What Reading is to Us

            What are stories to you? Are they simply a way to pass time, or are they more? Can you pick up a book and truly travel, or do you simply just read about another’s adventure? With stories, we have the ability to interact and exchange with the characters involved, thus placing ourselves in the work. I am a writer; many of you know that by now. I am also, however, an avid reader and dreamer who loves the adventures of old. I am a reader, one who finds an escape in the works and world of fiction. This is what writing means to me, and below I will illustrate more.

           

            Every good book does not begin its life in such a vein. It takes months of planning and writing on the part of the author. When it is published, like any parent to a child, you hope the work is successful. We as writers have a sworn duty to see our work through to completion in accordance with the way the story desires to be told. It is nearly a sacred duty, but the story demands as much, and the readers want as much. Why, do you ask? It is because the book is such a powerful element in our time and culture. So much can come from a good read; we must always keep this as our focus when writing.

            Books, I have found over the years, have the power and ability to transport us to a place we have never been, to people we have never met and even to another body we have never experienced. When reading, you can “literally” become another person, be it adventurer, sorcerer or politician. Reading allows for a temporary shutdown of the reality factor, and a temporary resurgence of the imaginative factor. I recall traveling the hills of France on horseback with the other musketeers this past fall. Alexander Dumas set me on such a journey, I still regard it with the fondest memories. I live a nice, common life, with a good job and a good family; what I had then, however, was adventure! I was battling the Cardinal’s guards, thwarting his plans, and side-stepping Milady. Most of us live normal lives, but with books, we can live the life of Indiana Jones or D’Artagnan. This is the power of books.

            You have heard me mention my belief in escapism; I believe people want to read a book which allows them to escape the culture and society. I certainly do, hence my writing of secluded houses and desolate locations. When I sit down to read, I also want to journey to a far off place, be it the parlor of Sherlock Holmes or the decks of the Pequod. Books transport you to those locations and allow for the uncommon in the very common and natural day. Reading is like a mini-vacation, a little jaunt for the mind. When things are rough, and I am pulling 15 plus hour days, my mind is wandering through the House of the Seven Gables, remembering what it was like to visit there. I am racing across the moors with Holmes; I am stalking the monster I created with Frankenstein’s help; I am watching my youth wash away in a sea of blood while fighting with Henry in the Civil War, etc. The list goes on.

            I love to read nearly as much as I love to write. I love to escape and venture to some unknown land or uncharted island, if even for a short time. It’s a break, a sojourn for the mind. Remember this when next you sit to pen a work. People want a journey, an escape, something they will remember always. Let your work be a memory for them.

            As always, good luck writing.

Favorite Story Excerpts 2

            The first time I posted some of my favorite story excerpts, it was met with great enthusiasm, so I figured I would send some memorable moments your way once again. This time, however, I am more selective of what I reveal. The excerpts below are not only from my stories, but they are some of my favorite “bizarre and scary moments.” So, here we go. Enjoy and happy reading!

From Beyond the Window

The creature, tall with pale skin, had elongated limbs of uncommon proportion to its body. Its head was without hair. I could detect an odd amount of fingers on each had, and each of those with longer nails or talons than is customary on terrestrial creatures. I gripped the windowsill tightly as the thing stared at me through the thick darkness separating us. I do not recall now what ran through my mind, although I knew the flurry of thoughts were all dominated by the stern cowl of the thing. 

From The Expense of Ill Judgment

  I was nearly finished packing down the earth when a noise from behind startled me greatly. I tried to ignore it for fear of not finishing the task, but it persisted and when I turned, I found, before my eyes, the greatest gathering of the deceased that had ever congregated upon the soil of the living!

            I watched in horror as they each took partners and danced to music, ungodly music that I now heard so clearly! The song reverberated through the yard as the decayed bodies swayed to the notes in the most elaborate of manners. I shrieked aloud when they came near and brushed against me.

From Death Immortal

I surveyed the sight through the surrounding mist and recognized something unfamiliar; there was beside her tomb an object that few could disregard so easily as anything other than a stone. I could see hers plainly, but the second one I could not read as skillfully. I moved within view and bent low to read the inscription. The light of a match gave me just enough illumination to instill in my heart a fear uncanny and more surreal than all the greatest terrors combined. Upon the stone, I read the dates of the person: one vague and unmentionable, yet the other, oh that other date, I read with a power only fear materialized could wield. The second date was from a year ago this evening, the same night my beloved parted with the active strains of life. Then I looked with panic upon my face, at the name who so boldly drew their lot beside my beloved. There, written in a cursive I alone knew, was the name of my wife’s beloved, of her companion in life, and now in death. The name was mine. Truly, I had followed my wife to the grave!

 From An Unbinding Tie

When I slowly turned over, I saw through the darkness two images, one of my girl, and the other, some unrecognizable mass upon her. A sliver of the moon sliced through the curtains to give a shallow radiance to the scene. She was staring wide-eyed at the bristling hair and lowered ears of the beast, whose growl was growing more menacing and more terrible. The light caught its arresting eyes, droplets of darkness which no human could ever suffer to endure. They were as black as the vacant tomb, black as the soul which once burned with passion. Empty and void of life, they were animated by another source, another strength which emanated from the realm beyond.

I hope you have enjoyed this little sampling. They are some of my favorite moments, and I hold each of them dearly. On the right of the page is a link to my PubIt site, if you care to purchase any of these and help stimulate the economy (An Unbinding Tie is not yet released). If you have any stories to share, or wish to express any sentiments concerning these, feel free to leave a comment and I will get back with you.

As always, good luck writing.