And I wouldn’t have it any other way….
I swear, the stories I’ll have about the actual conceptualization and subsequent publication of this book are far more fascinating than the book itself. For example, the night before my book comes out, I went to my old job to help my former supervisor who needed someone to do custodial work a couple of nights while he is on vacation. It was nice to see everyone, it was cool to have so many people congratulating me on the book and asking me to sign their copies when they get them (that is a WHOLE other story altogether) meanwhile? I cannot help but joke that it’s a humbling experience. The next morning you are an author, the night before? You are being congratulated while cleaning shit and blood of off a person’s bathroom floor. Before I did my shift I e-mailed a bunch of libraries to figure out how I can get my book on their shelf, one responded by telling me that typically they only accept books that have been reviewed. They have a fiction review committee and if I want to donate a copy, they’ll review it and if they don’t care for it? They will donate it back to me *tugs at his tie Rodney Dangerfield style* Woah, tough crowd. Another asked how long the book took me to publish as she herself has a lot of stories she thinks would make a great book. “Twenty-years,” I answered. The look went from excitement to total disappointment. Its hard to be a writer. This is why I would love to teach on the college level, I took a lot of classes with people who thought that to publish a book all you need is a good story and some talent. I don’t want to burst anyone’s bubble, but you need a hell of a lot more than a story and talent. That’s not me being cynical or harsh, because you need the drive and the passion to know that rejection is a constant. Do you still want to be a writer knowing you’re more often than not going to be rejected? Even if you publish a book, guess what? You’re going to be rejected. Dax Shepard said something on his podcast “Armchair Expert,” when he was interviewing Ellen Pompeo (an Everett native) where he was talking about Hollywood success and the whole process of being an actor on a television show. He basically broke down the process of the amount of luck in…alright, so you land a role on a pilot for a television how. Cool, you will be even more lucky if the pilot gets picked up for an order to do more shows. Then, the show has to get picked up for a season, and subsequent seasons. Then, critically….what are the taste makers going to say about this show? There are a number of variables that happen when you create ANYTHING. Anything at all. Realistically? My proofreader hit the nail on the head. If you are driven enough to see a project to completion? That’s a big fucking deal. If it reaches publication? That’s a big fucking deal. I don’t make a big deal of that because I have the Dax Shepard mentality. Story written? Check. Story published? No fucking way, I can’t believe it but, check. Do libraries want it? Are people going to get the copies they pre-ordered? Are people going to share it on social media or share it with their friends or book clubs? I wish I could just tell a room full of writers. The most important thing for all of you to realize is that it’s a HUGE feat to just do the work. If the work gets published? That’s phenomenal, pat yourselves on the back. If it gets read by even the tiniest fraction of people? That’s monumental. Don’t write because you think its going to make you famous. Don’t write because you think it will make you a millionaire. Sure, Snooki from Jersey Shore is a New York Times Best Selling Author and that drives me fucking nuts. Absolutely. Nuts. Well, she’s famous. I don’t know why. But she is famous. But do you really want to be Snooki famous? To be able to get that kind of success or do you want to be a real fucking writer? Write every day but also have realistic expectations for what the world of writing has for you. Because when you sit in a room full of people who think they’ll become the next J.K. Rowling or that they have the idea that will turn into the next cultural juggernaut? You want to be supportive and say…hey, of course you do. Realistically? Everyone thinks that. I don’t think my book is going to appeal to the cultural zeitgeist, I’m just proud to not have the regret that my mom does. She always wanted to write a novel, but she never felt brave enough or confident enough to do it. So I grew up with a chip on my shoulder because I wanted to do it so she could say if she couldn’t her baby boy could. With my kids? I wrote a fucking book. If they love working on cars, want to cook, want to be like their mother and pursue healthcare? I bore the creative albatross; they don’t have do. I’d rather see them go off and do practical and important things. If you want to be creative? Don’t make it your conviction, because that’s what I did….and its not an easy life. That’s why I love that my sister jokes that the book over drafted her account (she failed to grasp that pre-ordering just means you are reserving a spot until they get the books then they’ll charge you, she assumed they’d charge her then and there) then joked that she was going to sell her copies on Ebay for $75. I told her she’d be lucky if they returned her money and offered an apology. I do what I do because it matters to me. When I am not writing a story? A poem? Or just a blog…I feel fucking edgy. I need to fucking write. I’m not making money off of what I write, however I am getting the satisfaction of completing a thought and if I’m lucky? Someone (its very seldom) might tell me they enjoyed what I wrote. That’s writing. Seriously. That’s it. Book comes out tomorrow. I’m going to hang out with a friend who keeps telling me she has something planned for the day of my book coming out but won’t tell me what. That’s the added bonus of this book. Someone wants to make the day special for me and they don’t have to. I am ALL nerves. Is everyone going to get their copies? Are more libraries going to reach out to me? Is anyone going to like this book? Are people going to want to share it on social media? Meanwhile…I will clean toilets two more nights this week and then…. Now, what? If you want to be a REAL writer? That’s the question you will never stop asking yourself. Because, you won’t just write a book, become a millionaire, and sit on a shit ton of wealth patting yourself on the back. If you are lucky to get anything out of the creative lottery? It will be one person telling you that they felt what you wrote and you connected with them. That’s the wealth. Whenever anyone asks me what the book is about...and I try not to tell them the truth. It is the story about a man who has to confront his past before it devours and destroys not just him but his new family. What I want to say is, its the story about a little boy who just wanted to be free from the pain that his father's shadow had over so much of his life. It is fiction...and it is horror. But there is no one monster, there are several. When you all read it, you tell me who you think they are. Then I just want to tell them what tomorrow will feel like for me....and all I can say is this. I hate the month of September. I hated it before he died, then his death made me hate it even more. When I learned that my first and likely only book was coming out the first of the month...it just sealed the deal.
