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Wednesday Afternoon Ramblings

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Ever since the tragedy in Newtown, the gun control debate has intensified to an unbearable cacophony.  I’ve tried to stay out of it much like I tried to stay out of the election.  There are already too many people spewing too much bile for the opinions of one insignificant hillbilly to make much difference either way.  For the record, I’m for responsible adults having the right to own as many guns of whatever size and type they want.  I’ve seen the kinds of weapons criminals carry, and responsible, law-abiding citizens of this country should have the ability to protect themselves and their families from people who would do them harm.  But the purpose of this post isn’t to argue about guns.  Larry Correia and Sam Harris do a far better job of spelling out the fallacies of gun control than I can.  For me, the parts of this debate that’s being missed, the crucial parts, are the underlying causes of mass violence.

First and foremost, our mental health system is a deplorable sham.  It’s simply inaccessible to many of us, mostly because of costs but also because of the attitudes and behaviors of many within the profession.  Since my shotput accident in 1989, I’ve battled depression.  Most of the time, I overcome it and function well.  However, back in 2003, I fell into a deep depression that nearly crippled me.  I recognized that I needed help and sought out a professional.  First, getting in the door was tedious and challenging.  Just getting face to face with a therapist was nearly more of an obstacle than I was able to overcome.  Then, when I finally did get to see someone, I was greeted by an incompetent person who laughed when I explained the accident.  No, really, she laughed at a person in the depths of a crippling depression.  Here I was fully aware of my condition, actively seeking help, and stifled by the so-called professionals who were supposed to be there to help.  Fortunately for me, I already knew enough about depression to look elsewhere for assistance, but imagine for a moment if I had been slightly more despondent or more unhinged.  I easily could’ve slipped off the edge and done something horrific.  That’s just one example of the absurd state of our mental health system.  Those of you, our president included, who are so vehement that guns are the issue, why are you not equally looking at mental health, or more accurately the lack of it, as a culprit?

Also, why isn’t anybody talking about the problems in our society that create such deep feelings of disenfranchisement and alienation that people feel compelled to murder strangers?  Is it just simpler to point at guns and say they are the problem than to dig for the root causes?  I know plenty of people who own guns who’ve never even aimed them at another person, so I find it hard to believe that the weapon itself is the issue.  What pushes a young man to walk into a school and murder over two dozen people, most of them under the age of seven?  What drove him to that point of disassociation?  Is it economic inequality?  Is it the failure of inclusion (that’s another post for another day)?  Is it the endless bombardment of propaganda that we’re exposed to daily?  These are the questions we should be focusing on more than whether or not lawful citizens should be allowed to own a rifle.  Why isn’t the president asking these questions at least as much as looking at guns?  It seems to me if economic inequality is a culprit, he would then at least have some leverage for his economic agenda.

We’re already a polarized populace.  After the election, hundreds of thousands of citizens signed petitions to secede from the union.  If the president pushes for more gun control in this climate, his actions could ignite a powder keg, literally.  I’d much rather see the left asking the deeper, harder questions right now than using Newtown to push a political agenda that 1) doesn’t work and 2) might spark a civil war.  Just as the Bush administration dropped the ball after 9/11 by telling us to go shopping, the Obama administration has dropped the ball after this tragedy by focusing on guns instead of the underlying causes, and this time, things could get bloody and ugly rather quickly.

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Literary Underworld Ramblings

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If this writing doesn’t work out, maybe Shrews and I can become a pro wrestling tag team.


In an effort to raise awareness of our consortium of writers at the Literary Underworld, we’re offering guest blog appearances on the craft of writing.  Today, Steven Shrewsbury invades the Ramblings with his ideas on violence in writing.  If you haven’t read any of his work, please check out his books at http://www.literaryunderworld.com/  Use this code LUBLOGTOUR  and receive a special discount on your purchase.  Thanks for supporting independent authors.  Without further ado, here’s Shrews:

TEMPERING THE BLADES?

I’m author Steven Shrewsbury and I’m filling in today. Let’s talk violence.

