The Boy: 34 Years and We See . . . so much.
No, this isn’t a sales pitch for some dumb book I wrote. I’ll probably post the Fictionpress reviews if someone asks. It got good ones; very touching apparently.
And I guess here’s where I tell you the story of this book:
34 years ago I had a dream. I had found a boy – abused, hurt, beaten. I was alone . . . alone and empty, wandering an endless country type road. It was always summery and beautiful, or starry and beautiful, and the boy and I traveled on . . . forever. Our love was binding and pure. Yet there was always a threat in the background, like a thunderstorm boiling just beyond the horizon; we always had to keep moving – and our love was so tight that we were like one . . . and it was like years passed – sometimes far ahead of the storm; sometimes it rumbling close – sometimes through cities (some ruined, some not) – sometimes through barren landscapes – some fields of wheat – faceless people milling in the concrete canyons of graying skyscrapers . . . always me and this boy, hiding, running somewhere — and achieving that countryside horizon, with it’s singing birds and beauty.
And then I woke up. I was 17.
Imagine: You’ve just ‘lived’ a ‘life’ in which you found love so deep it hurts – and it is suddenly snatched away from you by . . . this world. A boy like me, a child like us – one in whose life love was rarer than a Blue Hope diamond. Longed for and never given. O’tay? Got me there? Yeah. Devastating loss.
Three days later we wrote it. A 70 page story (we sailed through HS english solely on our stories – was excused from all other work to write in Senior class.)
And we’ve worked on it ever since, off and on through the last 34 or so years.
We ‘finished’ final rough draft ‘polishing’ Jan 2010 and put it down. We let it sit for a year to ‘forget’ about it (we remember what we read for a looonngg time.) Then we re-read and published it on Kindle <- there’s the link if you wanna look at it. I got it priced as low as they’ll let me go. And we started to publish on Createspace, hit a formatting bug, then decided to take the opportunity of a ‘bug’ to let the wife read it for the first time. (Making lemonade, if you get my meaning – something us abuse survivors have to learn to do.) Now waiting on ‘editing’ corrections (punctuation, that sort of stuff) before giving another stab at it.
BUT – here’s the BIG BUT: What we’ve seen, now that we are done:
This is a story of our life – the lives of little Mikie and Matthew, our teenager. I won’t give any spoilers, okay? But for 34 years . . . I never realized it. It was as though they were secretly writing ‘through’ me. Weird weird weird – like having ghosts living inside you. But VERY cool with me and us. We celebrate them and their achievement, and “Elvis” and our creative etc. sides for chipping in . . . all along . . . without me knowing.
I will say this: the hard core story is fiction. The souls, minds, and emotions? Those are REAL, folks. (Plus a few are based on actual crimes and cases around here in the Deep South.) Matthew and Mikie – little artists. Strange how the DID mind works, like finding your kids have effectively sack-clothed your head from behind while you weren’t looking.
Another thing: I never realized how much hidden symbolism, double (triple, quadruple) meanings there are in this book until I did the last 2 readings. Irony, weird stuff. Notated in my original e-manuscript, though. LOL, can you say “Cliff Notes on Steroids?” LOL!
Anyway, not trying to sell you anything, okay? Just wanted to point out this weird way this whole thing came about, developed over the years – and what, now 34 years later, we discovered:
We didn’t write the dang thing at all. Matthew And Mikey did! LOL!!!!