The luck part? I would be so lucky if in a few days, weeks, months, years...if someone I knew, or someone arbitrarily happened to find my book and read it came back to me and said...
Good artists and writers want to be seen or validated. Iconoclasts and masters? Just wanted to feel like someone could relate and hope to god it did something for them. That's not to say I feel in either category. But incentive drives everything. I'd rather feel like the one thing I'm okay at could change someone's view of themselves, than of myself.
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I am literally handing the world the scariest and most vulnerable puzzle pieces of myself…. arbitrarily tossing jigsaw pieces out into the world knowing the some will want to put it together and most probably will not care. I have always been available emotionally, probably too much and that’s why I’m not on social media. My relationship with my father is something I still struggle with. Moments in my life that I look back on fondly exist without any sort of attachment. If anything, they’re tethered back to an isolation he was very happy to keep me in. I am tired of being so tired. I used to try to fill up my soul and heart with so many songs, so many drugs, so much alcohol, so much stuff to just forget or forgive I’m not even really sure.
A lot of people joke about social distancing and how they were already experts before a pandemic. I could have been one of those people…but the truth is? Too much solitude be it physical or emotional hurts. That’s probably why I am so obsessed with wanting to share my story and hoping even one person reads it. I want people to know that despite how isolated they might feel because of their family, their mental state, or circumstances…everyone needs tangible and unconditional friend. I am very afraid of what total strangers and old friends will do with the breadcrumbs this book has offered them. At the end of the day? I still have not found myself again. Maybe he exists in this book and that was the whole point of my life. Hurt. Write. Forgive. That has become a mantra of mine but I left out the part where I am supposed to heal…or figure out that this book isn’t going to appeal to everyone and it certainly isn’t going to pay all the bills. So, what do I do next? I am still working on that. I was at the park today with my wife and two sons. My wife and Dylan played while I pushed our youngest around in the stroller totally stuck in introspection. God, what am I supposed to be doing? Are you there? Do you exist? Can you hear me? Did you create me? Because those who created me certainly didn’t care enough to answer me. This book comes out…will it hurt anyone? Will everyone ignore it? Will anyone want to ask questions or maybe see it as a positive thing? I am just so sick of feeling burdened by the weight of what I saw, what I felt, what happened, and what I can’t change. All he had to do that night was tell me he was sorry. Instead he told me I was crying and to call my mother and he hung up. He died the next day. You labeled me. I labeled you. So, I dubbed thee unforgiven. Given the fact that we are inching closer to the release of the book (Tuesday, September 1st. Grab a copy after you vote in your state's primary elections!) I wanted to reach out to Nick, and the other Atmosphere Press staff who worked directly with me and just wanted to express my profound gratitude for their hard work and contributions and shared one of my blogs where I did just that. I didn't expect Nick to ask the woman in charge of the marketing department to post the blog on their social media accounts. She is a very lovely woman and these went up today: Very cool...very surreal to be totally honest. Again, I am already having a hard enough time wrapping my head around the fact that this thing is going to exist but I was fortunate to get some sage like advice from both an Atmosphere staff member and my poetry mama and former graduate professor Melanie Faith. Over the course of getting this story published? This individual was very giving to me in terms of helping me construct certain aspects of the narrative and just reminding me...whether this thing is a big hit or its a modest success...just seeing it to fruition is a huge deal. I will never forget her words and her compassion for a writer who is completely clueless in this process given that he never imagined it would come to light. I am eternally grateful to her. And then there's my poetry mama. The woman who reads a lot of my stuff first, and then I go by what she thinks. If she sells submit it? I submit the crap out of it. If she doesn't think its ready? I work my ass off trying to make it ready or accept that...yeah, this probably isn't all that good. I trust her intuition THAT much because despite no longer being a student she still treats me with the warmth and the diligence of a veteran instructor and dear friend. Professor Faith is the best...and if you want to do yourself a favor? Go check her out if the hyperlink doesn't work melaniefaith.com she is a phenomenal writer and exceptional educator. Her class changed my life and her continued investment in my creative future and friendship has made me a better writer and person. She's the best, go check her out!