I’ve been told that my sword & sorcery works and horror novels are too violent. Some say the violence is extreme and shouldn’t be put in such close quarters where sexual situations just occurred, much less dialogue with God or demons. My usual answer to these statements is, “Ever read the Bible?”

Now, my work could never be confused with Biblical scripts, but I mention this to let the reader know they might need to grow a pair. Okay, it’s only a story. It cannot hurt the reader. Much. Yes, sometimes violence one reads can stay with a casual reader, an act so revolting or crazy it pops up in the mind later at work or during dinner. Fine. While that isn’t what I go for, to gross out or make the smashed potatoes hit the wall via projectile vomiting, I do desire to entertain and tell a story that might last in the mind. One might say, “That Shrews, he goes to far.” However others say, “That Shrews, I bet he’s a crazy bastard. I bet he’s fun to have a beer with.” It’s the latter. Trust me. Most days, anyhow.

That said, even a writer who likes to sling the entrails and mix up heads on bodies after decapitations feels that tempering the violence is a good idea. If the story degenerates into describing battles or an act of murder over and over with such vapid detail, at times, one will wonder if the writer penned it with his pants around his ankles. It’s my natural inclination to use humor (albeit dark at times) along with the violence and spread it out as the story unfolds, but also to make it credible. I’m not using Green Lantern Rings or powers endowed by a Yellow Sun, but usually iron and steel. Things bend and break under such force and usually, its more fun to describe the will behind the steel that made such an incision.

Real life is screwier than fiction, I’ve heard tell. I’ve never been in a sword fight in my life, and I bet that’d be pretty scary to face down a man (or woman) who has been. That is reality, not pulling a blade and making a mess. The person behind the instrument can invoke bravery or cowardice.

What one will do in a given situation, that is interesting. Wouldn’t one want to run? Sure. Would we really stand and fight if given the chance? Maybe. I love to relate the story of the hero in Robert E. Howard’s “The HOOVED THING” for it is set against the usual H.P. Lovecraft setting: New England, unspeakable horror, a monster out to get us all. This time, though, the main guy isn’t an erudite man from Mass who will commit suicide rather than face the ultimate horror. The lead character in Howard’s tale (shockingly) is a strapping Texan who grabs from a curio cabinet a sword blessed by a saint (lucky!!!) and decides, screw it, I must fight this thing or it will kill everyone else. Do or die, gung ho! The line “Fear can become so intense it defeats itself.” What courage. What a guy. What balls. Ya gotta root for that fella and hope YOU have that kind of stones in such a case. It isn’t high art, but it makes the point, literally.

Is violence bad? Sure. It hurts. Emotional scars run pretty deep, and might last longer than the Vicoden can ebb away a broken limb. Frankly, I’ll say what many might not want to: Violence is good for a story, and it makes it more interesting if used properly. Forget S&S or horror, but pure action or thrillers, a fight breaks out or the weapon is drawn, the game is afoot like a motherf—okay, I already did a blog on foul language in fiction, so I digress.

So temper the violence, folks, and try to entertain. Many can do it. Now, I’m off to try and figure out how to write a vampire work without bloodshed or lots of violence. Dunno if that can be done, but I hear racks of books are being sold by authors penning vampy romances, apparently writing with condoms over their heads. Wish me luck. What will come out will probably be a really blood-soaked, brutally real look at the genre, but I promise you this: It won’t be boring and the only sparkling with be the glisten off the blood pooling on the floor tiles in waning candlelight.

Cheers from Central IL

Steven Shrewsbury

Author of OVERKILL, THRALL, HELL BILLY, BEDLAM UNLEASHED and HAWG.

http://sshrewsbury.wordpress.com/

General Posts

Tuesday Afternoon Ramblings

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No offense intended to my female friends, and you’re more than welcome to read this post and chime in on this discussion, but this post is about being a man.  I’m all for women’s rights and believe we’re all equal, but this post is about what it means to be a man in 2012, at least from my perspective.  Part of this is my attempt to rediscover myself after a rocky ending to a once beautiful relationship; part is my venting over what I feel are blatant disrespects to my manhood; and part is my anger over the castration we face on a daily basis.  Again, I respect women and realize you have your own set of obstacles, but this entry will contain moderate to high levels of testosterone, so consider that fair warning.

