Welcome to a new and hopefully ongoing feature, A Week in Photos. While I have many creative passions, the top two in my heart are writing and photography. I make my living with writing, but I would happily do the same with photography, if it were possible. Since it’s not, at least not now, I make sure to take at least one picture every day, whether it’s for practicing the art or just capturing the moment. A lot of these go on my Instagram page, but I can’t just post every photo. So I want to share some here. This is my last week, in photos.
Welcome back! I hope you had a good week. Mine could have been better, as physical issues put the kibosh on cooking out for Labor Day, but such is life.
Quick update on writing: I have finished the final versions of Chapters one and two in Came to Believe, and am now up to Chapter three, which is a whole new chapter and may take a little longer. But things are moving forward.
This week I want to talk about theTwin Peaks ending. Yes, THAT one. I won’t belabor the point, but I’ve talked about the show at length and it’s been a huge influence in not only my writing, but my overall thinking and worldview. Today I’m going to look back at one of my older posts, about Dale Cooper as the Magician, and see how close to the cut I was in some of my predictions and share some thoughts on the ending of season 3.
First, let’s look at my predictions for a season 3 Cooper:
How do we know he must ultimately ascend? Because he fails in facing his dark side. The show ended with one hell of a cliffhanger, his (doppelgänger) body possessed by Laura Palmer’s killer while he was trapped in the Black Lodge, a victim of his own failure to overcome the darkness within him. It’s fairly easy to extrapolate where the show would have gone from there…In order to become a master magician, the apprentice must face his or her own demons in what is known as the Abyss, represented by the High Priestess, whose light helps the apprentice pass through.
From there, Cooper would likely have learned to turn back the darkness inside of him, return, and reclaim his body, at which point he’d be transformed and truly be a master of the two worlds. I imagine we would have seen what lay beyond the Black Lodge, as well. Even without seeing the completion of the journey, it’s easy to say that Cooper will become accomplished in both worlds.
I would argue that, while I could not possibly have predicted the way that Season 3 would go (and am ultimately ambivalent about the stuff surrounding Cooper’s journey), I pretty much nailed this one, even down to the High Priestess in the form of Janey-E, but didn’t count on the contours of the journey or where he would end up, probably due to my own naiveté about the journey to mastery.
First, to the prediction of Cooper turning back his own darkness, I hadn’t really thought through that leaving the lodge would entail an unearned redemption; that Cooper’s reliance on outside factors would initially be his undoing.
To summarize where we are up to the point of Cooper’s reawakening in Episode 16: Cooper enters the Black Lodge with “imperfect courage” and confronts his shadow self/doppelgänger, who is working in league with Bob. Terrified, Cooper flees, loses to this shadow self, and ends up trapped in the waiting room for 25 years while his evil side rampages in the real world.
Eventually the planets literally align and it’s time for Cooper to come out of the waiting room; to, in essence, wake up from the coma. But the problem is that Cooper has not earned this awakening, and his shadow self is not so eager to give up control now that it’s held it for so long. It sets up a trap, sidetracking him to the glass box in New York (and in the process opening the door to something far darker) before sling-shotting him to the location of Mr. C’s tulpa, Dougie Jones.
In the process Cooper’s most powerful weapon, his intellect, is stripped from him, and he ends up in some netherworld between coma and waking life, with his body ambulating and his consciousness aware of what’s going on, but the connection between the two severed. This, I would argue, is where Cooper attempts once again to cross “the abyss”.
Now where I failed in my previous thinking – and possibly where Cooper failed – is in the thinking that he would have to do this alone. Quite the opposite, in fact. I would argue that one of the lessons of the series (and one that Cooper himself repeats in the show’s endgame) is that we cannot do it alone; though he faces trials, he has the support of a supernatural guardian in MIKE, an older mentor in Bushnell Mullins, and the High Priestess herself, Janey-E, who acts as a combination advocate and protector during Cooper’s path to rediscovering himself.
By the time Cooper awakens, when he hears the echo of a name from another lifetime and shocks himself into awareness, he has “had his heart filled” by the people around him. So it’s difficult to call the path through the abyss of Dougie-Coop just Cooper’s own path.
