I believe all creative people, be they writers, artists, sculptors, what-have-you, suffer from the pains of duality. A good example of this can be found in Stephen King's THE DARK HALF. Many of us are able to compartmentalize, like serial killers or detectives do, and go on about our daily lives wearing the mask of normalcy. Others of us are not. Some of us are all or nothing but we still suffer from that same mind-maddening duality.
Look at my Twitter picture. I look like a sweet, goofy guy with a beautiful wife, right? Now look at my picture here. I look like the type of bastard who would rip one's throat out just as soon as look at them. Both are true. I am the type who cannot compartmentalize. These two sides of me fight constantly inside my head. Both are adept warriors--neither will give up or back down and sometimes it is soul-shattering. However, I would not change this for it makes me able to create. Without that inner war I'd never get any ideas. I'd never be able to let myself go and be wild, which is necessary to the writer, or artist--creator. Sure, I'd have lived a safe life but fuck that. A safe life. What the hell does that even mean? Job, White Picket Fence, 2 and 1/2 kids, Two-Story in the suburbs? A mortgage, maybe two, and credit cards? A life that starts out with happiness but usually ends up in the fucking War of the Roses? No thanks, I'm good.
What I am doing is not safe. I am betting even. After 20 years of boring, mindless jobs that pay pennies I have given it all up to write. Boy, has that bumblefucked my resume. I'm betting even like a psychotic gambler, trying to convince those around me that yes, I can do this.
I don't sleep all day and I'm not lazy. I wake up at 5:30 a.m. much like the rest of America. I make some coffee and have a cigarette (because if I tried to quit cigarettes I'd fucking kill people and I'm not kidding) while waiting for my novel to download. POLARITY is in the polishing stage, the final stage where it is damn near ready to submit to an editor, or many editors, if needs be.
I love this novel with all my heart. The one person who has read it, John Bruni, calls it "a work of genius." I think it kicks ass but I'm not Kanye West. I'm not going to run around calling myself a genius. If others do, good: As Sailor Jerry once said, "My work speaks for itself." And to me, that's the way it should be. To reiterate, I'm not saying I'm a genius. Bruni said that. If you'd like to disagree, take it up with him.
Do I digress? Have we lost the point? I don't think so. For all my faults (and there are many--I am absolutely unable to paste on that used car salesman face and cannot tolerate anyone breathing down my neck) my wife believes in me and that is all that matters. She knows part of me is a sweetheart who just wants peace and to make a living as a writer. She also knows that a part of me is a fearless nutcase prone to take fifteen foot leaps off of high-rise patios and run through the woods because I "want to go on an adventure." True story.
I'm a social animal, a wanderer, and a writer. Plus many other things. Maybe you are too.
As an aside, before I jump off of here and go about my duties as a househusband (yes, I'm Mr. Mom, and if you say that to my face I really hope you're a buddy of mine, for both our sakes) I'd like to address something that was said to Brian Keene, one of my favorite writers. Someone called him a "hobbyist". What the fuck is a hobbyist? I don't see the man petering around in the garden. I mean, maybe he does but he also churns out books like candy factories do gummi bears. Hobbyist my ass. Whoever said that to him out to be hung up by their ankles for a few hours and have their nipples removed.
Unless it was a woman. We can't do that to women. We can only squint and grip the bridge of our noses and hope we don't bust our own noses.
Well, enough out of me. Thanks for being here, beautiful reader, and that's coming from both sides of me.
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