May19

Insert Song Title About “Change”

on May 19th, 2012 at 8:15 am
Posted In: Writing

This is an old blog post, written in 2005 or 2006. I’m only reposting it here because I think the message is clear: it’s possible to change your habits when you’re ready to change your habits. It’s also interesting to see where I was in my writing career at various points in time.

I’ve been picking up books at the local library sale, at used bookstores, in the bargain bin at the brick-and-mortar stores. It’s an obsession, and I’m running out of bookshelves. Since the majority of hardbacks that end up on library shelves are first edition prints, I think I’ve scored well over the past few months. There’s usually a sale once a quarter, and while I haven’t made it a point to be there when the door opens up (it’s early!), I have been there. And although I rarely find exactly what I’m after, I still find books I’d passed in the local Barnes and Noble because they were too expensive.

A year ago I wasn’t much of a reader. Or a writer. Or a student of the creative arts in any form, really. I can’t blame everything on life’s twists and turns. Life is a winding road through dark forests and there’s nothing we can do to straighten it out. Thankfully, though, it appears (at least on the surface) that the laziness of that past year has worn off. Within the last few months, I’ve ripped through twenty-two of those books I purchased at the aforementioned sales. It’s been nice to lose myself again in the minds of people I envy.

For the last month I’ve wondered if this sudden desire to read was a stepping stone that helped me crawl out from that pit of creative collapse I found myself in and back to sunshine. I might be jumping the gun, but inside I feel my soul has slowly turned back to my madness.

Did something change?

I like to think I’m a student of change. To be more succinct, I’m a student of learning how to get people to adapt to change. Think of a large business with a specific model. If a newcomer to the organization sees a different way to do something, it’s common for the members of that organization to resist, often in ways that are misaligned with their own way of doing things. This is counterproductive, but so human. As a student of change, I’m always looking for new ways to get people to accept a change and morph it into a habit.

Rarely, however, do I seek ways to apply that thinking to myself. In one of those books I recently breezed through, the protagonist marvels at how blind psychologists are to themselves; while they are adept at pointing out flaws in other people, they can’t seem to look in the mirror and do the same thing. I often find myself in that situation. Sure, I can write articles on how to deal with impending change or give speeches designed to get people in an organization to embrace it, but I have trouble dealing with change myself.

Picking up the virtual pen and writing again is a change, a change that exists on many levels. There is the change in creative output, the change in daily schedule, the change in how the writer views the world around him or her. Accepting that change means the writer has to pull him or herself out of their comfort zone, even if writing was–at one point–a central part of what made them comfortable.

So, how do you change your behavior? Can you look in the mirror and help yourself?

Michael Hargrove, a seminar speaker, gives four steps to change loosely based on Dr. James Prochaska’s “Stages of Change.”

1. Unconscious incompetence or pre-change. Here, we really have no idea how much it costs us not to do the the things we don’t know we should be doing. In the case of writing, that’s a stage I was definitely past. I know the cost of bottling up my creativity, and for any of you who have bottled up that creativity as well–for whatever reason–you know the cost as well. If you’re reading this blog entry, you are likely well past this step.

2. Conscious incompetence or waking up. Really, we know exactly how much it’s been costing us to not do what we now know we should have been doing. Once we reach this step, we’re aware–often painfully aware–that success isn’t going to happen until we pick up that pen.

3. Conscious competence or choosing change. You’ve been here before, and it’s probably where I was a few months ago: we struggle to master our writing. Sometimes, this step is awkward, especially if what we’re changing is radically different. Try this at home: for one week, notice how you put on your shoes. Do you slip the right one on first, then tie it? Or do you slip the left on, the right on, then tie from left to right? Whatever you do, switch it up. You’ll notice something doesn’t feel “right.” But tell me what’s wrong about it?

4. Unconscious competence. Now that we’ve started writing and we’re doing it on a daily basis, we own the process. We have effectively changed our habits. I think this is where you really want to be.

I envy those who have gone before me (the authors, that is). I know I’ll walk in their shoes eventually, and I’m glad I made the change that will enable me to get there. Then someday, someone will be hunting through library sales and picking up my work.

