Rediscovering Vonnegut, Rediscovering Me

It's been a while since I posted anything here. New job responsibilities and a decision to go on a writing hiatus made it seem pointless. I even made the announcement on Facebook that I was going to stop writing for an indefinite amount of time. Then something truly miraculous happened: The world somehow went even more batshit crazy than it had before. At least, the sizable corner of it known alternately as the United States of America and 'Murica did. It was those who tend to employ the latter term whose insanity and gullibility were on equal display January 6th.

In case you're living in an alternate universe that I would very much prefer to live in, you know that was the day a horde of Donald Trump's supporters descended upon the U.S. capital and did their best French Revolution impression. People were hurt, some died, and property damage and theft rounded out the horrific triumvirate of insipidity. We had, to my way of thinking, officially entered a time where all the surface-level  BS would never return to its subterranean depths again. It was here to stay and it was only going to get worse before it got...I didn't know that it would ever get better. However, the writer in me watched with cool, dispassionate interest, cataloging and extrapolating.

I had no idea he was doing any of that. Having dived headlong into my new job, a job I love, by the way, I had, much like Luke Skywalker in "The Last Jedi," cut myself off from the Force. But the Force has other ways of reasserting itself. Much like how the character of Rey came into Luke's life to rekindle his heroism, another type of powerful influence returned to me in the form of a seemingly random audiobook selection on the shelves at work.

Those who know me, those who have read this blog, and those who have read my first novel all know my first real literary hero was Kurt Vonnegut. Despite an apparent hipster-led assault on his literary reputation over the past decade, he remains the singular influence on my writing voice and sensibility. The elitists can go to hell of they want to diminish me for that. 

Ever since the global pandemic started, I have experienced the urge to reread Vonnegut. I own most of his work. The urge usually occurs whenever I am feeling lost or needing to find my center. Other authors have come along since that fill a similar niche, but none has the powerfulness of Vonnegut's simplistic prose and grand yet grounded notions about the human condition. For most, his best work is "Slaughterhouse Five." It was the first thing I read thanks to an English Lit class. Of the five short novels we read in those 7 1/2 weeks, his was the one that prompted me to run out and buy another novel of his during the semester. 

My favorite Vonnegut novel remains "Breakfast of Champions." My own novel, "Dreamers at Infinity's Core," was an attempt to mimic the approach of Vonnegut's work and put my own stamp on it. I believe that time has come again. 

I've been listening to the audiobook during my drives to and from work. Read by gifted actor Stanley Tucci, the reading is nothing short of incredible. Unlike Ethan Hawk's ponderous monotone on "Slaughterhouse Five," Tucci understands how Vonnegut's prose should be read. Somewhere in all that brilliance, I heard the basis for a novel I have wanted to write for several years. I didn't know it until recently, but I have grown tired of treading the same familiar ground. I want to write a novel that is about something, not just reacting to it. I want the idea to be the thing, not the plot device to propel characters from scene to scene. I want dialogue to be simple but resonant, meaningful. 

Most of all, I want to write about what's going on in my head before it takes me over. And yes, I mentioned the insanity of January 6th because it will be one of two framing devices for this novel. The other is the Mayan calendar. I already know the title and it isn't going to change:

2012
2021

It's time to make Vonnegut proud~

Authors Daring to have Opinions: The Scourge of Complacency

This just in: A successful author made comments about a controversial topic that didn't line up with many of their fans' expectations! It's never happened before. Human beings always performs exactly the way we expect and never disappoint us. This is especially true of famous people, whose only function and role is to please us and validate whatever we believe. At least, that's how the Fates intended it.

In grown-up reality, however, there are occasional aberrations that result in some uppity creative type going against the grain. Obviously it's a terrible thing. After all, where would we be if so-called thinkers such as Gore Vidal, James Baldwin, Margaret Atwood and Harlan Ellison had had opinions and thoughts of their own? They were wise enough to know better and conducted themselves like proper extensions of their readers' wills and desires. I shudder to think of a mouthy Harlan Ellison or a scathing Vidal. What about a Baldwin or Atwood who actually decided to shine a light on the inequities of society? Yikes!

If writing is exclusively for comfort zones and turn-off-your-brains entertainment, and it is, then obviously the writer's thoughts are, too.

Sadly, this particular author forgot their station in life as "the entertainment" and shared opinions that upset tons of readers to the point where they began  feeling traumatized. Their childhoods had been ruined, you see. This author's books were a way of life for them, as evidenced by their shared desire to reenact them, dress like the characters, and make obnoxious references to them as if everyone knew what the hell they were talking about. This presumptuous author ruined all that with comments that forced these readers to re-examine the very foundation of their fandom. And then, the inevitable calls for censorship started.

I too was brainwashed at one time into thinking the free expression of ideas was a positive. I readily embraced those insipid words sung by Andy Partridge of XTC:

I believe the printed word is more than sacred
Beyond the gauge of good or bad
The human right to let your soul fly free and naked
Above the violence of the fearful and sad

What ridiculous tripe. Everybody knows words are supposed to comfort us, make us feel good about ourselves and never, ever, laugh at us when they see us naked. And because I now understand an opinion-free life is a life lived well, the very notion of someone discussing issues I am passionate about in any way that isn't how I like to hear them discussed makes me projectile vomit like a malfunctioning lawn sprinkler.

In addition to my more enlightened understanding regarding opinions, I have also come around to understanding that anything I object to on philosophical grounds deserves swift and merciless action. For famous authors, that can only mean one thing. Boycotting. Censure is the key to silencing those who drain the precious fluids from our sacred cows and nothing hurts them more than encouraging a total halt to all purchasing of books, movies and anything else the author has created. That'll learn 'em to mess with us morally superior types.

But, wait. There's more.

You might think it's only philosophically and ethically consistent if the aforementioned censorship occurs by completely cutting off all connection to the author's material, no matter how meaningful or impactful it was for you. Maybe you've even let Big Fiction convince you that it's unethical to still embroil yourself in the fandom of an author you now find repulsive. Don't listen to that nonsense. Listen instead to the group that says it's okay to enjoy the work as long as you never pay for it. And it's even more better-er if you take that person's work for your own and rewrite it to better match your sensibilities. It doesn't matter if the author is the only reason for you being able to do that. They shouldn't have opined. It's not hypocritical! Shut up! It is not!

No, you're acting like a child! You! 

Is there a spot, or a room of some kind where I can go inside and feel safe from all these contrary ideas? While there, I will work on my magnum opus, a novel that doesn't offend anyone, never makes the reader think or question anything, and agrees with whoever is reading it at the time. And if I fail, have no fear. You can feel justified in taking my hard work, changing it to something else, and never paying me a dime.

Just like Buddha...

And probably Jesus.