Darkness at the break of noon, shadows even a silver spoon. The handmade blade, the child's balloon, eclipses both the sun and moon. Gotta love Dylan for his panache. One day, I hope my writing has that kind of swagger. 

Probably not too dissimilar from one of my favorite bards, I get asked, quite regularly, regarding the themes and content of my stories, WTF? I imagine Bob Dylan received a lot of that, over the years. Maybe, those people don't understand and never will. They may not be fans, nor do they ever want to be connoisseurs of the dark and weird. I get that about people, as Dylan, must do, as well, on some level.

Artists cannot do their thing, if they fret about every bit of criticism, they receive. If you are to create unique works of art, you have to transform what's in your heart into something tangible. There can be no concern about whether folks will love your work, or not. To do otherwise, leads to a state of paralysis, the opposite of being productive. That is why I charge, fearlessly, into the dark and tilt at the constantly, churning windmills of my mind.

One of the biggest themes within my work is the idea, tyranny of the mind is the worst form of oppression. I believe this to be true within our lives. Who does anyone think they are, to tell me how to think, or what to write about? 

One of the substantial commonalities of the characters within my stories is their open embracement of their wickedness. None of the main characters are evil, but they are certainly wicked. As you will see, there is a distinct difference between the two. 

You might suggest I'm splitting hairs on this one, and I'd heartily disagree with you, and here's why. My wicked, main characters battle evil all day long. Wickedness is to envelope oneself around what it is to be alive, in all of its humanity. Whereas, evil are the antithesis, of which the wicked stand against. So you see, there is a vast chasm between the two perspectives, or chosen ways of life. 

The wicked embody, albeit, sometimes in an extreme manner, the classic Seven Deadly Sins of envy, gluttony, greed, lust, pride, sloth, and wrath. By themselves, each of these sins is personal, in nature, and doesn't cause mass destruction, at least, they don't have to be problematic to others. Mostly, wicked folk are harmful to themselves and leave others alone. It is a different and darker way of viewing the world around them. No doubt about that, but is it detrimental to others, in the same manner as evil deeds? I just don't see it in that light. Although, I am admittedly biased on the point because I avoid, looking into the light, as much as is humanly feasible. 

Oh, to be wicked is so liberating. Imagine not having to care about what others may think about the fetishes you employ to express your love of life. With sin no longer a negative factor for determining which action to choose, one is free to decide how much sin to embrace and in what manner to do it. Who wouldn't want that by the shovel-full?

On the other hand, evil doers recklessly and selfishly choose their dastardly deeds, without regard to the effect their actions have on anyone else. At the end of the day, they just don't care. That is the big difference between the two walks of life. Evil minded folk go out and do whatever they wish, damn the consequences. In fact, this kind of people tend to relish, having a negative impact upon innocent bystanders. 

Within my stories, evil does this three part dance between perpetrators, victims, and bystanders, where they are the perpetrators, who orchestrated the entire affair. Although some of the wicked do leave victims in their wake, that's not their primary motivation. Collateral damage is not the same as premeditated murder for no other reason than personal satisfaction. It's not even in the same ballpark. 

Why do I make such distinctions and commit them to words? Simply put, every other writer scribbles about the typical good versus evil thing. They write about worlds that are mostly filled with light and peacefulness, at least to the greatest measure. 

My Cosmos is dark and foreboding. To be sure, there are some good things that exist within my world, but they aren't predominant in any way, shape, or manner. My heroes are wicked to their cores, with each embracing a different stripe of this perspective of the reality around them. They do their utmost to beat back evil in every form, it dares to rear its ugly head. Conflict exists within this framework, but in a different manner than any other author, I've ever read, and I've read a lot of them. Therefore, I write dark fantasy, and it's darker than any other. 

I've thought about how to build the framework, in which, I write, since the age of twelve. Much contemplation and sweat has been poured into this thing I do. There are plenty of Tolkien rip offs. Something about those never sat well with me. They came across as shallow and contrived, like the characters were merely words on the page, two-dimensional caricatures of something, for certain, but nothing, resembling anything we would call a real persona. I wanted my creations to do everything, but come out of the book, and wouldn't that be cool, if they could? 

Over the years, I've discovered my magic sauce, and it's so simple. It's the little details that make a character come to life. A flourish here, and a particular over there. I think about what they like and their pet peeves. Every character has a unique style, I took pains to craft. If a particular man has a hole in his shoe, I know the story behind how it got there. I may not write about the hole, per se, but the detail has been considered and will be used by me, as is necessary to my plot lines. Not every piece of information has to be expressed, but enough needs to be there, for the characters to have enough depth and breadth. Readers know the difference between authors, who just phone it in, from the ones, who view their work as an artform. 