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May18

I’ve Been Waiting for This: NEW RELEASE Sullivan’s War: Book III by Michael K. Rose

on May 18th, 2012 at 5:00 am
Posted In: Books, Indie, Buy Indie, Guest Posts by Others

I can’t say I’ve known author Michael K. Rose for years, but I can say in the time I have known him, I’ve become more and more impressed with his creativity and intelligence. While not a die-hard fan of science fiction, I am a die-hard fan of the good story, and what Rose has done with Sullivan’s War is just that: write a damn good story.

So, like I said in the title, I’ve been waiting for this release. Sullivan’s War: Book III – Edaline’s Dawn marks the last piece of a story I’ve been following since the beginning. And if you think this stuff is good…

…I know he has other novels up his sleeve that will blow your socks away.

New Release: Sullivan’s War: Book III – Edaline’s Dawn

Sullivan's War: Book III - Edaline's Dawn

With the release of All Good Men Serve the Devil, the first book of the series Sullivan’s War, Michael K. Rose began taking science fiction readers on an adventure that would span the galaxy as Rick Sullivan, Frank Allen and Kate Alexander came up against ruthless gang leaders, assassins, bounty hunters and highly-trained soldiers from Edaline, Sullivan’s home planet.

Now, with Book III – Edaline’s Dawn, all that Rick Sullivan has worked for comes to a head. In this action-packed finale to the series, Sullivan finally returns to Edaline to overthrow the planet’s oppressive regime. Will he be able to help organize a new uprising against the government? How do the mysterious hyperspace entities figure into Sullivan’s future? And what will be the fate of Frank Allen?

Find out in Sullivan’s War: Book III – Edaline’s Dawn!

Praise for the series:
Sullivan's War: Book III - Edaline's Dawn

“Gritty, hardcore sci-fi with a fascinating twist, guaranteed to please!”
“A sci-fi thriller laced with action and political undertones. A Must Read!”
“Mr. Rose knocks another one out of the galaxy….”
“The writing style is engaging and creative….”
“…this thrill-a-minute ride will keep you glued to your seat until the very end.”

For more information please visit: http://www.michaelkrose.com/sullivan-s-war

Where to Buy

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00840156Q
Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00840156Q
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sullivans-war-michael-k-rose/1107959361

Biography

Michael K. RoseMichael K. Rose is a writer of science fiction and literary fiction novels and short stories. His work has received rave 4- and 5-star reviews and the books in his Sullivan’s War series are frequent inhabitants of Amazon’s “Bestsellers in Science Fiction Series” list.

Writing is not Michael’s only passion. He’s an avid traveler and has visited over two dozen countries on four continents. He also loves classical music and has season tickets to both the symphony and the opera. He can be reached at myriad_spheres@yahoo.com.

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May16

Being Garrulous (again) with Michael K. Rose (Part 2)

on May 16th, 2012 at 4:50 am
Posted In: Books, A Difficult Mirror, Books, Castles, Books, Driving the Spike, Humanity, Other Stuff, Books, Sketches from the Spanish Mustang, Writing

This is the second part to the Being Garrulous post. You can read the first part here.

MKR: Besides leaving a legacy through your writing, is there anyone you hope to inspire? Is there any message you hope to convey, any ideas you want to put out into the world?

BXW: I think you touched on a sort of running theme when you interviewed me way back when. I like to say people are the sum total of their experience and if we just look at the outside, we’ll never really understand them. That often leads to stereotypes, discrimination and even bullying. For example, in each sketch in my novel Sketches from the Spanish Mustang, there is one man who is seen through the eyes of each character. Most assume he’s a crazy nut, a homeless man who talks to himself. However, there’s a very long history to that man–war vet, disabled, wife and child, etc. Why does he act in a particular way, and why does he appear the same, yet different, in strangers’ eyes?

I used to think people were generally bad. There was no good in them, so why bother to understand them. The older I get, however, the more I’ve started to see each person as that sum total of their history. If that’s the case, if I interact with that person don’t I become another summand in their equation? Shouldn’t I want to instill something of value to their present?

