Category: canon

starting to wonder

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There’s been a recurring theme in my work, mostly because as a plot device, it’s evil, but it’s always the same. I know, I know. It happens the world over, but maybe I’m utilizing it too much.

Men and women have always been a complicated thing, but the reality is that it’s not actually that complicated.

It’s the same as anything, really. Be good to each other, and things will be fine.

Unfortunately, it’s far too easy (especially these days), to be shitty to one another.

And as has always been, no matter the race, creed or culture, women take the worst end of it. It doesn’t matter what you are, if you’re a woman, it’s worse for you.

And that’s bullshit.

I mean, I lucked out, technically; I’m a straight, white male. According to most of what I see these days, I should not be allowed to comment anything on these matters, but Yes, Ma’am. I agree.

While that might sound like complaining, it’s not. I do agree, for the most part. I don’t want to mansplain shit to anyone.

I do want to demonstrate that I understood the lesson.

I’m just starting to wonder about how things seem to go in my stories, if I’ve actually taken the lesson to heart.

It wasn’t part of The Mungk (except for maybe the hints of shrewishness of Diana), but it played a big role in Get Back Again, and in my recently written, but not yet published Western Cradle series, and here it is again, in Forest Edge.

Am I really learning?

Something to think about, going forward. 

Target: 1000 words
Written: 343 words, short story: Forest Edge

Read: The Oracle Year, Charles Soule
Comics: Preacher 64-66
Music: I Palindrome I, They Might Be Giants

regrets

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I’m thinking a lot about what’s evil and what is not.

I’ve just written a four issue comic series, a western based on revenge, which begins typically enough for the kind of spaghetti western I’m basing it on, but takes a wild turn at the end of the first issue (unrevealed future plot twist).

I’m a little worried it pushes me into territory I’m not comfortable representing.

That is, like Get Back Again, I’m concerned some right wing fuck is going to take it and construe it as pro-bigotry or worse, in this case, pro-life.

But that’s not what it’s about (and I’m very pro-choice); it’s similar to The Mungk in that it’s about trauma, and how it can shape us for the worse, until the evil that’s been done to us becomes us abusing ourselves, and maybe others, in ways we never would.

It’s also about whether evil can be used for good, sometimes?

It’s about guilt and remorse and self-hatred.

Because listen, I know more than a few women who’ve been through it, and despite what the right wing would have you think, most of them did not behave as though they were tossing a used Kleenex.

Most of them were genuinely distressed, upset, even traumatized by it. Not one of them didn’t have strong feelings about it, even if they didn’t want to say it out loud. It was clearly visible on their face and in their eyes.

The other thing that I know about it is that not one of them has ever said they would make a different choice. They don’t regret the choice, even if there’s still remorse.

Like putting down a terminally ill pet; it sucks, you hate it, it makes you weep for days, but even years later, if asked, you’ll say it was the right thing to do.

Anyway, thoughts and feelings on this day; I can’t imagine what the poor women go through.

Even if this case, it’s a little more… extreme.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 720 words, comic: Western Cradle #4

Read: Tropic Of Kansas, Christopher Brown
Comics: Preacher 57-59, Preacher: Tall In The Saddle 1
Music: I Know What You Did Last Summer Soundtrack, Various

slept in

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Until EIGHT. In the AM!

Crazy, right?

I haven’t had more than about six or seven hours of sleep in months, without being ill.

Of course, I’m ill today, but fuck it. I am using this downtime to push forward hard on the things that I love – writing, reading, comics, with a side of meditation, exercise, cooking and music.

That’s pretty much the sum total, although I think travel, sex, video games, and various other sundry storytelling mediums also play a part.

What else could you possibly need? A greater purpose? People who love you? Righteous vengeance?

I don’t know, but I’m feeling better, anyway.

Still sick, but hell if I couldn’t use eight to ten hours every night.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2575 words, comic: Western Cradle #2

Read: The Autobiography Of Malcolm X, Malcolm X/Alex Haley
Comics: Preacher: Saint Of Killers 1-2, Preacher 17-18
Music: Nowhere Generation I & II, Rise Against

happy fuckin’ new year

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I can’t complain. We had a good time last night. I stayed sober enough to drive, which was fun.

We played the Game of Death, which is always a good time. Nobody got radiAIDS this time, so I suppose that was a win.

(RadiAIDS = AIDS + radiation poisoning. I mean, come on. You have to laugh.)

I feel like I need to go into full retreat now that the holidays are started.