What else can I say? I'm excited, I'm horrified, but I'm mostly happy...look, I realize that I wrote this book. I realize that the main plot points were inspired by my actual life. Honestly though? I believe in this story. I think its a story that will resonate. As much as I hope it scares you? As much as I hope that certain aspects burrow themselves into your subconscious that it requires you to go back and re-read it...the most important thing about this book to me? I really love the characters. There are some great characters and some really great questions brought up here. I really believe if you check it out you will enjoy it. Alright...so what next? I mean...does anyone want to have a Zoom reading? I mean, I haven't offered it out there because if there's no demand, god knows I don't need to look like an idiot but if enough people even if they're just people I know at this point who just want to reconnect, talk about the book, talk about life, catch each other up? I would absolutely love to get something going. Let me know. Take care everyone. Don't lose hope. We got this. I woke up to several texts from Sean this morning letting me know that he had finished the book and absolutely loved the story. I am terrible with compliments, but gracious and humble wouldn't quite do justice how it felt to hear these words from someone I have known since the seventh grade, but also someone who I harbor a tremendous amount of reverence for when it comes to his taste in films and literature. Honored, is probably a more fitting word to use. I was even more flattered that he chose to use his platform on twitter to give a review of the book. My good friend Mike had texted me hours later to also share his review that he submitted to Amazon. Needless to say, I was not ready to be inundated with positive feedback. I felt proud that not only had a managed to finally publish a book and share it with people I have known my whole life, but they are genuinely fans of being the book and my writing. Kate (Mrs. Burnham) texted me this evening with a picture of her high school best friend posing with her copy of the book. I look forward to hearing what she tells Kate! When my son saw her picture he asked if he could take a picture with the book. My wife finished her copy when we were at the park with the boys today. She hadn't put it down since she started reading it yesterday afternoon. That was encouraging because I think I mentioned in my previous post that my wife isn't much of a reader, (the last book series she was really invested in were the Fifty Shades of Grey novels) so I was proud that I was able to impress her with this novel.
So there it is. Unreal. I still can't wrap my head around it, and probably never will. Did you get your copy yet? If not, head over to Amazon and pick one up. Have a friend, a loved one, acquaintance, or co-worker who you think would enjoy it? Encourage them to grab one too! If you feel so inclined, leave the book a review so I can hopefully create more of a buzz to get more readers to check out this story. You can also leave reviews of the book at Google Books. I am already being asked if there is a sequel in the works or what my next book will be about. I've entertained ideas about that but its really irrelevant if no one knows this one exists. Right now I'm doing my best to promote the hell out of it so every little bit of help would certainly be appreciated! I appreciate the hell out of what a lot of you have done for me already and I am infinitely grateful. I would love to write another book, we'll see what comes of this one and where even having a novel out in the world will mean when I finish another manuscript. While I have you, another thing I want to address is National Suicide Prevention week which started yesterday and goes until next Saturday. Really every day of our lives, but this week if we can really marinate with the stigma people deal with regarding mental illness and the fear of being ostracized or ignored due to their mental illness...look, all of us is dealing with something. Be it the loneliness that is beginning to drive us mad from quarantine, the fear of never getting our normalcy back, or just...the lack of compassion, empathy, or the touch of a friend or loved one due to COVID-19 and trying to protect each other there. Zoom, Call, fucking ring a door bell while wearing a mask, socially distancing, and properly washing your hands after...check in on your friends, your relatives, your neighbors. I know its fucking crazy out there and everyone is angry, depressed, and struggling, let's take care of each other. There are numbers you can call, there are organizations who are working tirelessly to help those who suffer from mental illness, or those grieving the loss of someone who succumbed to their mental illness. If you can afford it? Please DONATE to a wonderful organization who is trying their hardest, their absolute hardest to help individuals and families struggling with this very REAL problem. Ask for help if you're struggling, be a lifeline if you see someone struggling. There is no shame in being mentally ill, and I can promise you, nothing negative can come from offering someone help even if its just your kindness, your empathy, and your time. Take care of each other.
UPDATE: Something is up with the links on Weebly so here are the two links you need to check out:
https://vote.gov/ https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781649218735 I started to write “professionally” when I was eighteen. I put that into quotes because I am being VERY loose with the term “professionally.” What it actually means is that was the age when I started visiting my local Barnes & Nobel chains and grabbing as many literary magazines as I could so I could take them home and research where I could potentially send my poetry. Eventually, I worked my way up to dropping forty-dollars (some of you may laugh, but back in 2006 that was a lot of money to a kid fresh out of high school making eight bucks an hour staining furniture in a warehouse full-time. i.e. I was REALLY, REALLY broke) on one of those very heavy Writers Digest books which contained all the publications and agents I could send my poems to. By nineteen I was attending a weekly writer’s group at a local Unitarian Universalist Church with a group of very talented and lovely writers most of whom ranged between the age of my parents at the time or my grandparents (picture the movie My Girl, I was Vada walking into a group of VERY mature, serious, and talented writers). At the time I was incredibly young so I was very “brave” (I use this loosely because it should really mean stupid and impulsive) with my writing. I wrote about politics like I knew what the hell I was saying. I was critical of religion; I was critical of the way the government treated impoverished and marginalized individuals…but more often than not I wrote a crap ton of puppy love poems to girls who would just as quickly amputate their hand than let me hold it (can’t say I blame them). The point is, I had a reputation with my older contemporaries of having such a raw and refreshing voice because (in their eyes) with youth came a certain charming rebellion that tends to get broken down when you become more fiscally and domestically responsible. I never believed this would be me until I woke up in my thirties with a wife and two young children. What is with all the backstory, Eddie? I’m working up to that…even as a writer in his thirties, while the writing itself is (hopefully) more refined, more concise, and hopefully contains more clarity as a writer I still feel that I have a responsibility to telling stories no matter how polarizing or stigmatizing they may be. This weekend has caused a bit of a low-grade depression which is a welcome change from the last eight months of debilitating anxiety. Why? Because my debut novel comes out “TUESDAY” (not Monday as I previously said several times) if only I had a Joey in my life:
Which means that for the world to know…hey, I am published novelist now I am going to have to promote the crap out of it. As I stated before, I am at a HUGE disadvantage here as I am not on any social media which is why I have asked you previously and will ask humbly you again for some assistance but we’ll get to that.