I do have a lot to say on this subject, but I’ll leave it at that right now. For your part in writing science fiction, what do you want people to see in your characters? Do you have a central theme you’re running off right now?

MKR: When one is a child, it seems that everything and everyone is good and beautiful. Sadly, some children learn too soon that that is not the case, like Maggie, in Castles. I think that as we age the misery in the world overshadows the beauty of it. We may remember a beautiful spring day for a short while, but we’ll really remember the tornado that took out ten houses the next block over and swept a family of four into oblivion. A kindness done to us by a fellow human being may linger in our memory for a day, but an act of vicious cruelty can haunt us for a lifetime. I fully understand, then, the inclination to see people as inherently evil, especially considering the influence of Christianity on our culture that very explicitly states that the reason we no longer reside in Paradise is because of our wickedness. And it was this view of humanity as inherently base, as our bodies essentially worthless when weighed against the immortal soul, that led to the terrible conditions of Medieval Europe during which most everyone’s life was “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short,” to quote Thomas Hobbes. And the worst part was, that was accepted!

In my view, it really took Enlightenment thinking, humanism and deism, to introduce to the Western world the idea that every human life has worth, every human being deserves to live peacefully and free of oppression. Here was an idea that if there is no immortal soul, if this body, this life, is all we have, how can any one of us justify bringing misery to another human being? We still haven’t achieved the ideal of the Enlightenment but we are much closer and at least now the goal is there, where before there was only doom and gloom.

I love your view of human interaction. Yes, we each play a part in the lives of everyone else we encounter. Some of these roles may seem trivial but suppose it is something as simple as smiling at a stranger who looks sad? We may have brought a little joy, a little hope, to that person. We must always attempt to give value to one another’s lives rather than take value from them. This is the foundation for forming a more-ideal society.

Now, after all that, I will answer your question. I realize I do go on. You asked “…in writing science fiction, what do you want people to see in your characters? Do you have a central theme you’re running off right now?” In Sullivan’s War, I hope that readers go away asking two very simple questions: what makes a man good? and what makes a man bad? This is touched on in Book I but explored in more depth in Book II. I don’t have an answer for that. I am reminded of the difference between morality and ethics: if one is moral in the Christian sense, one does not lie. So, if one were living in Nazi Germany and a Jew ran by followed by the SS who asked which way he went, you would have to tell them the truth to remain moral. But if you are to be ethical, you must lie and send them in the wrong direction. I know situational ethics get a bad rep and I do believe there are universal ethical laws, just as there are universal physical laws. But it’s something to think about. To whom do you owe your ethical fealty?

Another idea I explore in Sullivan’s War is that of justification. Is it acceptable to do a “bad” thing if it ultimately leads to a greater good? In your stories, it seems your characters engage in an awful lot of justification but of a more personal, selfish kind. This also interests me. We seem to be able to justify an awful lot if it serves our own greater good. Counteracting this is one of the key challenges of society, I think. Is this a theme you have intentionally been exploring in Sketches from the Spanish Mustang?

BXW: I don’t know if that internal justification is a subconscious result of turning 40, but Sketches from the Spanish Mustang is filled with it. I’d like to think I’ve been impervious to middle age, but the more I write, the more I realize I’m probably not. I really enjoy exploring a character’s inner child, what makes them who they are. In A Difficult Mirror, which I started when I turned 28, actually, the history of a person is forced out in the open and how they deal with whatever mistakes they’ve made is explored in depth. That’s dark fantasy, however, not reality. In reality, we all have our skeletons, our histories we hide away so no one can see. However, no matter what we do, we are the sum total of our parts and we can either accept what we’ve done or try to justify it in some way.

As I sit here talking about this, I realized that the characters in my upcoming novel Driving the Spike must justify their actions. Are they good, are they bad? Much like you explored in Sullivan’s War, there is a difference between morality and ethics. Did you start out with that theme before you penned the first word of Sullivan’s War or did it come out as you wrote it?

