Cleanse

I don’t think there’s any doubt that our country is facing a far-reaching marginalization of religion in general, and Christianity specifically. It is happening everywhere, at every level. The movement to purge Christianity from all aspects of public life is in full swing, led by men and women who have perverted the establishment clause. They have deceived a nation that doesn’t know any better, a nation that doesn’t even understand the rights granted them in the constitution, who would rather rely on quickly digestible sound bytes that “sound right” than actually be bothered to find out the truth for themselves. Wouldn’t want to miss JWOWW’s new show to educate ourselves now, would we?

Under the guise of “progress” or “progressive thought” these people have convinced others that the so-called “separation of church and state” (that phrase appears nowhere in the constitution or the Bill of Rights) means that religion should be utterly banished from every corner of the earth and relegated to quiet time in the privacy of your own home or church. That no one should ever have to actually see or hear about anyone practicing their faith, ever, because it may offend them.

Of course, they ignore the fact that a Creator is invoked several times in the very same constitution. They also ignore the numerous historical writings that establish most of the founding fathers as theists, if not Christians. And they ignore the specific verbiage of the establishment clause itself (and its companion, the free exercise clause), reducing it to a catch phrase that other brainwashed masses can latch on to and mindlessly repeat. I’m referring to the part which says, congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.

Wait…I don’t see anything about abolishing religion. I don’t see any reference to atheists having the right to sue anyone and anything that offends their apparently delicate sensibilities. What I see is protection for those who wish to follow a religion. I see the government being told not to establish a national church (and later, through the 14th Amendment, this would also apply to the State governments, as well as Federal).

The establishment clause was meant to protect religion from the government, not to protect the public from ever being exposed to religion or, heaven forbid, being offended by it. And even though people today have unparalleled access to virtually the entire sum total of human knowledge right at their fingertips, they’d rather take the words of angry atheist liberals spewing hate-filled venom, than to lift a finger and educate themselves properly.

As a result of these efforts, Christianity has been viciously attacked and marginalized, while many who follow it are content to do nothing. Or perhaps the correct phrase is, they are incapable of doing anything. That’s because, like their more secular counterparts, they are content with a minimal education about the subject matter, just enough to get them by but not enough to actually take their time and attention away from other matters. This tendency seems rampant in these last few generations.

But in times of crisis, sleeping giants sometimes awaken, and some of these folks are starting to do just that. Some of them are tired of being bullied and pushed around by angry atheists with an axe to grind against God, who beat everyone over the head with the word “reason” like they came up with it. (Mind you, their “reason” is typically a dash of science intermixed with an abundance of repressed anger at “religion” and God.)

Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver. I have tried you in the furnace of affliction. (Isa 48:10). In-context, this verse is discussing the refinement of Israel as a nation. But looking at where we are right now, I think we have little choice but to see this present darkness as a similar opportunity to be cleansed and refined. It’s time to let go of our complacency and realize that there’s a lot at stake here.

Christians in America have never been challenged like this before. We’ve spent the past two hundred years enjoying a free ride. We’ve never had to really get into why we believe what we believe. We were the defacto “religious experience” of the past two centuries. Thus, it’s truly frightening, the number of people who really don’t know the why of their faith. This year, I spoke to a number of Catholics regarding their tradition of getting marked on Ash Wednesday. Not one of them could give a reason why this is observed. When you don’t understand why, then the actions themselves become a meaningless, disassociated ritual. The response to why do you get marked on Ash Wednesday should not be, because I’m Catholic. This sort of thing makes assaulting Christianity incredibly easy.

So do trite platitudes and bumper sticker theology. Those small, digestible tidbits I was talking about earlier aren’t just the exclusive domain of the atheists or progressives. We’ve got plenty of our own. Clichés like “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” That’s a bastardization of 1 Corinthians 10:13, which is part of a larger passage discussing, specifically, temptation. “There has no temptation taken you but such as is common to man. But God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that you are able; but with the temptation also make a way to escape, that you may be able to bear it.” I could spend a lot of time writing on that, but click here for a truly excellent article.