Right now, I feel that I have yet another disadvantage because I also must ask something else of you. If you’re reading this, if you’re a fan of what I’ve written, if you’re even remotely familiar with what I’ve written, or read this blog…you know how passionately I feel about where the trajectory of this country is going with a glorified dictator in charge. Frankly, while a part of me wants to be read by everyone regardless of color, creed, religion, or politics, the fact of the matter is 1.) Trump is not a politician; he is a virus. 2.) He is the pied piper of dystopia and frankly the way his supporters behave with their perpetuation of detrimental conspiracy theories and structural racism is unconscionable. Vote apathy is just as dangerous as voter complacency. And in 2016 I was both of those things. Myself, my wife, and my own mother refused to vote because of our complacency regarding where we live (primarily a blue state) and the fact that a bigot managed to somehow lie, cheat, and steal his way into the oval office made us apathetic. How in the fuck did WE the American people even let this sideshow freak get so far, he became the Republican candidate on the ticket? So, I am urging all of you…don’t repeat what myself, my wife, my mother, and a lot of us who may be too frightened to take accountability for did in 2016. I am urging you now more than ever to do your patriotic duty this November. If you currently aren’t registered to vote…either because once again you’re jaded, apathetic, myopic, complacent, now is not the time for us to lose even ONE single vote…please do. The people who claim to love and represent this country? They are the ones who are dismantling it. They are the ones who are making us dangerously close to looking more like Nazi Germany than the land of the free. Look, if you’re reading this and you’re thinking I’m a libtard, a snowflake, or a nasty woman? (Man, I’d love to feel like a nasty woman) go fuck yourself. Read “Mein Drumpf” (its in an earlier blog) and realistically if any one is reading at all…I highly doubt any MAGA youth member or white privileged Karen is a fan…so now I can be straight with you. DO NOT LET THIS MAN GET FOUR MORE YEARS. OUR COUNTRY. OUR FUTURES. OUR SAFETY. AND OUR FUCKING LIVELIHOODS DEPEND ON IT. This is legitimately the scariest blog I have ever written because I don’t want to be the reason my kids get ostracized…however, I don’t want to be the reason why my kids wind up wearing white hoods to avoid the 2021 version of concentration camps either. There are already children in cages, white nationalist teenagers gunning down protestors, and law enforcement officers proudly acting as Trump’s errand boys so I don’t exactly think I’m being ostentatious and hyperbolic here. That leads me to another humble request… “Nothing to Get Nostalgic About,” comes out TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1st. If you haven’t pre-ordered your copy already? Why not pre-order your copy now? Want to wait until Tuesday to physically find a location that is selling it (because who knows if anyone who already preordered will have their copy successfully delivered due to Trump screwing with the Post Office?) Here is a friendly nudge in the right direction. If you want to support the writer? Help the writer get it out there. Just one social media post about it, tell your friends, your family, tell your local book store owners to reach out to me for a signing, tell your librarians to stock it, more importantly…I just need people to get it out into the world and remind them that this thing exists, and it should be read. That is of course, if you feel strongly enough to do so. Then, once you’ve read it? (if you didn’t totally hate it) leave a review on Amazon or any book retailer with the option to leave reviews. Alright…just a few more days to retire the used car salesman gig. Look, its very important to me that all of you guys reading are safe, that you are healthy, that your physical and mental health is where it needs to be. Honestly? The biggest reason I want this book to be read. I want to meet you guys and gals. I want to talk to you. I hope you have questions; I hope I have answers. I hope… I hope that I didn’t completely blow likely the only chance I will ever get at being an author. That’s why I can’t also blow the chance to not urge all of you to do the right thing this November if I have a platform…even if its only for ten minutes (or more likely ten seconds).