So yes, Cooper awakens and is full of purpose. One would even say…mastery? Full of courage, he sets off at once for Twin Peaks to confront his shadow self. There’s just one problem: he never actually gets to confront that self. That task falls to another “fool”, Lucy, whose husband was chosen by the white lodge to set these events in motion. And the task of defeating Bob falls to another of the White Lodge’s chosen few, a young man named Freddie. Cooper simply ends up being a ringleader here, not the master of his own destiny.
I was myself a fool when I thought that Episode 17 would make the perfect ending for the series. It would not, because again Cooper has not completed the journey. I think that’s reflected in the fact that he seems to observe the last moments of that episode from a distance, acting within the scene but also watching himself in the form of an overlay on the screen. He has, essentially, been cast back into the abyss. I haven’t quite puzzled together why “the Fireman” chose these other agents – that could be an entry for another time I suspect – but Cooper soon takes it upon himself to try to change the past altogether, to erase Laura’s death and reset the timeline.
Well now, I’m not going to talk about Judy, in fact we’re not going to talk about Judy at all. I’m still chewing on the whole Judy storyline and why MIKE and Cooper undertook this mission. That’s a murky bit of storytelling that I’m not going to wander into right now. Regardless, Cooper fails in his mission to save Laura (I’m sensing a pattern here) and ends up crossing worlds once again to try to find Laura’s “soul’ and take her home to her mother. Not going to spoil the ending here, but I think in the end we finally see Cooper reintegrated with the darkness in his soul, for better or (arguably) worse. There is a quite a bit of Mr. C in his mannerisms here. Does he fail in this ultimate mission? Lynch and Frost leave that ambiguous, at best, and by the end there’s still the lingering question of how much of the story really occurred at all and how much was in this version of Cooper’s head.
Ultimately success or failure really doesn’t seem to matter; mastery lies in the journey itself, which is why Cooper seems to be doomed to wander forever, repeating events with slight variations, over and over again. That is where I myself failed to understand the nature of mastery back in 2011. There is no real end-point for true mastery. It’s an evolutionary process. You may reach a peak that looked massive to you from the starting line only to find another, larger peak in the distance. So Cooper moves from the more present, physical dangers of BOB to the more identity-driven danger of Mr. C and on to the metaphysical dangers represented by Judy and this new reality. These could be seen to represent the magician’s journey from the physical to the ethereal (BOB), crossing over into the astral (the lodge and Mr. C) and now on into the spiritual and the very nature of the universe itself.
So we literally leave Cooper on the path (a street). There are plenty of places for the story to go from here, but if this is where it ends, I’m satisfied with Cooper’s journey.
But that doesn’t get into the other stuff, where I feel Frost and Lynch failed, and failed badly. I’ll talk about that another time.
Happy end of the month, everyone. And sort of the end of Summer, or at least “conventional” Summer, though the calendar tells us it’s not over for another 22 days or so. In my heart, Labor Day, nah, even September 1st, is the end of Summer, for September and October (and to a lesser extent November) are a sacred time for me. And it’s interesting that my creativity is usually at its peak during this time. I’m definitely looking forward to Autumn this year, as I think it will be very productive.
First of all, thoughts and prayers to everyone in Texas. I’m not usually one for demonstrative presentations of things like this (or in general), but I’ve been watching the situation with increasing horror and am looking for the best way to help out from a distance. Definitely keeping an eye on things.
On a more personal note, the theme of the last week has been “transition”. We’re now getting settled into our permanent address in Lake St. Louis, and are about three-fourths of the way through unpacking. The move is certainly feeling interminable, but I think a good push over the three-day weekend will go a long way to getting it knocked out. We also got our new licenses and registrations, along with registering to vote (very important), so we’re now officially official. It’s been a tiring process, but the relocation has been good for my psyche, and I think for Mary’s, as well.
Big news on the writing front: I finished my self-critique for Came to Believe on the evening of the 24th and soon began writing (I hope) the final draft. How’s that for transition? I’m even happy with the rewritten intro paragraphs, which is a rarity in my writing. Always trying to nail down that beginning, that’s for sure.
I’ve learned a lot from the lengthy process of writing this novel. One of my biggest writing weaknesses is getting deep into a novel and realizing that the plot scope is not quite what I had in mind, or that another plot thread would be stronger as the central pillar. Because of this weakness, I’ve had to rewrite pretty much every one of my books mid-stream, which costs me time and sanity.