MKR: It evolved. Sullivan’s War started as the story about Frank Allen investigating the murder of Assemblyman Gene Palmer. From there it got tied in to Sergeant Riley’s Account, then a third story I had written called “Promises,” the story of a bounty hunter tracking down a criminal, got incorporated into the beginning of Sullivan’s War: Book II. Now, early on I must have decided that Sullivan’s War would address these issues of right and wrong because the title All Good Men Serve the Devil was there from nearly the beginning. I actually wrote out a bit of dialogue to incorporate that line before I got to that scene in the book. By the time Book I was finished, however, I felt that it was heavy on action but character development and exploration of theme were a bit lacking. I attempted to correct that with Book II.

My next project, Chrysopteron, started a bit aimlessly but as I wrote the overarching theme began to reveal itself. It was at that point that I wrote an outline to make sure I hit on all the thematic points I wanted to address: hope, loss, faith, sacrifice, right and wrong (again). I ended up shuffling the organization a bit and added another story line but the thematic structure remained intact. I hope readers will pick up on it and appreciate what I am trying to do. Of course, the reader applies additional meaning based on his or her own perceptions. I think the best authors are able to convey their own meaning but be subtle enough about it that the reader happens upon it without explicitly being told. But I guess some readers will completely miss the point, no matter what you do. Do you worry that readers will completely miss the point of your work? Do you care, as long as they pull some meaning from it? Or are you even content for your work to be perceived as just an interesting story, with the reader taking nothing away?

BXW: I really don’t worry about what readers get out of my novels, as long as they get something. There’s a meme that’s been passed around regarding meaning that you’ve probably seen. “What the author meant” vs. “What your English teacher thinks the author meant.” While I can laugh at the simplicity of the author’s statement (“The curtains were blue”) and the teacher’s meaning (“The curtains represent his immense depression and his lack of will to carry on”), I find this meme more telling of what literary snobs think we should get from a novel. For example, if the New York Times says Castles reeks of abuse and discord, then to me they didn’t get it. Conversely, if the Colorado Springs Gazette says Castles is a view into the growth of a woman through abuse and neglect and carefully questions how environment can affect genetic mutations in the brain, then I think they’re pretty close. Now, what do my readers come away with? I would hope the literary snobs don’t mutate my message, and I hope I write it clear enough that it sinks in with the masses.

I’ve been very focused on the themes presented in Sketches from the Spanish Mustang. As I mentioned before, it’s important to me that I impart the idea that people are the sum total of their days and not just a present manifestation with or without obvious merit. I do worry the message won’t reach the reader, but all I can do is try.

Do you ever worry?

MKR: Do I worry about the message not reaching the reader? I wouldn’t say I worry, per se, but I do make a point of writing afterwords for my major works. I do this not so the readers “gets it” but because I want to communicate with the readers on a more personal level. I want them to know what went into creating the story, the inspirations, etc. I think that knowing these things does enrich a text.

I like how the focus of much of your work is trying to make the point that a person is the sum of his or her experiences. It’s a profound message, and yet so simple. For example, I am the product of very fortunate circumstances. Because of where and when and to whom I was born, I have been able to cultivate a life of ease and comfort in which I can spend a great deal of my time writing, reading, traveling, focusing on art, philosophy, etc. rather than worrying about where my next meal is going to come from. Reading about the problems that the characters in Sketches from the Spanish Mustang face really reinforces how good my life is, how petty my problems.

Do you think that you are trying to point humanity (or America, at least) in a different direction? Do you want readers to go away thinking that if people are the sum of their experiences, perhaps society as a whole could do something to make some of those experiences more positive? Or is it up to individuals to engage one another and help their fellow human beings along?

BXW: Afterwords are often my favorite part of a book, and I really enjoy reading them. James Rollins typically puts in a fact or fiction section at the end based on his research. I know it sounds petty, but that’s cool.

