Traveller's Tales

I don’t have any writing or sales updates to provide, but I do have an awesome link from a colleague of mine — Niki Smith, a very talented artist also agented by Colleen Lindsay of FinePrint Literary Management, was looking for some practice concepts and materials to work on book covers.  After sending her entirely too much information, she’s done an execution which is totally nothing I would have considered doing, and also totally cool (hence the subject).

So stop gawking here; go read the article and check out the art.  Check out the rest of her site while you’re there, she does some great work.

I keep wanting to say something, but I’m not sure what.

I’ve learned some things in the last couple of weeks.  I’ve learned explicitly that the will to live trumps comfort or convenience every day of the week, without exception.  I’ve remembered that the only thing that matters in life is communication.  And I’ve had it demonstrated to me all too personally that, sometimes, cures kill.  Yeah, it’s been a tough couple of weeks.

I’ve also learned that some of my advice is actually pretty good, having had an opportunity to swallow it in context.  I still believe that, no matter how a relationship ends, if it doesn’t hurt like hell you were doing it wrong.  I believe that beautiful things can’t die; when we mourn, we mourn only the loss of potential, because whatever we experienced before that loss can never be taken from us.  And, finally, I believe that when you knew what the right thing to do was, and you didn’t do it, you’ve done the worst thing you could have done, whether you did something or not.

I’ve reaffirmed that my loved ones are precious to me, and learned that when people threaten them seriously I feel absolute eye-popping spit-snarling breath-stealing rage, the kind that generates massive adrenaline surges, heroic surges of strength and coordination, and really bad decisions — undoubtedly it’s from Mom’s side of the family, where the Scots hang out.  Probably not the most useful reaction it could evoke, but not one I’m ashamed of, either.

I’ve learned that “Fading Lights” by Genesis holds up better than I thought it would.  Don’t just google the lyrics, it’s not the same without the music.

And finally, I’ve reaffirmed that no matter what else, I write.

So where am I going with this?  I don’t know, really.  2009 has come in hard and heavy, and it’s warned me that there’s change in the air, but it’s also reassured me that I know who I am and what I believe.  Maybe that’s enough to weather the coming storm.

Huge, catastrophic change tends to disrupt habits, whether they’re long-established, like finding a way to always slack at work, or whether they’re developing, like attempting to make a regular go at blogging.

As it happens, huge, catastrophic change has been going on at work for me.  Mainly good things — you’ll notice that my last blog entry had to do with intense dissatisfaction as regards the workplace, so in theory we’re going to stop making muffins soon and start supporting the business in meaningful ways.  I’ve learned so much in the last six months that the proper term to describe my progression is more “evolved” than”graduated,” and I’m not entirely sure I’m happy about all of it, but by and large I’m now being asked to help fix everything that’s broken, and on the whole this is a far better situation than smugly watching it devolve into chaos from my hidey-hole in the corner of the building.

There are writing things afoot, now, as I begin to adjust to both the new work environment and the new house, which I’ve written pathetically little about but love dearly, despite the unmeasurable multitude of Things That Must Be Done to the place.  I’ll mumble more about those writing things later, but for now suffice it to say that I’ve been taken by creative development fits twice now, both as regards the first book, and I’m pleased with the direction they’ve gone — pleased enough that I’m writing them in now.  I’m also seriously stinking tired of the lack of forward momentum, and something is going to happen, soon, to rectify that situation.  I don’t know what, yet, but I know what my options are, and I’m getting ready to exercise them.

It’s been one seriously strange year so far, but I think the fodder I’ve waded through in the first half is going to make for a very interesting second half.

By the way.  Art, if you’re out there, when the hell is the next game and why the hell haven’t you told me about it?

A friend of mine has died.

She was not a “best friend” sort of friend, not a day-to-day, or even year-to year sort of friend, and not necessarily even someone I would have thought, at first, to think of as a friend. But she was the sort of person who would magically appear if things were bad, no matter what the trouble, and who’d stick around until things were good again. Surely that’s the very definition of a friend.

Though I saw her several times in recent memory, the strongest memory I have of her was during a desperate night, several years ago, when I was at the family farm. One of the horses came down with a severe colic, and I spent the longest five hours of my life trying to convince said horse that she really didn’t want to roll on the ground — that’s the sort of thing a horse can die of, and if you can imagine trying to keep an animal four times your size and strength from doing something it wants to do, you can perhaps imagine what a horrifying five hours that was for me.
Eventually, I got Dee’s attention, bless her, and told her to get hold of two people: the vet on mom’s phone, and the aforementioned friend, also a neighbor. At this point it was probably 10 or 11pm; I was already exhausted from battling the horse and near the breaking point.