With this in mind, my sincere hope moving forward is that I can nail these details in plotting and then have a clean and simple drafting process. Plotting must do the heavy lifting because we’re talking about editing 20 to 25 pages versus 300 or so once I’m fully into the novel. The plan is to run through three to five drafts of the plot up front, from the rough initial draft to increasingly structured outlines that match story beats with character information and ensure that important plot points get covered.
From there I can break it down and read through it as a “critique”, incorporate those edits, rinse and repeat with the outline, to ensure I’ve hit every beat and that no subplots are superfluous. It may take a month to get through, but again a month > a year with rewrites.
I’m already into this new process with the next book, a horror story with the premise of increasing human expansion bumping into ancient evil. Sure, it’s been done, but I think I have an interesting spin on it by including modern technology in the mix. I also want to test out some of my more surreal modes of writing through the story. The goal with this one is to be super-lean, tight, and compact. Something that can be done in a hurry and doesn’t sprawl on for 100,000 words. We’ll see if I can pull it off.
Anyway, hope everyone has a great weekend, and a long one if you’re lucky enough to get Monday off. See you next week.
Or do, if you wish. Either way, I’m happy to be back and among the productive. To tell the story of the last three years of my life would be a lesson in tedium, anxiety, and stress – the kind of caustic stuff that melts the creative impulse. I’m still not fully back on my feet, owing to a move to a new city and a new office, but almost as soon as we set foot on Missouri soil, the juices started flowing again. Memories flooded back; I remember what it felt like to create, to let my fingers dance over the keys and channel the words like some shaman. How nice it was to tap into the creative force underlying the universe, or whatever you want to call it.
In short, the last few years have sucked. We underwent what seemed to be a layoff (only to get my job back at the last moment), not one but two mergers, and an extended period of unease and uncertainty regarding relocation. Our – and I very much include my loving wife in this – lives seemed to be suspended in mid-air. At first I was able to write through this, push it aside and keep going, but as I watched friends exit at work and found myself increasingly isolated in an empty building, I had a hard time bringing my focus back to writing at the end of the day. All I wanted to do was go home and shut the world out, whether it be through reading, video games, or other pursuits.
In the end, a combination of factors brought the muse back to me. One, reading through Mark Frost’s A Secret History of Twin Peaks. It contains a lot of the conspiracy lore and mythos-building that drew me to writing my first few novels, and it reminded me of the promise of weaving my own reality within fiction. It also reminded me of the power of magick, and of seizing control of the reins of your life. It didn’t take long to start to feel the pull toward something new, a framework that helped me to put my chaotic thoughts into some semblance of order.
Then came, of course, the move. While he had relocation assistance and support, it’s hard to imagine a more “seize the day” act than packing up the car and moving across half the country to see if it will all work out.
I came to realize that I had become…well, passive is not the right word. We wanted to relocate from the moment either of the two mergers were announced. More that I had resigned myself to hunkering down and letting fate whip me where it would, so long as it ended with us out of the DC area (something that both of us very much wanted). And so I became less an author of my fate than a pawn at the hands of people with much larger agendas. At some point I lost sight of the fact that I had made this choice to wait and hand things over, and became depressed and resigned. That’s when my output dropped. I think I can pinpoint it to March or April of this year, somewhere in there, because there is a steady downward curve in my word count until July, when I barely wrote at all.
Now, though? I’m back, I think. I’m currently five pages short of finishing my “critique” of Came to Believe, at which point I’ll go back and make the suggested changes and try to hammer it out. Given the massive delays (we’re just about at year four of working on this thing and I want it out the door), I’m likely just going to self-publish it, but we’ll see how I feel when I get there. In the meantime, I’m plotting the antithesis of this story, a quick, pulpy horror novel that I think will be a blast to write.
In the meantime, I intend to check in with you guys more often. Thanks to those of you who are still with me. We’ll see where this ride goes next…
Hi there, hope everybody has had a great holiday season thus far. Apologies for not being around the last month, had oral surgery on the Third that ended up being far more debilitating than expected, and then just as I was getting wind in my sails again came down with a nasty cold that morphed into an inner ear infection. The ear infection remains, but I’m ready to pick things up again. Look for more coming out of this space soon.