New Year’s resolution? Sell a book, write a book.

Keep on keepin’ on.

Do better today than yesterday. Start cutting out the toxic bullshit.

No more evil in my life, by my action or another’s, sanctioned by my silence.

Write. Write more. Read. Read more.

Fuck. Fuck more.

Lose some goddamned weight.

You know, the usual.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 263 words, comic: Western Cradle #1

Read: The Autobiography Of Malcolm X, Malcolm X (like it would be written by anyone else)
Comics: Preacher 5-8
Music: Nothing's Shocking, Jane's Addiction (what an album)

i get it; i’m late

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For all the things I wanted to do with my life, I probably would have had to have started as a teenager.

Unfortunately, the lessons I needed to learn, the skills I had to grow (and am still growing), the mindset, the life experience, all that stuff… it unfolded a little slower than it probably should have.

Maybe I could have gone a more traditional route, and maybe I could have been content with that, but when have I ever been content with anything? In the moment, I can be, in the midst of a good meal or a great book or great sex, a nice moment in the sun while walking the dogs.

But isn’t that the only time ever?

I know it will take me probably until I’m a hundred and no longer able to function physically or mentally to do the work that I want to do, to see the places I wanted to see, to have all the experiences I’ve desired.

I probably won’t make it, barring terrific medical advances. Of course, I could live that long but the growing spectre of fascism, the threat of climate change, bigotry and hatred, the complete breakdown of both civility and the willingness to stand up for what is right, in action more than words, is likely to end this planet (or at least my life or the ability to do the things I desire to do), all that pretty well guarantees that this is a fool’s errand.

But what’s the alternative?

Giving up?

I know I’m a late bloomer, but hell. Fuck it.

There’s no do-overs, so it’s now or never, and if I die in the attempt, without making the impact I would have liked, well, there’s no shame in trying.

Only in giving up.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1479 words, short story: Late Riser

Read: The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho (also, this has nothing to do with this book, it was garbage, like Eckhart Tolle fucked Hans Christian Andersen and their baby read The Secret on the way out - stuff like this is why people get stuck in their own heads thinking they just have think things into existence, or that all skill is just natural, instead doing the fucking work.)
Comics: Chew 42-44, Chew: Warrior Chicken Poyo (POYO!) 1
Music: No!, They Might Be Giants

purpose

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I don’t know what my purpose is; I know I have to write. I have to challenge – myself, the world, whatever.

Devil’s advocate, without a limit on the number of views he’s willing to explore, and the number he’ll excoriate.

Getting through this, doing the work, the canon.

That’s why I’m here. It’s all I care for. I pray I’ve enough time left to do it; I suspect no such time is forthcoming.

I’ve driven pretty far to realize where I am; I only know this is the thing that screams inside me, and if everyone else could just give it a rest for a moment, that’d be great.

I know what must be done.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 563 words, short story: Broke Down Car

Read: Permanent Record, Edward Snowden
Comics: Chew: Secret Agent Poyo (POYO!) 1, Chew 28-30
Music: No Surprises, Radiohead (one of my all time favourites)

legacy

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I want to leave behind a body of work that people can dig into and enjoy, even if it’s just in the dissection of me as a person.

I’m sure it won’t all be flattering; I’ve behaved terribly at times.

Such is the life of a drunken wannabe punk kid from the small towns of Ontario. You’ll say and do shit to regret later; apologies don’t mean it didn’t happen.

It also doesn’t mean it’s who you ended up.

I don’t know how I’ll end up.

But I’m worried I don’t have the stamina or force of will for the long run.

Please don’t let me end up one of these cozy mystery writers, or some detective or spy novel fuck, churning out the same formulaic CSI bullshit each week.

It’s always the goddamned butler.

I want my legacy to be more complex than that.

More compelling; equally pathetic, mildly horrific, one long cringe punctuated by the occasional, “Okay, he’s growing on me.”

He’s getting better.

Please let me leave it behind.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 326 words, poem: Roses And Violets

Read: Constellation Games, Leonard Richardson
Comics: Chew 9-12
Music: No Joke!, Meat Puppets

the day after

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It’s time now to rest, to refocus and think about the next thing. In the meantime, it’ll be poems and short stories, maybe a comic or four, a new hip ditty and then…

Then.

It may seem relaxing, but I’m desperate to have had something of an impact. I don’t need to be Jesus or Buddha; I’ll take minor pantheon member. But hell, even though I’ve got so many plans, it still feels like my race is run, like the egg timer is about to go off and my goose will be officially cooked.