Watching Bill and Ted Face The Music was such a weird and profoundly emotional experience for me today. As a fan of the first two films, of these characters (I watched the cartoon, ate the cereal, owned the trading cards, and even played the NES game despite how ridiculously convoluted and stupid it was) it was such a satisfying feeling to get to hang out with them and watch as they and their daughters tried to unite the planet and save reality. What I hadn’t anticipated was the company I would have when the third part of this amazing trilogy would finally arrive, the existence of my own two children. I don’t know if it was the hope that two fictional characters exude when reality is far more myopic and cynical, the fact that they are middle aged men with two kids in their mid-twenties, while I am thirty-three with two of my own children so it made me feel old and nostalgic, or the one thing I hadn’t considered…Bill and Ted helped me get through a particularly horrible year (well, until 2020 because lets face it nothing is going to hold a candle to this suck fest) 1998.
There is a reason I picked that particular year as the climactic arc for this book. I’ve always been a particularly lonely kid. My grandma used to complain all the time that my parents kept me behind gates more than normal parents should. My parents would counter that since I was a quiet natured kid it did no harm…” Look! He’s totally happy all by himself in an empty room with two toys and no companions.” I then grew up as the kid who when the neighborhood kids weren’t home or got sick of me for being too winey (admittedly, I was a winey kid. An old friend used to joke that I had a timer before I’d just turn into a moody crying mess) would sit in his grandparents’ den watching hours of cable television and movies. Loneliness is as much ingrained in the pop culture I imbibed as it is my day to day life. In 1998, (I’ll spare the details) I went from being the youngest of three to an only child. There was an incident with the family, fights went down, I found myself sitting in a courtroom while my family fought my parents, and I spent most of my summer break (having survived two yeas of Mrs. V-you’ll learn about her when you read…she is also VERY real.) All alone, getting nostalgic for the life I had before 1998…when I still had a family or at least the idea of one. I lost my grandparents (both of whom were my greatest advocates) and subsequently my childhood. I dealt with it by watching T2, Starship Troopers, and the Bill and Ted movies religiously. Living off of Instant Breakfast (mostly at 4 am when my parents were asleep and I’d watch after hours HBO television like Real Sex and Taxicab Confessions) or begging my dad to track down outdated trading cards and magazines at comic book stores around the area. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was trying to get my childhood back through nostalgia…and while I was able to amass all these things that reminded me of the childhood I believed I had, the loneliness of owning the stuff without the actual childhood? That really sucked. So, I did what any glorified latchkey kid would do in that situation. I decided to give up on reality and live vicariously through the fictional characters of movies and television shows I loved. I didn’t realize how detrimental this was until many years of therapy and trying to figure out…I have a wife and a baby…why am I still so fucking lonely? Because 1998 wasn’t the year I lost my childhood. 1998 was the year that I lost me. That bucktooth, soup bowl haircut, leg braces wearing, dorky little goofball who knew the whole world was laughing at him and making fun of him…but it was okay because even if Mrs. V would convince all of my friends’ parents to stop allowing their kids near me (a combination of loving horror movies and having a teenage sister with baby convinced her that I was going to be a criminal or serial killer) losing the two most important people in my life (my grandfather died the following year and I never got my chance to say goodbye), and being fully aware at 11 years old that I didn’t have anyone…my friends were being encouraged to make new friends, my family had a restraining order against my dad, my oldest sister who returned was such a fucking mess over trying to basically raise me, little Eddie just decided…I don’t want to be here anymore. For twenty-two years I hadn’t heard from him. Then one night in September of 2017, he told me that he had a story he wanted me to write and rather than think I was going crazy I just listened to him. When the book was completed by the summer of 2018…I lost him again. When the book continued to be rejected by hundreds of literary agents (the fifth rejected manuscript) I just knew he was lost forever. By December of 2019, when Atmosphere Press had reached out to me (specifically, Nick) and they wanted to publish this story (I was SO fortunate as this came right before Christmas and I had also published a short story and a series of poems) I couldn’t help but want to scream his name and show him the e-mail. That was impossible…because he is me. There isn’t some perpetually stunted eleven-year-old version of me hiding out there, there is just me. Then Bill and Ted Face The Music was going to come out the same day as my book….it just felt like fucking kismet, it really did. These characters and these films that got me through 1998, helped me survive myself from high school until now…holy shit, they’re coming back the same day this book does? Well, they decided to show up early while my book arrives TUESDAY (like an idiot I keep saying Monday, Monday, Monday! No, September 1st is Tuesday). Anyway, so I’m watching the movie (both times) and that loneliness came back, that sadness, that where is this going? What if no one reads the book? What if being a writer wasn’t my destiny? What if the book comes out and being a writer isn’t my destiny and I spend the rest of my life having no idea what I was meant to do and I have to figure it out as a wage slave until the day I die? Then he showed up again. Little Eddie only…. now he’s three and one. He exists in their eyes, in their smiles, and in their affection for grown up Eddie. I couldn’t help but feel mad at myself that I have this booking coming out, these amazing little boys, a phenomenal wife…what the fuck is going on with me? Why am I so fucking lonely and sad? Because I never got to say goodbye to my childhood. I never got to say goodbye to that kid, I never had the chance to tell that kid that in time…everything will be alright. So, like Bill and Ted I don’t know if the one thing I spent my whole life working toward is going to unite the world and save reality….but then I look at my sons and think, but it already has. It united little me with myself and saved my future reality. I’m sure these read like