I really never thought my writing could point America or the world toward any lofty goal, however I would like to reach at least one person. It’s very important I leave a mark on someone’s life, whether or not that’s with Sketches from the Spanish Mustang, Castles, the upcoming A Difficult Mirror or the next novel I’ll start working on this summer. That next novel–Driving the Spike–is probably going to be the closest I get to pointing humanity at anything, but I sincerely doubt it’ll have the lofty impact I want it to have.

I think there’s something to be said about a person who engages another without expectation of reward, and even the smallest attempt to help another can make the biggest impact. To help without expectation of reward, I truly believe, makes a man (or woman). Most of us drop money into the Salvation Army bucket during the holiday season, but how many take a full Saturday and sort donations in a food bank warehouse or stand on a serving line at a soup kitchen or walk ten miles for autism research? These things are small and there is no reward save the feeling you get for helping. Sadly, there are a lot of people who don’t look at life this way; they expect something tangible in return for their effort–getting paid to be a foster parent, getting a t-shirt from a MS walk, showing off some certificate from the two hours they did something for someone. Helping shouldn’t be like that.

I guess I got on my soapbox again. I tend to do that.

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May15

Being Garrulous (again) with Michael K. Rose (Part 1)

on May 15th, 2012 at 7:36 am
Posted In: Books, A Difficult Mirror, Books, Castles, Books, Driving the Spike, Humanity, Reflection, Books, Sketches from the Spanish Mustang, Writing

Michael K. Rose and I can’t seem to put a lid on it when it comes to writing, reflections on life and how we fit into the grand scheme of everything. This is awesome, of course, and after posting our first long-winded e-mail conversation a few weeks ago, we thought we’d share our second. We’ve split this one in two, however, just because it’s a little long. This current conversation does not include Justin Bieber, in case you were wondering.

BXW: So I was reading over your latest blog post, Inventing a Universe, and a thought popped into my head: during the writing of Sketches from the Spanish Mustang I spent a great deal of time getting into the characters’ heads, walking the paths they might take, looking at the town through their eyes. Likewise, with the novel I intend to start this summer, Driving the Spike, I have already started the process by walking some railroad tracks where an accident occurred 108 years ago. The idea, of course, is to see the world through the eyes of my characters. However, with Science Fiction, especially with imagined worlds (or parallel universes like you discuss), how do you see the world though your character’s eyes?

MKR: What I like to keep in mind is that people are people, whether they lived ten thousand years ago or ten thousand years from now. If I were a Clovis hunter following herds of mammoth across the Great Plains I think that, despite the vastly different way of life, my fellow hunters and I would sit around the campfire at night and shoot the breeze just as I do with my friends today. The technology would be different, our clothes, our language, our way of perceiving the universe would all be different but we would still be human beings. A heart not unlike mine would beat in the breast of my Clovis twin. I would want food, shelter, love, companionship. In the two hundred thousand years our species has wandered this Earth that has not changed and there is no reason to believe it will change in the near future.

Now, I have never taken down a mammoth with a spear. But I can imagine it. As a writer, imagination is key to understanding other people, people who eventually become “characters.” Would it help if I could go back in time and see how a hunting party surrounded and felled a mammoth, where they jabbed their spears, how many of them it took? Of course. But I can’t, so if I were to write a mammoth-hunting scene my imagination would fill in the blanks that the archaeological record has left behind. So it is with science fiction. When we write about the future we are not writing from a blank slate. We have all of human history to draw on to understand how human beings will react in different situations. For example, we know that we tend to be suspicious and aggressive when encountering intelligent beings not like ourselves (from history, we have the sad lesson of the Europeans’ encounter with the indigenous Americans. In my fiction, look at the treatment of the Squamata in Sergeant Riley’s Account and Sullivan’s War: Book II.) Another example from history that I draw on is the simple fact that people generally want to be free of oppression. The entire Sullivan’s War series is about this and how many times throughout history has a power structure has fallen due to the discontent of the oppressed? Here where I live in the Southwest, Hohokam civilization collapsed around 1400 CE and there are Pima legends that indicate that the people rose up against the powerful.

