September 22, 2014

Authory Thoughts Day 1

How many holes? That’s my question for today, the one that seems to be pressing on my mind. I feel like there’s a novel in there, and wherever it is it isn’t buried very far beneath the surface.

There’s an old adage that asks about the existence of a sock. The adage, or perhaps anecdote, more or less goes as thus: You have a pair of socks. They’re your favorite socks. You love them, and so you don’t want to get rid of them no matter what. Over time, however, they get a hole. No big deal; you just patch the hole. Over time they get another, so you patch that too.

They get another, and another, and another. How much time goes by, how many holes do you patch, before they’re no longer your favorite old pair of socks anymore?

And so it is with people.

I wonder, how many holes in our lives can we patch and fill until we aren’t the same person any longer? Is that a bad thing? Does it have to be? I think that all falls down to just what you fill those holes with.

I started reading my Bible at work again today; it’d been a while since I’d done that. As I read over Matthew and thought about Mary and Joseph’s journeys, their trials and their tribulations, I thought about the depths of a mother’s love, and the measure of a man.

How many men today could be told not to worry about their suddenly pregnant fiancé, and trust that they ought to stand by her side? Not that there’s going to be another immaculate birth, but, if you were Joseph would you make the same decision? I feel awful for Mary; it must have been terrifying to be in her position. Had Joseph not heeded God’s words, she would have been publically shamed and disavowed as a harlot.

Still, she stayed the course, as did he. And, they continued on their path even knowing that their son would one day have to be abused and murdered for people who thousands of years later still spit and excrete on his sacrifice.

I wish I could have sat there next to Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. What would I have said to him? What could I? Just to sit next to that man, that man who was about to willingly march into a torture inconceivable by most.

Jesus was afraid before he died, just briefly. He sat alone in the Garden of Gethsemane, with all of his closest friends, his family, unable to even stay up one night with him and pray. He was alone. He sat there in that Garden talking to his Father and said “If this cup could pass another…”

He was afraid, but he was willing. I want to weep when I think about it. Words can’t describe how awful I feel for him in that moment. We think we have unreliable people in our lives, yet there he sat waiting for his friend and student to betray him, all alone in that Garden with no one beside him, just him and his father.

And, the very next day to be dragged away, whipped and beaten, spat upon and so much more, and to watch his friends all flee and hide in caves and such waiting for the nightmare to blow over. To watch the man whom he called the rock he would build his church upon deny him, curse him, call him out on his name just as Christ knew that he would…

You can’t get mad at the Apostles though. You can’t get upset. You can’t hate on them or blame them. Not really. Because, most of us live in a country where the worst we’d have to deal with is a few people not wanting to talk to us, and yet we punk out on our faith all the time. I’m talking about myself too here.

Every time you don’t have the courage to stand up for the man who died for you just because you’re afraid of not fitting in or being shunned, we’re just as bad as Peter was. In some ways we’re just as bad as Judas. After all, aren’t we selling Christ out too, every time our actions show that we condone the actions of the world?

Something to think about, for sure.

I’m working on a novel called Fugue. It involves murder, despair, entropy, schizophrenia and triumph. I’m thinking about doing an episodic release online; five dollars an episode or something minute like that. I’m also going to be moving over to Amazon’s camp as soon as I get the time to redo my covers to fit their standards (they originally weren’t designed to have words on the front of them).

I’m also fast approaching the time to release The Blackest Rain; I just need to decide if I’m going to combine the ashcan and the first novel into one book, or still do two separate releases.

And, on my sister site www.xeawnsgamingcorner.com, I’ll be reviewing Murasaki Baby by OvoSonico at some point in the near future.

Last but not least, I’ve taken to writing my novels in journals, and then dictating them to a computer later. Carpal tunnel aside, I find it a very rewarding experience.

God bless, keep writing, and enjoy a good book. Xeawn, out.