the writings of a lunatic but I am fucking telling you…that little boy is out there and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t get the hug he always deserved. I know he's out there, in there, he's somewhere because I haven't felt this way since 1998. *WARNING: This a review/rant that would be better served in a type of Denis Leary rap that only Denis Leary can deliver. Short story long? Its got run-ons baby…deal with it. “Sometimes things don’t make sense, until the end of the story” I finished watching Bill and Ted Face the Music…and I haven’t stopped crying except to pack Dylan up and drop him off at his Mimi’s house. Before I left he told me that he loved me and gave me several hugs and kisses, as I turned my back to him to walk to the car he grabbed onto my legs told me several more times that he loved me and gave me additional hugs and kisses. I then got into the car, waved good-bye and turned the corner and sobbed for so long I had to keep driving in circles until I could stop. I was finally able to get a hold of myself and found a sleeping baby in his car seat when we made it back home. He is now sleeping in my bed while I watch him on the monitor, writing this, and re-watching Bill and Ted Face the Music less than two hours when I finished it. I don’t think I am being hyperbolic at all when I say…this is the film 2020 needs right now. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t a flawless film. It won’t wow you with its cinematic brilliance, but in its own very charming and subtle way? It will come as a revelation to you. Since March, the entire world has been socially distancing from one another with the hope of flattening the curve regarding the Coronavirus outbreak. When I started seeing the “We’re all in this together” signs in people’s yards it made me optimistic that for once, maybe this country will finally get its shit together once and for all and sadly it would be because of this proverbial equalizer. Instead? Corrupt politicians propagated partisan ideologies while goading their dogmatic supporters to use their affluence and ignorant bravados to weaponize the American dream. Marginalized communities stood up and got nose to nose with these violent militias disguised as suburbanites and blue collared everymen and women to speak their truth and do you think Trump’s American listened? NO WAY. Instead, it responded with violence and doubled down on white nationalism. A repugnant and petulant geriatric leader cowered behind his cell phone and spewed vitriol and fallacies on social media while cities were burning, the staggering number of COVID-19 cases forced millions out of work and into coffins, there were protests, there were counter protests, there were freak outs over mask mandates, toilet paper became a coveted commodity…in short? The great equalizer? It never came. So, a film about two persistent goofballs trying to fulfill a shared destiny to bring harmony to the world and restore humanity that was bestowed upon them when they were just teenagers who needed to not fail their History class coming to terms with middle age and the reality that they spent their whole lives trying to achieve something that never came to fruition? *GASPS FOR AIR* Yeah, it resonates…and it probably won’t resonate more than it should because it’s a decades old franchise and its meant to be a turn your brain off comedy. One of the greatest achievements of this movie? Was that it retained all the aspects from the previous two films that made me love them, but it put greater emphasis (and who could have predicted? Ironic considering it’s a time travel movie) that the greatest equalizer for society? Kindness. That’s it. That’s all. Kindness. Because when we’re kind to each other, when we’re tolerant, inclusive, and when we realize that what makes humanity so great is what we achieve when we work together and when we are united by something that reminds us of what we can accomplish together we are more. Then add being a parent into that equation. My first viewing of this film was spend chasing after my one year old so he wouldn’t antagonize his older brother from trying to beat on him. I had to pause it several time to break up fights, calm a teething one year old, reprimand a three-year-old for stealing Oreos out of the cabinet at seven in the morning, peeing all over the toilet seat, refusing to pick up after himself, and screaming for absolutely no reason at all. That might not be the most compelling or satisfying reality to those reading this, but for me? That is a reality I feel privileged to get to live. I love my children even when they cause me to question the smallest iota of sanity they are generous enough to leave me…but its worth it comparing to the alternative. Cut to a film about two fathers who are trying to unite the world, save reality, and try not to lose their wives and disappoint their kids at the same time. Its no longer parents just don’t understand…its children just don’t understand, and when they do? Tears upon tears upon tears. It’s a selfless movie. Bill and Ted are just trying to save the world. Their daughters are now trying to save them. Then everyone winds up trying to save each other. There are plenty of personal reasons this film struck a chord, but for the sake of this writing I’ll just say this (I’ll write a second part later)…. it is just so much fun. It helps you forget what a dumpster fire 2020 is, you’ll forget about Trump, you’ll forget about COVID, you’ll forget about the consequences of a major election, and for one hour and thirty-two minutes? You’ll get to live vicariously through a world that is on the verge of collapse but still has people in it who want to save it by doing what we should have been doing this whole time. Being excellent to each other. Working together. Helping each other. BEING KIND TO EACH OTHER. If you’re a longtime fan of the Bill and Ted films, you certainly don’t need my endorsement to see this movie you’re going to anyway. If you haven’t seen the Bill and Ted films? Do yourself a favor and watch all three of them. If you are slightly disappointed that I didn’t actually give a review of the movie I mainly ranted on the state of the world…. This film made me realize how much I missed my friends Bill and Ted and how heartbreaking it was to have to say goodbye to them. For a sequel being released so many years after its predecessors and still possessing the magic and the ability to just transport you somewhere that makes your heart smile and fills you with a ridiculous amount of optimism in a current reality where optimism will make you fodder for the goosestomping contention of the Cheeto monster followers…you’ll realize you stopped caring if it was going to hold up, because it felt like you never left. Even better? You’re elated to realize that you’re exactly where you belong.