In that there’s not going to be as much content as I had hoped. Last week it was the Thanksgiving holiday, this week I’m due for a complex oral surgery tomorrow and am swamped with getting everything taken care of at work before going on a two-day leave. I don’t imagine that I’ll get too much done over the next few days while I’m recovering, but stranger things have happened. In the meantime just wanted to let readers know that the blog is still going strong, and I have a solid half of a first draft of the next post. And it’s about a typewriter, some toys, and the holidays. We’ll see how it comes together.
In the meantime, onward to tooth destruction!
Happy Monday, all! Sunny day here, though the blast of cold air that greeted me this morning said that we had bypassed Fall and gone straight to Winter. Kind of a bummer, but we did at least get in a fun trip over the weekend, heading to Culpeper, VA for seafood, wine, photography, and a nice cup of coffee at The Raven’s Nest Coffee House (highly recommended). Sad to learn that the great German restaurant had closed down, but we always have a great time when we visit, and this was no exception. You could sense the holidays in the air.
Looking at a shorter-than-usual week with Thanksgiving (and a trip to see my parents) coming up, but I still plan to meet my usual goals. Just have to push a little harder. Hope everyone has a fun and safe week.
It’s kind of a cliche, but when you live in a rural area, you actually do meet folks who have never left the state. It’s uncommon, to be sure, but it does happen. I won’t speculate on the reasons for this particular phenomenon, but I can say that looking at old photos of the Shenandoah Valley has granted me some understanding of just how isolated things were in the middle of the 20th Century. Not exactly shocking that the outside world seemed like such a foreign place, I suppose.
By the ’80s our schools were making an effort to take day trips to Washington DC and Baltimore to get us out of our bubbles and offer an up-close look at government in action. Even so, out-of-state family road trips seemed to be a relative scarcity, something that maybe came around once a year for the more fortunate families in the neighborhood. It wasn’t that we had no interest in travel, rather that money and opportunity prevented such treks. So it was that until the early ’90s I hadn’t exactly seen the world or much else outside of the Valley and DC.
That began to change in 1990 with chaperoned trips to Baltimore (and the Orioles) and Atlanta (and the Braves, back when they were a joke). We had a lot of fun and I got to experience some new things, don’t get me wrong, but they very much felt like kids tagging along with the adults. It’s hard to really experience the road when you’re reclining in the back of a van watching movies.
So I wouldn’t say I really “traveled” until 1993. I was a Senior in high school, 17, and working at Burger King in my off time. Being the smooth guy that I am, I had made some friends at BK; one of them, an assistant manager whose name will be withheld to protect the innocent, was a lifelong Colts fan and had never been to Indianapolis to see a game. Seeking to live the dream, he sought out three of us to hit the road and go to Indy to see the Colts (and budding star Jeff George, heh) take on the New England Patriots and their young quarterback Drew Bledsoe.
I had a passing interest in football but didn’t care much about either team, being a die-hard Redskins fan. Still, this would be my opportunity to live my own dream: an 11-hour trek across five states, a nascent version of my lifelong vision for crossing the United States in a car. You see, even as a young child I had harbored a deep fascination with travel, obsessively poring through road atlases and planning road trips, envisioning these highways in my mind. And I knew this particular route very well. Adventure? Hell yeah, I was in. The game would just be gravy.
We departed Harrisonburg on a Friday evening in late October, headed south on Interstate 81 bound for the I-64 Westbound junction. This road would take us through West Virginia and on into Kentucky. At the time I saw West Virginia as Virginia’s dysfunctional cousin and just the bit of the trip that we had to endure to get to the other side, but my view changed when I caught sight of the Charleston capital dome, bathed in light from below. The view captivated me and tugged at my heart, confirming some of what I suspected about such road trips and their transformative nature.
It came back to the idea of a secret world, of something hidden from view and yet in plain sight: the empty spot on the side of the road at 2 AM with you as the only soul around. The feeling that you might as well be the only person in the world (save for your driving partner) and of knowing something that the rest of the world does not. This wouldn’t solidify until later in the trip, but it began with that Capitol building. It’s tough to find a shot of the Capitol at night that can be used freely, but here’s a shot of the place in the day:
So you get an idea of what it might look like at night, with that gold dome all lit up. Gorgeous, at least to my innocent eye.