Yes, I think of my characters as being every bit as genuine, as anyone I know in the real world. After all, reality is nothing more than a mental construct, and we make of it, what we will. Descartes insinuated as much, when he wrote, "I think, therefore, I am." 

This piece isn't about apologizing for what I do, or selling you on it. It's about explaining this thing, I call dark fantasy, in all of its epic qualities. My purpose is to create a body of work that has never been undertaken before, and nothing more than that. 

If folks wish to continue to read the trite material, authors are putting out, every minute of every day, more power to them. People should go for what makes them happy. I'm not here to stand in their way, as if I could do that, anyway. My goal is to elevate fantasy to a wholly-different level, closer to a literary one. After all, I scribble words and craft books, don't I? 

Fantasy isn't just a hobby for me, it's a calling, something I don't take lightly. I can't draw to save my life(stick figures are my highest aspiration, in that regard), but I can think, and as it turned out, write. I view this thing I do, as my form of art. I see the beauty, intrinsic to a dark perspective upon fantasy. If that's not art, I don't know anything about art. 

Maybe, I'm batshit crazy and living on an island all by my lonesome, but I don't think that's the case, at least, I hope not. If that's what's happening to me, somebody come and rescue me. Wilson! 

Everyone has some form of art within themselves, in dire need of expression. Something that must get out into this thing, we refer to as, reality. Mine is expressed through my books, the various fantasy games I run, and everything I post to this website. Art makes life worthwhile. It's a quality of life issue, and who doesn't want the greatest one, possible? 

Unfortunately, it's time to sign off, once more. I leave you, knowing the rest of the story behind what I mean about what it is to be wicked. It's alright, Ma, I'm only writing! Good night and good luck. 

Recently, my daughter told me on her in-laws latest, and only visit, thus far, that they had been annoyed by the crowing of the "neighborhood" rooster. The first thought that occurred to me was, it served them right for sleeping within their modified van in our driveway. Who does that in this heat when our house is perfectly air-conditioned and full of comfortable places, in which to lay one's head? Well, certainly more comfortable than a van, and they had a dog in there with them, to boot!

Although I thought the story was a funny ditty, news of this fabled rooster came as a complete surprise to me. In a little under a year of living below my daughter and son-in-law within the house they bought, I had never heard a peep out of this supposed bird, and I told her as much. She shook her head in that way she does whenever I say something she finds completely bonkers(which happens quite often), and incredulously said, "The crazy thing crows all the time! The neighbors constantly complain about it. How have you not noticed the noise?" 

She brought up a valid point. If this bird was so vexing, how could I possibly be the only person in the neighborhood, who never heard these irksome sounds? Deciding it couldn't be as bad as my daughter made it seem, I did what I do with all information, irrelevant to me. I threw it to the curb, where it belongs. 

Last night, I strolled about town in my usual manner. Out of the blue, I heard the little fucker. At first, I didn't know what to make of it. I stopped, took another puff on my cigar, and listened. Sure enough, it was the faint sound of a rooster crowing, which couldn't be denied. As John Adams so aptly said back in the day, "Facts are damnable things." 

But for my daughter having mentioned something about this rooster a short while ago, its noise probably wouldn't have registered on my radar. I would've continued to be oblivious to the commotion it has caused in the neighborhood. Still, I don't know what all the fuss is really about. It seems to me that this is all much ado about nothing. When I referred to the squawking as being faint, I didn't stutter. If you asked me, the noises it made could easily be ignored, which apparently, I had done, ever since I moved to this neck of the woods. 

Maybe I'm an anomaly when it comes to not picking up on obvious visual and auditory clues, but I don't think so. In fact, I know I am not alone on that. One of my closest, gaming buddies is constantly "discovering" new houses on his routes to here and there, only to learn, the dwelling in question had been there for decades. He has been doing that ever since we first met. What is it about stimuli and inputs that causes us to simply ignore them, as if they had never existed? 

It's a question, deserving some time and consideration because it touches every, single, one of us on some level. Yea, nobody ignores every sensory input, but we all disregard a certain amount of them. Think about it. Can you tell me how many flakes of paint are peeling from your own house, or the number of dead branches that are on the tree in your neighbor's yard? What was the last advertisement you paid attention to, when did that occur, and what was actually being sold? 