So writing science fiction is simply writing about people. I cannot see alien worlds or travel through hyperspace in a ship but my brain is capable of understanding what they might be like. My imagination can fill in the gaps left after taking the entire shared experience of human culture into account. I see their worlds because their eyes are like mine. I share their hopes and desires because those are common to all human beings across history. And my invented universe is not that different from our own, when you really examine it. There are real-life parallels to many of the things I write about.

Now, what I find interesting is that in Castles you described experiences unfamiliar to you despite the fact that those experiences are real for all too many young women across the country, across the world. For me, that is as remarkable a feat as bringing to life an alien landscape. We’ve talked about this before, but would you care to talk a bit about Maggie’s story?

BXW: As I’ve mentioned before, I believe Maggie spoke through me in a way that’s really hard to describe without coming off sounding–how should I put it?–bat-shit crazy. The fact I squirrel away information that comes to me via media may have enabled my subconscious to postulate how a woman might view a certain situation more so than a man who is trying to force the character into action. For example, I had a lot of trouble near the middle of the story related to Maggie’s view of abuse at the hand of her boyfriend because that’s just not something I’d ever experienced. Somehow after a few months or years, though–and after dealing with abusive people as a manager–Maggie spoke up.

Getting into a character’s head is important to me, and that’s one reason I like to interact with their supposed environment if I can, and if I can’t, then to spend an inordinate amount of time researching that environment. However, in A Difficult Mirror, a dark fantasy epic novel to be released (hopefully) next winter, I couldn’t walk around the environment since it didn’t exist. Not that I couldn’t take clues from other stories, but that the environment just didn’t exist. (That’s a bit vague, I know, but the novel isn’t out yet.)

You brought up something I’m curious about. I’ve mentioned to you before that I was never a huge fan of science fiction; that distinction fell to my brother. I was the fantasy type, the one who believed in dragons and wizards and spells, oh my! However, some historic science fiction I’ve read has held a sort of special place in my heart simply because of the impact on our present. I am, of course, talking about the work of Jules Verne, H.G. Wells, or Arthur C. Clarke. Even Philip K. Dick. Their imaginations of technological advances helped pave the way for our present. Writers like Ray Bradbury or George Orwell, on the other hand, wrote people into the future–much like you describe–and did so without the need to characterize or build up technology that didn’t exist.

How do you view technology in your stories? How do you imagine worlds without borders or limitations, and do you hope to one day create something that would inspire some future geneticist or engineer?

MKR: Technology. Well, let me first point out that I am not technologically-minded at all. I am endlessly fascinated by it but if I had to actually try to describe how an intricate piece of software or hardware operated, I’d probably be trying to do it with sticks and a length of string. So, the technology in my stories isn’t particularly original. I’ll readily admit that. I rely on many tried and true tropes of the genre: hyperspace travel, energy weapons, fold-up tablet computers, three-dimensional displays. Now, since the Sullivan’s War story line is supposed to take place about five hundred years in the future, this may seem like pretty low-tech stuff. I actually have a reason for this that will eventually reveal itself as I continue to explore this universe. I will just say that just because a technological advance is made doesn’t mean it will be readily accepted.

I suppose I am comfortable with a certain level of technology, a level that has already been explored by many science fiction writers and is accepted and liked by a great many science fiction readers. Again, my own ignorance about technology prevents me from currently writing anything like cyberpunk. I just don’t have the background to do it justice. So I really don’t see my science fiction as the type that will inspire future engineers. Rather, I see my work as inspiring (if, in fact, it inspires anyone at all) future humanitarians, future philosophers. Remember, science fiction is about exploring how humans respond to fantastical situations as much as it is about inventing and describing cool technology. This is one of the reasons I consider 2001: A Space Odyssey to be my favorite book. Clarke had the scientific knowledge to make the technology one hundred percent plausible but the story is, essentially, about humanity. I mean, it begins with the dawn of consciousness, with the evolution (via external means in his story) of creatures that would one day become human beings! Because of his invented world of the near future, his characters–Dave Bowman in particular–are able to have experiences that no other humans have before experienced. How it affects them is just as fascinating as how future technology, such as the HAL 9000 computer, might work (or not work). How does the realization that an alien intelligence has visited our solar system affect them?