From there we hit the roughest stretch of road, between that and Kentucky. I wasn’t cleared to drive the rental van due to being so young, so my job was to sit with the night driver and keep him awake and aware. It would prove to be an important – and difficult – job, as our guy for that stretch of road nodded off more than once, taking us onto the shoulder before I could shake him awake. You would think that one such incident would have shocked him awake (Lord knows it woke me up), but no. It took a few times to rattle him. Impressive, really.
At last we reached Lexington, Kentucky, and took a sharp northward turn. My mind wants to impart Lexington with more importance than it had for me at the time, but the truth is that the city would only mean something to me in 1995, a story that will wait for another time.
What did strike me, however, was Cincinnati at night, and this one particular revelation would be no joke, a shining jewel of beauty as compared to the flicker of brilliance back in Charleston.
I had never seen anything like it, not even during the trips to Baltimore or DC. Here, then, was the summation of my road dreams as a child: something truly beyond my experience. A shimmering novelty, yes, but also true knowledge of a world beyond the one I’d known. Taking in that city as we passed through it on the flyways, gazing down at a darkened Riverfront Stadium, I grasped the importance of leaving the places you know, of gaining more context (there’s that word again). It also whispered something that I would truly understand later, the suggestion of what these dark roads could mean: hidden liaisons, dark secrets. Beauty and tawdriness, all at once.
And yes, I really did feel this at the time, though I didn’t yet possess the language to express it. It came across as a bittersweet and fascinating emotion.
We arrived in Indianapolis around sunrise and again it was something I’d never seen before. I find a certain poetry to pulling into a McDonalds on a gray morning to get breakfast and finding ourselves staring across the street at a gun store, right next to a liquor store. Familiarity juxtaposed with a sense of the desolation and danger of this strange new city. A pointed reminder that we were not in Virginia anymore, or at least the Virginia that I knew and understood.
The rest of the day is a blur. I know that I slept for a bit and I seem to remember trying to arrange a meeting with a girl that I knew out there, but that may have belonged to a different trip. I do remember the guys hitting a strip club that night, but for better or worse none of them were willing to take the risk of taking my underage ass into the place, so I stayed back at the motel picking my nose and watching TV. But hey, at least I got part of the experience, as my roommate brought a stripper back to the room. Sounded like those two had a fun night. I will give them credit, though, they did try to keep it quiet.
The game almost felt like an afterthought after all that, though I did enjoy it and would become a fan of live pro football. Again, something to talk about another time. The trip home passed in a blur of KFCs, Subways, and those mini flags that football fans used to attach to their car antennas (antennae?), but that’s always the way with such trips – the way back home is the inevitable decline after the climax. Warm and happy, but lacking in that distinct brew of anticipation and excitement.
It’s funny. That trip was the prototype for many trips to come and laid the groundwork for my relationship with my wife, but I hadn’t thought about it in years. It didn’t have the sheer drama of my Illinois or Minnesota trips or the beauty of my Savannah, Boston, and South African journeys, but I might not have found the courage to take those treks without this one. It opened the door to my love of the open road and provided the first glimpses of the secret places in my soul that I would later glimpse during my time on an Illinois highway, on the back roads surrounding San Antonio, and in the parking lot of a regional airport in Waco. The path to those moments wound through time spent passing through Cincinnati and gazing upon that Capitol dome. It was all, ultimately, about a greater understanding of my place in the world and connection to everyone else and would change my life.
Busy weekend, and yet not too much to report…mostly focused on work for the critique group that took place yesterday (and went rather well; quite encouraged that much of the criticism fell on portions that will be excised from the final book). Currently focused on getting back on schedule with the writing and Fallout 4, which has swept into my life and consumed the remainder of my all-too-scarce free time.
I had originally planned to talk about Fallout a bit today, but the events that took place in Paris on Friday night take precedence and make everything else look puny in comparison. My thoughts are with the families and the survivors and I hope that the world can come to a collective, rational decision on how to prevent such a tragedy from occurring again.