Dollars to donuts, I bet you can't answer any of those questions, not accurately, anyway. If you can, then you may very well be a special case, or perhaps, though I can't for the life of me fathom a reason as to why, but maybe, those are the sort of details, upon which you focus. The interesting thing about all of this is, if our brain is indeed picking up on everything we see, hear, taste, and smell(which I've been told it does), why can we recall certain things, while other equally, valid inputs seem to be the experience of some extraterrestrial? 

Upon reflection, bringing everything I have in my noodle upon those questions, I blame our ignorance of the obvious on the human condition, modernity, and the current state of technology. No matter your individual walk of life or place in society, these are the three factors we all have in common. They explain everything, not to be confused with Stephen Hawking's, The Theory of Everything. As a side note for those of you, who haven't read it, I highly recommend his book. You won't regret the time it takes to understand what Hawking tried to convey. Getting back to the point, I'll tackle each of the factors I mentioned, one at a time. 

Because humans are such complicated creatures, the human condition is likewise, riddled with wrinkles and complexities. Much has been written about the subject by literary and philosophical authorities, I can only hope to comprehend. By no means, do I profess to be an expert in this area of knowledge. I've simply read my fair share about this topic and have heard more than one professor wax eloquently about it. Still, you'll have to excuse my simplistic treatment of this topic. Nevertheless, theories about the human condition, however boiled down and mashed together for the sake of brevity, explain much about who and what we are, as we exist within the framework, we call humanity. 

At root, discussions about the human condition center around questions, regarding who and what we are, as humans. Within the context of what I'm talking about, I believe it to apply to how we carry on with our daily lives. If we paid attention to every sensory input, we wouldn't be able to do anything else. Therefore, we need to simplify our inputs to some manageable level to prevent us from being driven to distraction. Practicality dictates the choices we make at every point of every day, if only on a subconscious level. This allows for a measure of productivity and some semblance of a quality of life for ourselves. If you doubt me on this, imagine what life would be for you, without either of these things. 

Modernity, put simply, is the notion of a modern life, one that constantly changes and evolves. Everything we take for granted is embodied within this concept. It includes everything from the way we think and what we think about from style, to language, what symbols we use, and what we find important. All of these things are in a constant state of flux, especially within the times, in which we live. 

At its very core, modernity explains the forces at play that drive us to take one path, or go another way, to make one decision or choice, or do a completely different thing. At this moment in time, we have more choices and opportunities available to us than we can ever choose, or, of which, take advantage. With all of this in mind, no wonder most people don't know which way is up. How could they? 

Now, I tackle the current state of technology, the culminating factor, driving us to ignore the obvious. Technology is like a virus, it's everywhere; embedded in our communications, constantly vigilant within our households, has taken over our entertainment, an integral part of our workspaces, affects the way we shop for everything from fruit to nails, and now, has developed a life of its own. Technology has gone viral and has just about taken over our lives in their entirety, as well as the age, in which we live. Some might even go so far, as to say, "It defines these times."

What is more modern than employing technology to do every mundane task, and nowadays, even our rudimentary thinking? How would we push back against the tide when technology begins to make choices for us we don't prefer and does tasks we do not wish it to undertake? However horrific it may sound to any of us, are we on the cusp of the second question becoming a reality? 

Although I joke about being the last person on the planet to have a cellphone or to have streamed a video, having done both only within the last four or five years, I understand the usefulness of technology, and fully appreciate the ways it has improved the quality of our lives, but, as Socrates professed, everything must come in moderation. Simply put, too much of anything, even something good, leads to nothing, but trouble. I'm not a luddite or anything, although, probably closer to that way of life than most of you reading this post, but technology can't be allowed to get out of hand. Just because we can do something, doesn't mean we should charge into the breach, trumpets blaring at full volume, and do it! 

Technology, through Big Tech, has captured us, in so, many ways. Wherever we look, and wherever we go, Big Tech is already there, waiting for us, like predators, laying in wait for their prey. At first, it was the bombardment of ads that appeared to be selling, exactly that widget, you never knew you wanted. Then, it turned into being suggestions about every kind of good under the sun, services you never knew existed, nor wanted to, either; news articles of the novel, bizarre, and fake, and other useless bits of information(UBIs), somebody thinks you want, but you do not and never will. All of this is annoying, to say the least. Today, we can ignore most of these obnoxious and persistent inputs, and must do so for the sake of our sanity. What concerns me is, what's next? 