"When all that's left to do is reflect on what's been done. This is where sadness breathes, the sadness of everyone."
The book comes out Tuesday, but here is what I will be upfront about.... The pipe people, the dead blonde boy that haunted my family, teenage pregnancy, the seances, the Kurt Cobain cakes, a family literally on the verge of a total inevitable collapse.....
My son was barely one when he was sitting in his high chair in our bathroom while I was showering. I heard a whimper that turned into a hysterical kind of cry. When I came out of the shower I saw Dylan staring off with fear in his eyes. I have never seen a face like that since. At the time I was just beginning my own private battle with my father's death and the lack of resolution from it. As time went on my son would tell me things about him that only my father would know. I don't talk about my dad. My son has no grandpa. He has a yaya and a papa (my wife's parents) and a pamma (my mother, pamela) but there is no grandpa. However, after another nightmare last summer he confided in my wife that he was visited by dada's dada and pointed to a framed picture of my father sitting in his room from our wedding (we reserved two spots for my wife's mother who passed and him). I never told him the people in those pictures were. From the first experience I imagined a horrible story of my father coming back to finish what he started with me. When my son finally acknowledged who the man was...
As hyperbolic and stupid as its going to sound...if I write a book where I finally confront him, then maybe I can stop him from haunting me and my son. I spent so many nights (initially) cradling dylan in my arms while I wrote it. Then there were the nights he was asleep in our bed while my wife worked and I'd be next to him on the laptop (the whole first two pages were written this way) trying to figure out a way to stop my past and my father from ruining my son's life. It felt in a lot of ways that Dylan had found me as a nihilistic recluse and handed me the weapon I never believed I deserved to hold. I have told people this book is not about the anger...its about being tired, desperate, and feeling like you've failed only to find that a young person finds you and in an effort of their own desperation hands you the thing that defines you and asks if you'll be brave enough to try one more time. This was literally the if I ever write another manuscript that's it. Then Dylan showed up and handed me my light saber back and without saying anything asked if I could be the person I always imagined myself being.
On Monday? I'm not publishing a book. I am finally letting go. I can't thank Nick and Atmosphere Press enough for giving me a proper way to finally let go of all the anger, the resentment, the sadness, the fucking nihilism of growing up the way I did with the man I did. I am going to publicly acknowledge so people can hold me to it...Monday is going to be a spectacular and amazing day. Not because I wrote a book...but because I have no choice anymore. I have to let go of the past. Forever.
Six more days until my debut novel “Nothing to Get Nostalgic About,” is officially available to the public. The publisher started their promotional campaign earlier today for it, I hope it will get some attention for the story. I really hate soliciting help from anyone about…well, anything but if you’re reading this and you have a Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, Telephone, Carrier Pigeon, Know Morse Code, or are a master at the art of smoke signals, I’d really appreciate if you could throw it out there to your friends, co-workers, relatives, neighbors, local grocer, pediatrician, accountant, or favorite barber/hairstylist that there is this book that is coming out and they should check it out.
Is it wrong that I am more worried this thing is going to remain in obscurity than excited that it even exists at all? Last night I had written a blog about my son Dylan’s new favorite song. For one reason or another when I published it, only half of the blog went up. In that moment I realized that I had one of two options…re-write it or toss my laptop across the room. I wound up watching videos on You Tube and wondering why for the past two weeks I have been experiencing such fatigue. Its not completely unreasonable for me to be so tied. I am the stay at home parent to do boys aged three and one. My youngest is in the early stages of beginning to walk. He is also in that exciting refuses to sit peacefully in the carriage at the grocery story and opts to try to crawl out of it or turn to pull his big brother’s hair. This usually has me trying to break up a fight between the two in the middle of the produce section while also fighting off the anxiety attack that comes when I feel like people are judging me or labeling me an unfit father. Then there is job hunting, which a friend asked me today…” How is it going?” My reply? “About as good as job hunting should when you’re in the middle of a pandemic that has left millions of people out of work and desperate to find anything to feed their families or pay their rent.” That is when I realized…oh yeah, that is right. It is also 2020, the most exhausting year I am sure any of us have ever lived through and we are not even close to it being over yet. To most, the year ends on December 31st but for a lot of other people (including myself) the real end of this tedious and perpetual nightmare is November 3rd. That was when I realized why I wanted to take a night off from politics, promoting this book, and frequent (obsessive and exhausting) inbox checks to see if any of the number of jobs I had applied to were willing to give me an interview. It was not a compelling post, nor was it one that was going to change anyone’s life. It was just about how Dylan discovered Areosmith’s “Sweet Emotion,” from a recent Dick’s Sporting Kid commercial and declared it his favorite song and how when I played in the car for him? You would have thought I just told him that his future college tuition and first automobile were already paid off in full. It was pure magic and excitement. Then…it refused to post. In that moment, the house that refuses to stay clean for five minutes. The refusal of my oldest to hold my hand in parking lots. The unfathomable fear of this book being unremarkable and ignored. That anyone reads this blog at all. And for lack of a less snobby response? Being an educated person with two degrees and a published book is going to wind up back to scrubbing toilets and mopping floors again if no one else thinks I’m qualified to do anything else. And I just clicked out of the page and let myself shut down. I think that is alright to do every so often. It beats the alternative. So, here I am on a word document so I can ensure that all my words don’t vanish into a technological abyss faster than I was able to put them down. And now I do not even know what I want to say. I certainly do not want this post to be a drag for anyone including myself, so I guess I’ll just do what my therapist tries to get me to do every appointment. Rather than define myself by the negative aspects of this week, I should focus on the positive.
