.
Life throws odd curve balls. On July 31 of 2014, my then 10yo autistic daughter and her mother were in a head-on collision at freeway speeds. My daughter spent 16 days in the hospital and another month and a half in a wheel-chair. Her recovery was complete, just so you all know. Her mother however suffered a Traumatic Brain Injury and was in a coma for two weeks and has never been the same again (she has recovered amazingly well though). She was, however, no longer able to care for our daughter and my life changed radically from that moment on. Where before I had nothing of a social existence, now it was slightly less so with a sharp learning curve and lots of... well, just note, autism can be fun.
I needed something though. I needed a hobby. Already my passion of reading had been assaulted with my focus not allowing me to absorb like I should (seriously, try raising a child with autism... reading is a dream I once had) and even attempts to vegetate in front of a TV are pointless. What I did have though were the seeds I'd planted in that little story, those 3,180 words that I kept returning to in my mind. At this point I had about a half dozen ideas floating in my head but I had absolutely zero confidence in what I could do. Still, during the first two months of 2015, I wrote a second story, the 11,807 words long "My Thoughts on What Happened to Timmy Carmichael".
Bolstered, I began my third on March 28 of that year. I remember it 'cause I started after I interviewed for and got the job I am now working. It was an interesting interview. I was memorizing a Lovecraft story ("What the Moon Brings") in the lobby while waiting and mostly talked to the interviewer about Japanese poetry forms. I really have no idea how I got hired! I capped that off by going to the coffee shop early and beginning the story longhand while waiting for my lunch date to arrive. Nice date, beautiful woman, and the day was nice. It took seven months to slog out the 17,971 words of "I'll Always Be With You, Boys", a story which has served as a basis since for drawing forth this world I've created for myself.
Still, all I had were three stories and a bunch of loose ideas running around in my head. What I had done I am proud of and "Where Lies Hope" was published (3rd, and this is where I learned what 'contributor copy' may mean) and "Timmy Carmichael" as well (though that publication was cancelled when other contributing authors it turned out had submitted previously published stories... sigh, another lesson in publishing). Quick note, I've never sent the third out anywhere. It's length is awkward. What I didn't have though was something yet real.
I have something real now. I have a history developed with timelines tracing every story and every character (currently at 395 as of now). I have stories spread amongst divers publications and I have, well, plans. With 73 stories done, just in the notebook I carry around I have nearly 50 waiting while each story I write produces hints to even more. I have a history to be told, one which will allow me to mine the rest of my days.
I think often of a quote attributed to Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas. Paraphrased in my sleepy words, it goes,
"Jesus said, if you bring forth that which is within you, that which is in you will save you. If you do not bring forth that which is within you, that which is in you will destroy you."
Apparently what I have in me are scores of imaginary people needing to be killed and, well, this has been my saving grace.
No comments:
Post a Comment