I attended a couple of classes with an advertising and marketing teacher, who taught at the little, business school I went to back in the day. He had his fifteen minutes of fame when he conceived of an advertising campaign, labeling Vermont as New England's west coast, on account of the fact that Lake Champlain is The United States' sixth largest lake. No shit, it really is. At one point, for about six weeks, by a congressional proclamation, it was one of The Great Lakes, until the poor lake was robbed of the distinction. This teacher was affectionately known by his students as The Kos, a shortened version of his name. Anyway, Kos taught me, among other things, about the history of marketing and advertising. 

Since the beginning of civilization, goods and services needed to be sold and distributed, throughout the land. How would anyone know what products were available, where to get them, and from whom to purchase them? Lo and behold, principles of advertising came to the rescue and made it all possible. At some point along the line, the field of marketing was born. 

It began with heralds or criers, yelling about their wares in the forums, town squares, and business centers of the civilized areas of the world. The invention of the printing press revolutionized the dissemination of information, and the world of advertising, likewise, embraced the new technology in the form of flyers, brochures, and ads within newspapers and magazines. Then, radio and television added another dimension to advertising and marketing. Computers created another revolution to the way, in which, we experience advertising. Much to our dismay and forever increasing our frustration level, we are all familiar with all forms of spam and popups that just appear on our computers, cellphones, and every other electronic device we use. What do we do with all of the electronic nonsense?  Of course, we delete it, immediately, or ignore it, altogether.

Taking notice of every electronic impulse we receive, would fill every minute of each day. We deal with it by ignoring most of these electronic inputs. They are that numerous, pervasive, and above all, persistent. So, bringing us back on to the point, how many things do we ignore before we miss out on something obvious, like the crowing of the neighborhood rooster or important, such as the text from your wife to remember to pick up the ingredients for that night's dinner? 

Big Tech is now taking everything that is known about the human condition, modernity, and the current state of technology and marshalling this body of knowledge for their own benefit. They do it, in the name of progress and try their very best to convince us, it is advantageous to all of mankind. Sure, some of what Silicon Valley does is extremely cool, but other things are just damn annoying. More importantly, how does all of this technology affect our psyches and the development of our children? When robots do all of the labor, what will the people doing those jobs do for work? How will we be able to feed ourselves and our families? 

When Bob Dylan, one of my favorite bards, once crooned, "When the rooster crows at the break of dawn," he obviously didn't know about my neighborhood rooster, which seems to crow around the clock. At what point in the day does the little guy sleep is anybody's guess. It seems the line my neighbors should take to heart and find some solace is, "Don't think twice, it's alright." 

On another note, my favorite band, The Rolling Stones, the self-styled greatest rock and roll band in the world, had a heartbreak dealt to them this week. Charlie Watts, their drummer, died from complications of a recent surgery. He will be missed, dearly, because he was always as cool as a cucumber, even when, at times, things were going sideways for The Stones. He was certainly a part of the glue that kept the band together and going all these years. Hopefully, this is not the signal for an end of an era. 

The Stones have been a part of my entire life in some form or other. I remember seeing them on T.V., as guests on shows like Solid Gold, and their songs were constantly on the radio. Once I was old enough to buy records, The Stones were always one of my top picks. I've been to three of their concerts, which were all tremendous affairs. The Stones put on such a good show that it caused my dad to appreciate the band. Yea, I managed to drag my dad to one of their concerts. My grandbaby, without a doubt, enjoyed them, while in her mother's womb. A double yea! My daughter is so cool, she went to a Stones' concert with me, when she was eight months pregnant. A lot of good memories are connected to The Stones. Hopefully, this is not the beginning of their end. 

With that mouthful having been spat out, now, you know the rest of the story behind, when the rooster crows. Speaking of my grandbaby, she just woke from a nap and beckons for my attention, so I must go. Until our next meet-up, keep it dark, and listen to at least one song from The Rolling Stones. I recommend the classic, "Paint It Black," but "Midnight Rambler" would also work. Good day, and good luck!  

Doom didn't get me. Nope, it didn't. Not at all, and unlike many(more than we'd all like to contemplate), who didn't weather The Doom That Marched Across The Globe as well as myself(sad to even think about), I'm better off for having overcome the storm(which, under the mournful circumstances isn't easy to commemorate to words). In short, I'm back and ready to tilt at the windmills, once again!