If you are looking for a way to make your kids go to bed? Turn on the Criterion Channel and make them watch a short animated film. Better yet, then make your oldest try to watch "The Player" with Tim Robbins (I LOVE this film) and I guarantee he'll tap out to sleep before trying to keep up with a film SO boring (to him). Here they are, here are my boys. They are asleep. My wife had a staff meeting so I was in charge of bed time and well, I think I crushed it. The best part about bedtime now are the three friends I greet when I carry my oldest in and ask to make sure they'll take care of him. My son Dylan absolutely can not sleep without knowing they are in bed with him. These are his favorite things on earth. Slimer. Stay Puft. The Ghostbusters logo. Why? For the love of god, why? My son has a profound fear of the dark. Recently, he has run out to ask if I will remove the scary chucky movies from the bedroom because he is afraid of scary chucky. He also didn't care for my 1994 Jason mask from Jason goes to Hell (It has the CREEPY HAIR DADA!, and he even made me remove his chewbacca plush citing he has TOO much hair). I am going to be a published horror writer in one week and I have removed every iota of horror from my life because it scares him. Mind you, I have autographs and pictures of me hugging PJ Soles and John Kassir (the cryptkeeper) my wife even taught my son the following mantra ("If you see monsters and ghosts, don't be afraid. They are daddy's friends") and I have made a point to wear sports jerseys or bland shirts so that my son isn't afraid of monsters who are...well, friends of mine.
Believe it or not, there people who have actually asked me..."Does it hurt you? Does it bother you? Is it a problem? to remove horror from your life?" Not at all. I found and needed horror because it was refuge from the actual horror of having my father. For my oldest to be afraid of something and ask me to remove it, to take care of it, to trust me with its removal? I fucking did it. I really am the dada who is friends with the monsters. My son cuddles (absolutely won't sleep without them) three monsters because he LOVES (he watched it four times this weekend) Ghostbusters. He loves those monsters because those are the monsters daddy loved as a little boy. If you say "When daddy was a little boy" my oldest will immediately smile and say...I want it. That's super fucking cool. So amazing to think he cares about what I loved as a child and he carries it like an important torch. He fears Chucky the way I did at his age, and despite my owning and loving Chucky now...trusts that I will get rid of Chucky. Being a dad is so fucking weird, and so satisfying. I get asked a lot, what if your kids don't embrace what you love? Who cares? Its my turn to embrace what they love, fight off what they fear (even if I love it) and god damn it...what could be cooler than my son coming to me and saying...I don't like scary chucky, but I know you do. Can you put him somewhere else? He's afraid of Chucky but so afraid that he thinks Chucky can hurt him. Rather, dad...I really don't like your creepy annoying friend, can you stop having him over to watch the basketball games? Absolutely. No problem. I still love horror but I LOVE that my oldest doesn't. Why? Because is terrified of scary things, but the way I used to ask my wife to take care of spiders, he trusts me to keep the scary stuff away from him. Maybe one day he will come around to it, and if he doesn't? I think it would be a hilarious side note that my son hates the dark and hates scary things...and his father wrote a horror novel. I like being the person who can remove parts of his life because they scare his kid but his kid knows that his father loves it enough to protect him and tell the scary things...guys, I love you but maybe when he's older. So, I'm the guy who loves scary things and the reason they don't paralyze my kids is because...well, daddy can talk to them, and then they won't scare me because they respect him. Fuck. That is a cool feeling. I watch a lot of Olivia, Pepa Pig, Daniel Tiger, and Sid the Science Kid now...little does he know? What scares me? People rejecting science, kindness, and learning from mistakes. Chucky may make him uneasy, but those things are the catalyst for an existential breakdown. I'd rather he learn and become the person who appreciates the things that mitigates my fears. He LOVES science, cooking, kindness, and problem solving. Micheal...HEY! Micheal...MYERS! Take the damn mask off or take 5, my kid will appreciate you but frankly? You're too much right now and he's learning science! Mike...Mike! MIKE! I know, I know you want to learn too but frankly you're too damn scary. I'll...GUYS! Jason, Freddy, Chucky...I know, I KNOW you want to sit with him and learn too! He's too young. I'll DVR it...I'll teach you guys science too, I didn't forget about you. He's just not old enough yet. |
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September 2021
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