I’m going to write you a book. Here. Only on substack. It’s yours to read before it goes to print. It’s yours to read chapter by chapter. It’s yours to critique and provide input on in the comments.
I’ll explain to the jury:
All that matters to me is expressing the philosophies I believe people need to hear to drink life the deepest. I thought this was selfish and narcissistic when I was younger. “Why should I want everyone to see life the way I do. Why do I think my way is best?” Now I think this to a deeper level. I believe my philosophies and beliefs will save lives.
You should too! If you don’t believe your approach to life is worth imitating then your opinion can’t, by default, hold much weight. You have to have self respect. We all need conviction in the way we interact with our world. We all need to believe that we’re doing things the best way possible and aiming towards Higher.
Still yet - there’s no beauty to the blunt, in your face screaming. Tasteless. Tacky.
Even in life; the magic is in the subtleties. The way a leaf twist in the wind, the way the bottom folds of her dress do the same when she dances. These are organic experiences that move us and when trying to capture them in bottles of definitions we steal some of the purity. We try to grab Life from it’s place in the aether miles outside our possible realm of understanding and can’t even get close but still through some unjustified pride try again and again to grab it from it’s ordained pedestal and churn it down like mush into lessons, steps, quantifiable and realistic terms.
No more.
Writing Celebrating the Funeral was/is/was… rewarding because here’s a message hidden inside. Not in some Winstonian maddening way where I reduced the font to size 6 on page 17, 52, 79, 104, 131 to write out a secret about _________ regarding the __________ in _________. Not in that way. The message is hidden behind the story being told. It leaves the main point up for you to interpret. The readers personal experience matters in determining what they think the story means. The symbolism is heavy. The absurdism is heavy. This leaves room for the readers mind to get wild. Puts the imagination to work!
Is it Nijinsky graceful? No. Not yet.
Sometimes the message gets said too loudly. It’s in your face. But this is youth - passion - conviction flooding out. Everything that fell in the category of being too straightforward is a product of that belief being so loud that I could barely stifle it long enough to put it all out there let alone take the time to hide it under the rest of the story. That’s okay. They needed to be said for me to rest at night. Messages I felt obligated to share that I’ll still stand by.
Yet - our point - is that all I needed to scream, was screamed.
Now it’s about whispering behind the veil of a story. Celebrating the Funeral showed me that and it’s what feels most natural. It’s what I feel I’m supposed to be doing: Expressing my real beliefs within a novel. That’s what I’m going to do here. With your feedback, ideas, comments (if you’re willing.)
The title is [REDACTED] and this isn’t some sly ploy to say I’m not telling you. It’s me titling it that because there’s no title yet. Celebrating The Funeral wasn’t named until two weeks before printing. This will likely be the same.
The second novel began sometime in February before Winter broke. It has those frigid edges and that stylistic surreal undercurrent. On the fringe of sanity, unreliableness but above all else is that insistent Human feeling. Those attitudes of searching and gratitude, courage and fear, hope and despair, the spectrum that we experience everyday. It’s still being written.
You get access to the entire process. Raw. But the final, published edition will vary slightly. Typos, rewording. Post Editor. This is only natural as I can’t edit substack.
Refusing to paywall all my writing I encourage anyone without access to continue exploring the free writings on Souled Idea. I write 3 a week and there are 100+ already published.
[REDACTED]
All rights reserved SOULED IDEA™
CHAPTER ONE
“What’re you doin’ here?”
“What’s anyone doing anywhere?”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
I nod. Camaraderie. What am I doing here? Physicists, preachers, philosophers - ideas?
“So?”
“I’ll have a beer. Dealer's choice.”
Unsatisfied because I answered the wrong question but with that mask he turns to the industrial fridge, reaches in and hesitates. Something clicks and he picks a bottle from the 5th row up.
He turns back around. Face now more in control. He holds the beer out of reach and ask again, “what’re you doin’ here?” The beer acts as a sort of trading token. Information for booze. That’s the deal, compadre. That’s our shoot out. Ten steps back. Turn. Look eye to eye. A flirting hand. Gun seducing! Anticipation boils! Quick draw, action, pull, BANG.
There’s a rebellious chord inside me that screams to leave. There’s beer and
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