It's been over a year, since my last posting. Sorry, for the long siesta. It just couldn't be helped. I hate to admit it because authors are supposed to be made of sturdy stuff that compels them to stand up and write the most when times are the toughest, but Doom threw me off my game. Between taking care of my grandbaby(who just turned two), moving into a new home, and unpacking my entire life into an unfamiliar living space, I didn't have much time for anything else. 

I don't think I'm any worse for the wear, but who views themselves in that manner? When I look in the mirror, I see myself as I always have. Perhaps there are a few less hairs, but unlike Rip Van Winkle, my hair and beard aren't any longer. I didn't grow fangs or an excessive amount of wrinkles. However, I do feel like I've awakened from a long, unrestful slumber to a transformed reality. So, in that context, I feel like I'm an alien, who has landed in a strange, misbegotten reality. Who doesn't feel this way these days? 

What this past year has taught me is to embrace the notion, we should live every moment like it were our last. Anything and everything can be swept away within a mere blink of the eye. Regrets do nothing to replace the missing somebodies and somethings. Fully enjoying them before they are gone is all anyone can do. 

Midnight is still my favorite time of day. Goes to show, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Our preferences are much more resilient than any of the other facets of ourselves. Anyway, my new writing space is darker and quieter than my old one. It took more time than it should have to acclimate to my current digs, but overall, it has been a positive change for me. Less light and noise has made for an environment, where concentration upon my art comes natural. After the witching hour, between words, sentences, paragraphs, and pages, I can look up and see the stars, smiling down upon my sorry ass. Imagine that! 

Still vegan, I've also managed to cut back on my sugar intake more than I ever thought possible or desirable. Sorry, Muse. Switching to iced water proved easier than at first blush. Although my diabetes condition, kidneys, and doctor may be jumping for joy over the change, I miss my sugary friends. On the bright side, smoking more stogies than any ten people, much to my doctor's dismay(Hey, he can't have everything, right?), has remained a staple of my writing process. All in all, the words keep thundering like freight trains through my mind. Nothing to worry about, there. 

Three more books are almost ready for the editing process. Two of them will conclude my first trilogy about The Shade. The third one is about his mother, an assassin with a sordid background. The end of this year and the beginning of the next one shall prove to be busy, to say the least! 

With the details of my activities during the many moons of my absence taken care of, onto something more on point to the purpose of this website. You came here to read about fantastical and whimsical ideas. Isn't that the reason behind why you're reading any of this? Well, if not, you can skim the next couple of paragraphs. For those, craving something dark and unexpected, keep reading, and maybe check out the Thought Train, as well. 

Odd things have a way of happening around me on my way to the proverbial forum. Maybe they happen to everybody, and perhaps, as an author, I pay close attention to bizarre behavior. In any event, I tend to notice the oddest of oddities, just about every time I leave my house. What I'm about to relay to you is one of those peculiar situations. 

Last October, during one of my after-dark walks around the new neighborhood, I approached several houses in a row, decked to the nines for Halloween. I wasn't sure if Covid had anything to do with the elaborate decorations, or if this area simply loves this particular holiday. I guess I'll find out this year. In any event, as I approached the first of the series of dwellings, a witch figure began to cackle and jump up and down. This triggered a reaction from the next house, which played creaking and groaning sounds. Startled by the sudden noise, I stopped and admired the variety of purple and orange lights, cobwebs, skeletons, and the such. I'm a big fan of Halloween, as well.   

Much to my surprise, a screaming man ran at me from somewhere between the second and third house. He was being trailed by another man, shouting and flailing a very large knife above his head. As the first one got closer to me, his shirt was ripped to shreds and his chest was covered in what looked like blood. Although I had my suspicions, at first, I didn't know if this chase was for real or not. You never know what people get themselves into. 

The first man dropped on the grass a few feet in front of me. Before the second fellow was within striking distance of me, a group of people shambled from between the houses, groaning like a horde of zombies. Now, I knew something was up, but because I didn't know any of these folks from Adam, I didn't know exactly what they were up to. Clever Man, who stopped running a couple of feet from me, and Bleeding Man burst out laughing, and exclaimed, "You're not Steve!" 

No, I wasn't. It turned out they were having a Halloween party and saw me from the backyard. They thought I was their friend, dressed for the occasion. Apparently, in the dark, I resemble The Grim Reaper(which their friend was coming as). We all had a big laugh, and they invited me to their soiree. Ha ha.  

On that note, I leave you with two parting thoughts; amid the chaos, churning around us, these days, don't take things too seriously, and remember to appreciate the things that truly do matter. Now, you really know the rest of the story. Until we meet again, good night and good luck!