I’d told Dee to call my friend to help us find a vet, but she wasn’t satisfied with just finding a phone number; she rushed out with as much extra help as she could muster at a moment’s notice — she’d obviously been asleep, but that wasn’t a factor for her. No horse expert, still she came to help and support. Though dishevelled and a wee bit groggy from sleep, her presence, along with Dee’s, made all the difference in keeping me from cracking. Somehow I stayed upright, battling the poor horse the entire way, until 1am when the vet finally came. The horse was saved from our joint effort. I couldn’t thank her enough, but she shrugged it off — it’s something anyone would do, she insisted, as she made her way back home at nearly 2am.

She was not a perfect person; like all of us, she had flaws, some of them difficult. They are relevant inasmuch as having those flaws did not prevent her from being able to rise above them. Perhaps not every day, or every time she was challenged — but then I don’t know anyone who can defeat their own demons every time they appear. The fact that she could, and did, far outweighs the fact that she possessed them, or they her.

I will miss her, but I learned long ago that in life, as in all things, quality is greater than quantity. I am poorer for her passing, and richer for her memory. I hope her family can eventually find comfort in her true legacy, and I wish her safe travels in the great beyond. Adieu, my friend, and thank you.

I was going to write this yesterday, but I really hadn’t had the opportunity to consider it properly til now, and given my respect for the subject matter it deserved the time.

As an adult, I enjoy Star Trek, but I’m not a voracious fan. Sure, I’ve got my favorite characters and episodes, I know a few geeky things about the Enterprise that I probably shouldn’t, but any rabid fan would put me in my place, and quickly, when it came to a test of knowledge about the series, its history or even the episodes.

But when I was 8 years old, there was no one — and I mean, no one, who could best me at Star Trek lore. I was a fiend. I owned the original Star Trek Technical Manual and I pored nightly over its contents, wondering why I’d never seen a Dreadnought-class starship in the series (the original series, which, at the time, was the only series there was), why the Organan Treaty still held between the Federation and the Klingons, and trying to work out how I could build one of those wacky 3d chess sets for myself.

When I was 8, mom owned a border collie, an awesome pup named Dundee. We lived in California at the time, and she had a group of people she used to do herding trials with (you know, herding sheep into pens, using a shepherd’s crook and a whistle. There must be pictures somewhere…). Dundee was incredibly skilled, though as an 8-year old boy my appreciation for his abilities lay more in his running quickly in circles, playing tag and pouncing than in those ‘boring dog shows.’ Little did I suspect that one of mom’s partners in crime was none other than the wife of James Doohan, otherwise known amongst Trek fans as that quintessential miracle-worker, Scotty.

Naturally, mom was wise enough to keep this nugget of information under wraps, mainly as the thought of her 8-year old son accosting an otherwise innocent woman about technical details she couldn’t possibly know rightly scared her. When she learned that James would be accompanying his wife to an especially important trial, though… she knew she’d never be forgiven if she didn’t tell me what was up.

So it was with wide eyes and a head full of foolish notions I went with my family to that trial. The details aren’t important, really. James and his wife came in their RV, welcomed us in, entertained us, and we laughed together for hours. I was totally awed, unable to speak for a while, and then when I finally piped up it was something foolish about how he didn’t sound like Scotty — so naturally he dusted off the accent for me, with a wide grin and an honest laugh, and even signed my surreptitiously-brought Star Trek Technical Manual, in the Engineering section, no less, before getting back to the business of just hanging around and being a sincere, fun fellow.

My story is not unique. See for yourself: track down forum threads, read the news, see what people have said, and are saying, about his life. Read his interviews. One finds memory after memory of James Doohan as a genial, sincere, humble and honest man who treated his fellows with respect and constantly went out of his way to do the right thing. A man who never seems, by all accounts, to have lost perspective, forgotten the elements of life that were truly important, or forgotten how to laugh.

I have watched the phenomenon, the public reaction to James’s death as someone who was, once, during a very impressionable time, also touched briefly by his presence. He made people laugh and smile wherever he went: he was gracious to his fans and always met them with open affection. He was given an honorary doctorate in engineering one year because over half of the school’s students cited his role as the primary reason they’d become interested in engineering! One can say ‘Just an actor!’ or ‘Just a role!’ until they are blue in the face, but inspiration on this scale is proof positive of the fallacy of those words. His role as Scotty inspires us to persevere under pressure, to defy the odds, to find a way when none exists. His public life as James reminds us of the power of graciousness, humility and laughter.

In short, James Doohan has done a truly great thing: he has left the world a better place than he found it. I cannot imagine a greater legacy than this.

He’ll be missed, but that’s a good thing.

Well done, sir.