Switch On, Factory Running, Out of the Black Hole

Hello Friends!

It’s been a while. A lot has changed in the world. I won’t beleaguer you with my thoughts on it all here. Perhaps another time. This post is of a more personal nature. Call me selfish. So then, I’ve been quiet. These last three years I have been in a creative black hole so to speak. I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t like to use the term writer’s block (for one, I don’t believe it is inherent to writers) but maybe that’s what it is. I’ve been through this before, in various degrees and lengths of time. I’m not going to try to analyze the exact cause or causes. Perhaps it’s an issue of self-esteem, discouragement, depression, the state of the world, or a mix of many things. I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just life moving forward and me forgetting to stay focused on my creativity. I have a family to provide for, and another career that pays the bills. Whatever the reason, it happened. And when it happens, there is always the gnawing voice telling me I should be writing. I should be creating. That never goes away. But the ability to actually do so, to let my mind think about my work in a manner beyond that, to actually produce new content and generate new ideas, that ability has eluded me yet again. It’s like owning a dormant factory. I know I should get the line moving again, but how do I flip the switch?

So why now? Why talk about this after such a long period of inactivity? Well first of all, I’ve been in such a daze about all this, that I hadn’t realized it’s been three years. In early 2018 I was all fired up and planning to release a few poetry collections. I have one chapbook manuscript nearly complete, gathering dust, and other collections taking shape. But the main reason I’m here writing about this is that just recently, the switch has been flipped. The factory is running again. And it truly was just like a switch. Just like the reasons it got switched off, I can’t explain how it got switched back on. I can pinpoint the moment it happed though. It was on a recent commute home from work. I was listening to music, thinking about some heavy personal issues, and my thoughts drifted to my writing, and then boom! Switch on, and I was generating new ideas about my Lazarus series. And then it was like a flood, the desire to look at my poetry again. Ideas to do something fresh and creative with my writings and animations. Plans to return to my novel, Feeding Lazarus. Plans to self-publish a new second edition, focus on writing the sequels, finish the series.

So, there it is. Switch on, factory running, out of the black hole. I will post again with more details on future publication plans. But for now, know this, I do plan on releasing my second chapbook of poetry soon, as it is basically finished. We will see Lazarus and Daniel again and finish their story. And from there? Who knows? Let’s just try to steer clear of any black holes.

So, what about you? Have you ever suffered from creative black holes, writer’s block, or lapses in periods of creativity? If so, what do you think caused them? How did you get out?

Thanks for reading, and have a great day! Cheers!

Come Fly with Death

Come Fly with Death: Poems Inspired by the Artwork of Zdzislaw Beksinski is available now as an ebook for $0.99 and trade paperback for $5.99, and will also be available to order through your local bookstore in the coming weeks.

Below you’ll find two poems from this chapbook (two because I failed to post yesterday when my iPad became possessed). First is the title poem, ‘Come Fly with Death’ along with ‘Bring the Light.’ You can also sample three additional poems which I’ve previously posted: ‘One in Hell,’ ‘Ocean Eyes,’ and ‘Hell Fossil.’

Thank you so much for having a look at my work, and if you like it, tell a friend! (If you don’t like it, just pretend you never read it.)

 

COME FLY WITH DEATH

Zdzislaw Beksinski

Come fly with Death
and feel the splitting as you come apart
with turbulent screams bifurcating bones.

Flee further from this life—
unfurl your wings and soar
with tangled feathers cutting the night.

Join his skeleton beak,
slicing stabs at airless wind,
and wield its dashing spine.

Stay near to glinting shroud and glide,
knowing tattered wings will guide,
as whispering scars are left behind.

Go now into that hollow abyss,
but do not pass the dark in calmness;
break the barrier with raging clamor!

Do not scrape or merely crawl.
Come fly with Death—
and swoop, and yawp, and bawl.

 

BRING THE LIGHT

Zdzislaw Beksinski

What wretched creatures lie before me!
Squealing, squirming in the dark,
enthralled
amidst their feasting orgy.

Gnashing teeth, spattering blood,
festering bone;
their tongues dance along the drips
of other men’s pain.

A cryptic overseer
looms beyond the mist,
his crow shoulders
pecking upon the scars.

A thousand wicked grins
gleam from rubble and from rot,
a pile of waste—
dead men leering in the dark.

A door to freedom is at their backs,
but most will never see it,
long since trading eyes
for sharper teeth and larger maws.

But I bring the Light,
and I wear the shroud.
My candle burns;
my flame never falters.

The Bearer of the Cross walks beside me.
We pass among the throng
and it parts before our steps;
like the splitting seas—

I bring the Light
and the darkness scatters.

 

Bog Bodies

Tollund Man – Public Domain

In an effort to stick with my original vision for this blog, which was to be a sort of online writing journal where I share story ideas, concepts and moments of inspiration, I thought I would share the birth (rebirth?) of this story idea while it is still fresh.

Yesterday morning, I came across this article, The 10 Most Overlooked Mysteries in History, and it included a post about bog bodies. I vaguely remember reading or watching something on this subject years ago, and my fascination for it was instantly rekindled. If you are unfamiliar with this phenomenon, here is a link to the Wikipedia article, which is as good a place to start as any, I suppose. Go on, check it out, it’s pretty freaking awesome, but be sure to come back here when you’re done.

