No you don't, Peter Straub

I was excited when I found a collection of short horror stories by Peter Straub called Houses Without Doors. This was the perfect way to take a reading break from The Earthsea Quartet, which, while beautiful, was growing tiresome. Or maybe I'm lacking the ability to focus right … wha? What was I talking about?

"Blue Rose" was riveting, and horrifying. I already said this, people: Don't let someone hypnotize you. Especially not your sick fuck of an older brother who delights in hurting you. Seems obvious, right?

"The Juniper Tree" is a different story. I had a sinking feeling as I guessed the trajectory of the plot, although I truly wasn't expecting things to go on as they did with "Jimmy." I thought, "He's going to murder him," or "Bet something supernatural will intervene." I know, I know, this is HORROR. Fine. It doesn't have to be something supernatural and good. I so would have taken Satan as an unlikely anti-hero. Damn it, Satan! Can you please claim this creep-o? Drag him to the pits of Hell? But no.

This is a very realistic, very detailed story about pedophilia, exploring the confusion and horror felt by the victim, and then, cooperation, if not acceptance. Followed by the lasting affects into adulthood. There's no rescuer. There's no retribution. No salvation. No … nothing. I feel dirty just thinking about it.

Sorry, Straub. As disgusting and revolting as this is, I do not consider this horror. This is filth. I realize this was written a number of years ago, in a different social climate, but as an adult and a parent and a human fucking being, no thank you. I'm done.

Maybe I'm overreacting. I've read a number of reviews of this book on Amazon and Goodreads, and no one seems as put off as myself. I don't care, though. I wouldn't recommend this book, at least that story, to anyone.

Goodreads: DNF

J. L. Dodd

In Dreams

I woke up this morning, unsettled because I had been dreaming about a friend who committed suicide. Not even a friend really, he was my coworker and acquaintance, and he died four or five years ago. So why now? I dreamed that I was trying to help him get a job at an animal reserve, and I was writing a letter of recommendation for him. The details are foggy already, only hours later. This particular friend's death was especially troubling because of the circumstances. He was younger than me, and took his own life immediately after his wife died on the operating table. I was sad at the time, yes, but more than that, I was deeply disturbed. That feeling stayed with me for some time.

I've said this before: death doesn't usually affect me deeply. Of the people I have lost, I have rarely shed a tear. This is true of this friend, and others. Grandparents. Co-workers. Clients. The only time I remember crying was when my cat was run over and killed when I was 21. At some point I’ve wondered if there was something wrong with me. Am I that well-adjusted? Am I that accepting? Am I incapable of grieving? I won't know until I face a true test, the death of someone in my inner circle. This is something that terrifies me.

It may be that my reaction is one of denial, or perhaps I'm unnaturally unimpressed with the idea, contrary to thousands of years of human tradition. Death? So what. It happens. Sooner or later, it happens. And we are often at its mercy. The only thing I fear for myself is what I will or will not accomplish before it claims me. 

I also recently dreamed of Suzy, my deceased doggie best friend and writing companion. Not bad dreams. But waking up from that was uncomfortable. Jarring even, because it forces home the idea that she isn't here anymore, which I endeavor not to realize most of the time. That feigned ignorance is how I deal with quite a few things in my life. I compartmentalize and refuse to acknowledge  unfortunate truths. I don't see it as denial. It's simple survival, and perhaps I'm really good at that. Yeah, I'm good at that.

Dreams, though, are a writer's paradise. Even more so in fiction. Anything can happen. A husband and wife will be reunited on the other side. And a cherished dog (or a street mutt, like in Coco) can become a spirit guide in the afterlife.

I think I owe that to Suzy.

J. L. Dodd

"As a well-spent day brings happy sleep, so a life well spent brings happy death." 
- Leonardo da Vinci

Links

https://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/leonardo_da_vinci_154282?src=t_death

Nothing, really. I wouldn't even bother reading this if I were you.

(Disclaimer: Over the last two months, I've started but not finished eight blog articles, all of which I feel are important. Except for this one. It's just an uninteresting update. I would add to it, but I'm in a different place now than I was two months ago, and it seems wrong to sully my prior perspective. Not that ya'll care.)

I literally just sat here for 10 minutes and stared at a blank page. I have nothing to say. Wait, wait, no, that can't be right.



Um, so, since I sent my book off to be edited, I've been trying to be productive in the meantime. I used Canva.com to try to create an ebook cover (or at least get an idea of what I wanted). Canva is free and pretty cool if you are going for basic. I worked on my business, on my (ew) Facebook page. God how I loathe Facebook. Haven't worked much on my blog obviously. It would help if I could finish the book I'm reading. I think that's the key. I feel held prisoner by it, but I refuse to quit. The Earthsea Quartet is four beautiful stories of magic and adventure, but riveting it is not.

HFS! I just put two and two together with Miyazaki's "Tales from Earthsea" movie. That movie was kind of a blur when I watched it. Imma have to go see it again. Now.

I did make some very good progress on book two of the Luminesce series. I've got most of the plot outlined, now I just have to do the heavy lifting. Maybe today I'll get some work done.

I don't know. It's Sunday people. The best and worst day of the week. And my head already hurts and it's still morning. I have a lot I want to accomplish, and yet, I've already given up. I think I need some coffee.

Oh, btw, hypnotism is fucking scary shit. Don't do it, and don't let someone do it to you.

J. L. Dodd