I often think about what would happen if we were to wake up one day and have undeniable proof that we were not alone in the universe. What effect would it have on world religions? I mean, in the 16th century Copernicus developed a heliocentric model of the solar system and while no one with any sense would deny the truth of this model today, there are many who still have a very geocentric, or Earth-centric, view of reality: that we, human beings, are at the center of God’s divine plan, that, in fact, we are created in God’s image and are his chosen species. Remember, it was only two thousand years ago that not only were humans God’s chosen species on the planet, but a very specific group inhabiting the Levant were his chosen race. I speak from a Judeo-Christian perspective, of course, because it is the tradition that has most shaped the Western world. Now, this type of thinking has been used to justify and explain our dominance on this planet. But what if another, intellectually superior species managed to cross the vast distances between star systems and arrive at ours? God wouldn’t seem to favor us so strongly then, would he?

I do believe in a creator. To believe in a specific god requires more faith than I have, though. I must trust that the creator, whatever it may be, gave me the ability–via evolution–to observe the world empirically for a reason. We are a species that is meant to question the world around us, not invent angels and devils to which to ascribe the mysteries of the universe. To return to my main point, this is my focus when I write science fiction. I hope to inspire future dreamers, people who will look at our world and see it for what it really is but also see what it can be if we throw off the shackles of tribe, of clan, of race, of nation, even of species. I know that to date my work hasn’t explored this as fully as I would like but I am working toward it and my next project, Chrysopteron, will fully explore these ideas.

(…to be continued…very soon, in fact)

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May13

The Virtue of Heredity

on May 13th, 2012 at 9:44 am
Posted In: Humanity, Writing

In the early 90′s, I took one of those required courses for my degree. There wasn’t anything special in the class, but I remember two things fondly: my reading and analysis of The Grapes of Wrath and an essay I wrote on rabbits. Neither of these things have anything in common other than the course itself.

What follows is that essay on rabbits. The assignment was to observe something in nature and write down our observations. I lived in a dormitory at the time and would often sit outside and watch things. Watching the rabbits for a class was, therefore, no big deal.

I read over it this morning while looking for something else I’d written to use in my current project. I thought I’d post it a) to give you and idea of how writing styles can change over time and b) because I like it.

Enjoy. Or don’t. :)

This is a rabbit by the side of a road

They come early in the evening, the sun just beginning to interact with the horizon, turning colors of yellow into orange and then a deep, bloody red. Some arrive in pairs, some alone, some as a family. They come to feed, to play, to live out their lives as nature would dictate, seemingly blind to the eccentric world about them. They are as much creatures of the night as they are creatures of the day, though by night they are the most prominent. They defend their territory with passion and stare down those animals who may tower above them. They fear little and dare to play life and death games with Fate. They are perversions of Flospy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter. They are rabbits, and they infest.

I have seen their presentation replayed in bits and pieces nearly every night, although up until yesterday I hadn’t stayed to watch more than five minutes. The first rabbit to arrive that evening did so as the sun had just touched the horizon. It hopped nervously across the parking lot, stopping now and then to investigate a lonely leaf or a spot of oil. Every few seconds it would look up as if guilty of some heinous crime, then hop forward a few more steps. By the time it reached the edge of the grass yard, the sun had slipped quietly away for the night. The wind blew kisses at the Cottonwood trees and rustled a few premature autumn leaves. The rabbit looked up, then around, and finally entered the grass wonderland.

The first nibble–like the first step–was a tentative one. It bent over, tasted the greenery, and then looked back up. A small blade of grass stuck out of the side of the rabbit’s mouth as its black eyes searched the periphery. Out on the road beyond the parking lot a car drove by. The fur on its back twitched involuntarily, a rear foot thumped the earth, and the ears rose high. The rabbit waited until the sound of the engine was lost in the breeze. A few moments passed before it took another nibble, another glance around, and then a hop forward to a greener patch of grass. The pattern continued until, at last, the rabbit felt confident.