You know, the usual hair on fire stuff.

So, yeah. Back to work, back to the work. Downtime, with a side of poetry.

Also, selling The Mungk, but hey, every act of creation has its cross to bear.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 81 words, poem: Roses And Violets

Read: Constellation Games, Leonard Richardson
Comics: Chew 5-8
Music: The No Fun, Local H

the mungk

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It started off as a riff on a couple of classics, as so many of my things do: the monster under the bed and it was a dark and stormy night…

I can’t seem to help postulating on other ways to see things; it’s a gift and a curse. The need to play devil’s advocate and constantly ask what other ways a thing can be seen is so ingrained in me, it’s just about impossible to keep from indulgence.

The monster under the bed merged with the concept of little things draining the life and verve you’re born with, and grew to encompass loss, abandonment and trauma.

The Mungk is a meditation on the birth of resignation, of fatalism.

Hopelessness, as seen through the guise of a children’s story.

It’s a exploration of how, as we grow, the world reveals itself to be far less well-meaning and static than we presume as children, where parents are gods, friends are forever and it’s one adventure after the other.

I won’t claim to have been abandoned or abused or any of that good stuff. My parents were pretty good. We had our fights, but nothing like what other poor souls have been through. I was disemboweled by a tree when I was eight; it didn’t make me grow up vowing revenge against improperly cut stumps.

(What a shitty superhero that would have been – the Leveller!)

I was more traumatized by the loss of faith; as I’ve said before, if you want to lose your religion, read the Bible. If you’re not out by Leviticus, there’s something wrong with your basic human decency.

The Mungk is trauma on trauma on trauma.

It’s overwhelming, it’s so much bigger than something we can deal with, in a child’s parable.

I’m sorry to unleash this on the world, but well, it’s the thing I’m most proud of, to this point. It’s good.

I think it’s great.

I could be wrong.

That’s the risk a person takes in creating anything. We build, we create, we connect the dots. We put it out into the world and now, it’s something for the jackals. Their noses twitch, their lips pull back from their teeth.

They pounce.

Anyway, the Mungk is born, for better or worse.

Only time will tell if this post is the beginning of something huge, or just another whisper in a storm.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 1618 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Mindset: The New Psychology Of Success, Carol Dweck
Comics: Chew 1-4
Music: No Exit, Blondie (ha!)

the mungk – playlist

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I like to do a playlist for anything I write. I don’t set it up before I start writing; what happens is that random songs or albums play, and things grow organically from that.

Sometimes, as you’re writing or editing, a song will come on that perfectly matches the tone and feel of what you’re working on, and so, becomes inseparable. Probably half of the songs on this list came that way.

Other times, it’s more intellectual; I need a certain theme or mood, so we search through the piles until I find something that fits. See, all the shadow and nightmare songs.

Sometimes, it’s filler, because a song didn’t fit the theme, so you get “clever” and try and find something to wedge in there (see Helpless Dancer, which I thought spoke a bit to the theme of pointlessness and running us down over a lifetime of traumas, mini-traumas and unfairness.)

Anyway, in the end, I get something that helps me really feel the book, feel the story. I will never hear Skyscraper again without thinking about pulling up to the little country house, nor will I not think of Alice whenever Run comes over my headphones or speakers.

Enjoy. It’ll make more sense when the book comes out.

The House In The Country: Julian Plenti – Skyscraper
The First Appearance Of The Mungk: Alice Cooper – Welcome To My Nightmare
We’ll Get You A Nightlight: The Who – Helpless Dancer
What Does That Mungk Do?: Nirvana – Drain You
Cracks: L7 – Crackpot Baby
The Doctor: Snow Patrol – Run
Goodbye, Alice: Violent Femmes – I Know It’s True, But I’m Sorry To Say
Alice Aftermath: Billy Talent – Living In The Shadows
The Fight: INXS – Never Tear Us Apart
Bumps In The Night: The Rolling Stones – Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing In The Shadow?
The Power Goes Out: The Tragically Hip – Frozen In My Tracks
The Storm: Bruce Springsteen – My Father’s House
The Aftermath: Beck – Morning

Target: 1000 words
Written: 216 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Mindset (do I have to write it all out?  Be the growth mindset, kids), Dweck, Carol
Comics: The Boys: Dear Becky 7-8
Music: No Distance Left To Run, Blur (huh... timing, right?)