First and foremost, being a man in this age is maddening.  We’re expected to temper and control millions of years of evolutionary hard-wiring in order to fit the contemporary mold of civilized behavior.  Well, that’s not easy.  For thousands of years our species has thrived in part because of this wiring, but now, we’re barbarians if we exhibit any signs of temper or anger.  A thousand years ago, hell two hundred years ago, if someone cut a man off in traffic the way they do today, that man could’ve ripped out their fucking throat and left them for he vultures to pick apart.  Genetically, I’m identical to the men of those times, but today, all I can do is give that asshole the finger and lay on my horn.  The frustration of having to bridle back those old impulses is hard to describe.  I hope other men know what I’m talking about and can weigh in on this because I don’t think I’m alone in feeling this frustration.

Also, you know what?  I like meat, especially steak.  It tastes really good.  Do I like factory farming? No.  Do I think all farms should allow free-range grazing and avoid pumping their animals full of hormones? Yes.  But I like to eat meat because it’s delicious.  I also happen to like salad because it tastes good to me, too.  There’s not much better than a fresh salad with basil, olive oil, and vinegar.  My point here is that often I’m made to feel like a Neanderthal for eating meat or a wimp for eating salad, but the simple fact is that it’s my body and my choice.  I’ll eat what I want.  End of discussion.

Then, there’s this whole thing about being sensitive and in touch with our feelings.  I’m here to tell you that I’m about as sensitive, compassionate, and in touch with my emotions as a man can be, and do you know where it’s gotten me?  The best I can tell, only heartbroken.  The women I’ve mistakenly given my heart to haven’t taken good care of it.  They’ve either played on my compassion and drained me dry or criticized me for what I’m not, instead of cherishing me for what I am.  I don’t want to change my kindness or lose that connection to my own emotions, but I know that it will be hard to trust sharing those parts of myself intimately with anyone again because so far, that’s only gotten me hurt.

And what really pisses me off is this whole bullshit notion of romance.  I’m sorry, but cards and flowers and little gifts are a ridiculous waste of money.  I’d rather show my love by helping with the dishes or doing a load of laundry or cooking a nice supper.  I know that’s not very romantic, but you know what?  I work pretty fucking hard and don’t earn a whole lot of money in my profession, so I try to spend my money wisely.  My idea of romance is sitting together on the sofa on Friday night and listening to good music.  That’s about as romantic as I can get.  Anything beyond that feels corny and cheesy to me.  I’m a terrible dancer and don’t like crowds, so going out is more of a drain than anything.  That’s just who I am, and if that’s not good enough, then I guess I’m not the right man for you.

I was raised in a time and place where parents and grandparents used real threats of physical violence to keep their children in line.  My grandfather never actually hit me, but by god, he sure as hell made me believe he would if I crossed the line, so I never dared try him.  My father only had to spank me a handful of times, and each one I deserved and I never misbehaved in that manner again.  Today, if a man raises his voice, he’s got “anger issues.”   Well, despite the do-gooders best intentions, the removal of the threat of violence has left us with where we are: a generation out of control with no respect for authority or other people’s rights.  I’m not advocating for abuse, but corporal punishment, even if just as a threat, does work.

I’ve never once raised a hand to a woman.  Well, not since I was 13 and got in the last fist-fight with my sister.  Even when my ex-wife came to me on Christmas morning to tell me she wanted to leave and I was so angry I wanted to strangle her, I didn’t even threaten to lay a hand on her.  Even when I’ve been pushed beyond my limit of patience and tolerance, I’ve never even considered striking a woman because I am a man, and to me real men don’t physically hurt women.  The one caveat to that is if a woman tries to harm my kids.  Then, I’ll kick her ass as if she were a man, but other than that one exception, there’s no place in this world for a man to even slap a woman.

This post has gone way off the rails from what I had originally intended, but those are some of my thoughts on what it means to be a man today and how complicated and confusing all of it has become.  What do you think?  Am I just completely off my rocker, or do I make some legitimate points?  I want to know your thoughts on this subject.