I sat back in my chair and lit a cigarette. The shadows of evening were beginning to melt into the descending darkness, and before I realized it a waxing moon had risen over the mountains to take charge of another night. The yellow porch lights above me snapped on as if they had minds of their own and could sense my need for a little more light to write by. I glanced at my watch, noted the time and began to think about dinner. When I looked back out at the yard, the rabbit had cloned itself; instead of one lonely rabbit, I was now faced with four. It was like I had turned my back on a closet for just a moment and the clothes hangers had magically multiplied.

The rabbits were grouped together around one of the smaller trees, each intent face firmly rooted to a little patch of grass. They seemed to be completely oblivious to one another, yet working together as a team. When one rabbit would tire of his patch and hop forward to find something better, another rabbit would hop to the right or to the left in order to keep some sense of both territory and distance. There was something almost telepathic about their movements. One rabbit would be facing away from another, contentedly gnawing at a small twig. The other rabbit, having apparently decided that its grass wasn’t the right consistency, would hop farther away. Without hesitation, the first rabbit would grab the twig in its mouth and close the gap, thereby preserving the illusion of strength in numbers.

All of this would continue undisturbed all night long, were it not for a game of life and death these rabbits play. Unlike many other types of games, we are left to know only who the losers are; the winners escape into the night without a scratch. They play a game of joust between the themselves and the Beasts with Glowing Eyes. More often than not, this game is played on the paths that humans use to travel around from place to place. These rabbits in front of me have won the game before, but winning once is only an enticement to play again and again until they finally lose.

For several months I have found myself an eye witness to this jousting match, crouched inside the Beast, directing the motion of the Glowing Eyes. I have won some and lost some, and although I do not delight in killing animals I don’t intend to barbecue, there is a reassuring feeling to the sudden “thud” of victory that comes at the end of the game.

I waited for what seemed like an hour before the rabbits had moved toward the edge of the playing field. Their little mouths worked tirelessly, chewing the grass and secreting enough saliva to wash it all down. Another group of rabbits formed on the other side of the lawn, though I knew from previous encounters that the two groups would remain as far apart as possible. Minutes dragged on, and I began to think that I wasn’t going to get to see the game. Then, off in the distance, acting as if in a dance with the rustling leaves, the faint growl of an old Beast drifted through the night air.

I sat up. The group by the road continued to feed, heads to the ground, eyes on the prize. I watched their movements closely, hoping to find some evidence that at least one rabbit had heard the rumble–maybe an ear thrust higher or a quick glance out of curiosity. The noise grew louder, drowning out that of the leaves, and the light from the Glowing Eyes could be seen rounding the bend.

The rabbits continued to feed.

The Beast came into view down the road, gaining speed and closing the gap. First gear. A small bump bounced the Eyes into the air and then back on the road. Second gear. The growl grew higher, commanding the wheels to move the Beast faster and faster. Third gear. The black skin reflected the moon. The Glowing Eyes bared down.

The rabbits continued to feed.

The Beast came closer and closer, until I felt a twinge of doubt that any of the rabbits would take the chance. Maybe they could judge the intensity of the growl by listening. Maybe they could tell whether or not they stood a chance by watching the Eyes. Maybe they knew I was watching. Maybe–

An ear perked up. I looked closer at one of the rabbits, its head rising from the grass and turning toward the road. The fur on its back twitched involuntarily, a rear foot thumped the earth, and both ears rose high. It hopped toward the road–still chewing on a blade of grass–and stared directly into the Glowing Eyes.

I read not too long ago that the DNA strand of any human, when broken down into its component letters, is remarkably similar to that of almost any other animal. For example, the genetic spelling of a simple nematode is, in fact, almost ninety percent the same as the code for any human. An ant is nearly ninety-two percent similar. What this means in the grand scheme of life, the universe and everything, I don’t know. But it must mean something.

And what of the rabbit? What of the animal who had risked everything for a little rush of adrenaline? What of the animal who had given its life for a little taste of the narcotic of chance? Well, that tangled mess of blood and fur out there on the road is ninety-seven percent human. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

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