Anyway, as I let my mind dwell on these bog bodies, a story began to emerge. I turned to Evernote to record the ideas I was having, and I quickly realized that the concept was not new to me. There was something strangely familiar about it. As soon as I had the opportunity, I dug through my old writing journal. There, I found two entries from nearly five years ago that I had scribbled and forgotten. Here are some images from those pages in my journal:

Click to Enlarge

(good luck reading my scribbles)

Well there it is. A moment of inspiration, linked back to other moments of inspiration from almost five years ago. I will take this as further argument as to why it is so critical for every writer to keep a writing journal and write down every idea, no matter how insignificant it might seem at the time. (I shudder to think of the ideas I’ve lost because I didn’t write them down.)

But perhaps most importantly, I will take this as a sign that these Bog Bodies will not let me go until I’ve fleshed out their story, and given them new life through the written word.

What about you? Have any of you ever had an idea that just would not let you go? Perhaps a recurring idea that you didn’t remember having previously? A Déjà vu idea? A Déjà-dea? Thoughts? Comments?

Rage in Glass

During a recent family trip to an amusement park, an incident with a gorilla inspired me to write this piece. As is the case with most of the poetry I publish here, it is a rough draft WIP, but I thought it might be fun to share. Enjoy!

Rage in Glass

 

Daydreaming…

…bamboo snaps,

wicker rustlings,

crystal dew on moist, misty mornings–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat-tap,

breaking concentration.

A slight jolt,

eyes shifting, giving warning.

 

Mid-day in shade,

awake from napping.

Still groggy, stomach growling.

Companions nearby,

silver lining telling them who’s king–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat-tap.

Annoyance boiling to anger.

Another warning.

Human faces staring, gawking.

 

Again dreaming…

…beneath the canopy,

building beds of brush,

breathing abundant greenery.

Remembering cadence,

sweet nectar rains

drumming on banana leaves,

softly, hypnotic–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat-tap.

Rage surmounting.

Too many futile warnings.

Nearly breaching

captivity-eroded threshold–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat–

SLAM!

Double fists against pane,

full strength never breaking.

Human screaming

resonates through glass.

 

Aberrant Embodiment

I recently noticed a common theme with several of my stories: aspects of characters either changing physical bodies in various manners or altering their existing physical or mental state from one thing into another. It then occurred to me that this commonality might make for a good collection. As it stands, there are about eight or nine stories I’ve written that fall within this theme.

This simple realization has inspired me to further build upon it, and even write more stories to fit within this mold. I have a few more ideas brewing for new stories, and now with this concept in mind, I can work to make them more focused as I write them. I believe I might even have a few poems that could be included to further flesh this manuscript out.

The working title is currently Aberrant Embodiment: Curious Tales of Strange Metamorphoses.

And now I’ll leave you with a quote from Ovid, Metamorphoses:

“Nothing in the entire universe ever perishes, believe me, but things vary, and adopt a new form. The phrase “being born” is used for beginning to be something different from what one was before, while “dying” means ceasing to be the same. Though this thing may pass into that, and that into this, yet the sums of things remains unchanged.”

It Dreams Utopia–The Moment of Inspiration

In my experience so far as a writer, it’s rare when I can pinpoint the exact moment of inspiration. This is one of those rare moments.

Two days ago, on Sept. 3 2011, at just before 5 p.m. EST, I dreamed up the idea for what I think is to become a Steampunk novella. I was trying to come up with titles for a “name this anthology” contest for a publisher’s forthcoming Steampunk anthology. I’d come up with a couple of decent titles and then the third one struck me rather odd. I felt a rush and a glimmer of a story flashed before my eyes. I was slurping down some rather tasty iced coffee and listening to Pandora on my computer. The song playing at that moment was “Come Clarity” by In Flames. The lyrics spoke to me and further worked as a catalyst towards inpiration. Even the cover art played its part, and I have posted it here for you to see. I even Tweeted the moment–“Wait! Something’s happening… it’s…it’s… Yes! It’s inspiration!” Then I scribbled just a hint of what was swirling in my brain into my writing journal. I’ll share that with you now:

It Dreams Utopia. Steampunk. The machine of clockworks and steam power. He’s obsessed. He locks himself into the heart of the machine–it will make him forget his loss–send him to the dream world. (In Flames-Come Clarity)

And that is that. We’ll see where it goes. But seeing as one of the goals of this blog is to attempt to create a log inspiration, I felt it was important to share this little moment. As far as the contest goes, well, I’ll still come up with some titles, but sorry guys, I’m keeping It Dreams Utopia all to my stingy self.

 

Fruitface Stealing Sleep

I couldn’t get to sleep last night. There was too much commotion in my mind’s eye. I think I was entering the nonsense of dreaming, and it started with me eating someone’s face. It was a female face. Pretty. I think it was my wife’s face. I tore off chunks of the nose and chin with my giant teeth, but beneath the skin there was the white tender flesh of an apple. The words followed. I was composing in my head and repeating the lines in order to engrave it in my memory. But I worried I’d forget. I rose from bed and wrote the words into my journal. Here is what I wrote:

Fruitface / I eat at your face / My teeth sink into your skin / The flesh beneath is like the / Flesh of an apple / Crisp sweet / Juice dribbles from the spot / where your nose had once been / I chomp at chin and cheek / I devour you / and your beauty rots / within my guts

Upon returning to bed I thought I’d easily get to sleep now that the words were safe. But I continued to dwell on them. I thought about parallels between fruit and beauty. How both are perishable. How we consume both for our own pleasure. Eventually, I slept.

So what I have now, I’ll likely revise a bit and turn into a poem. Perhaps I’ll just work with the lines here and there. I’ll try not to change it too much. I want to keep the essence.