It’s time to stop helping those who want to shove us behind closed doors because they find our beliefs offensive. There’s not a law on the books that guarantees anyone’s right to never be offended by anything. I’m just as offended by their flagrant disregard for others’ beliefs and opinions, but I’m not trying to sue them into silence or take down their insipid billboards or prevent them from having their atheist rallies. In fact, I’m fine if someone wants to follow atheism. But when they try to push their religion (let’s not pretend it isn’t) on the rest of the world, that I have an issue with. And so should they, since one of their core issues with Christianity is that we “force it” on others. Live and let live only applies to this group if you agree with what they believe.

We are being threatened by those who would blindly (and gladly) march an entire nation – an entire world – into utter darkness. These people aren’t targeting Islam or Buddism or Scientology. They pay lip service to disliking “religion” but their focus is Christianity. God. That’s the reality we face. That’s the fire coming for us. We can either allow it to refine us, sharpen us, strengthen us, or we can burn in it.

 

A Discourse on Discourse

To say that our nation is deeply divided would be akin to saying the Plague was a little bug or that World War II was a tiny skirmish. From every corner of our country, people are taking to Facebook, Twitter, and online communities to share their expertise on everything, from politics and religion, to social and economic issues. That, in and of itself, is a fine thing. The issue is that most of these folks are coming from the perspective that their opinion is the only valid one, and if you disagree then you are an idiot.

This is what happens when the whole world gets a voice.

But honestly, I don’t think much has really changed. If 1860 America had Twitter, I’m sure the political tension would be just as vicious (I recall smear campaigns against Abe Lincoln criticizing him because he looked like a monkey; I can envision the memes now…). We haven’t really changed all that much: we are a society of people with opinions. In days gone by, our upbringing and our personality played a role in how vocal we would become about those opinions. These days, however, the internet has afforded an anonymous platform from which every self-anointed armchair expert can shout their views for all to hear..

Sadly, that simple anonymity has also allowed for the gloves to come off. Instead of civil discourse, angry rage and vicious attacks seem to be the order of the day. While there’s technically nothing wrong with this, I can’t help but feel that a truly decent society would take umbrage with making every political and religious argument a necessary bout of “I’m right, you’re stupid.” It is truly reprehensible, to see how human beings have decided to treat other human beings, all because they feel their opinion is the only valid opinion. And it’s very easy to find a group of others who share your opinion, isn’t it? When you surround yourself with like-minded people, your conviction in your beliefs grows and you become unable to see any other path except the one to which you passionately subscribe. While this may make you secure in your own beliefs, the lack of challenge and discourse eventually breeds an inability to properly defend your position. Thus, you fall back on other tactics. Attacking grammar. Implying stupidity. Making it far too personal.

If a person only ever goes to church, they’re only going get that point of view. You have to engage with others, to have that point of view challenged. It doesn’t have to be so that someone can change your mind. You grow in your belief and your position when you’re forced to defend it or explain it so that others understand.

But in hiding behind our glowing rectangles and squares, we have all but ruined our ability to have productive discourse. The notion that you don’t discuss politics or religion in polite company is now more a necessity than an exercise in social grace. And that’s a shame, because no matter where we fall on the political spectrum, no matter what religious views we hold, we should always be open to discussion on them. We should always be ready to have our views challenged. Defending one’s beliefs is a rigorous exercise that requires truly understanding WHY you believe what you belief. Why do you support this candidate? Why do you follow this faith?

This is explicitly stated for those of a Christian persuasion. “…always be ready to give a defense to everyone who asks you a reason for the hope that is in you, with meekness and fear.” (1 Peter 3:15, NKJV). I cite this as an example because I am familiar with it, but I would be surprised if most faiths didn’t express a similar sentiment. It just makes sense, doesn’t it? Why do you believe what you believe? Too many of us don’t have answer. We blindly accept what we’re taught, blindly accept the “news” we watch on TV or read on Facebook. We don’t challenge it, and we don’t challenge ourselves.

Debate is good. Discourse is good. It’s a healthy, necessary component of an intelligent, functional society. The fact that the vast majority of Americans cannot tell you why they follow Christ, why they’re agnostic, why they’re liberal, why they’re conservative, is incredibly disheartening, and even dangerous to our society. Facebook and Twitter have created a country full of “bumper sticker philosophers” – people who perpetuate short buzz words, phrases, or topics that are expressed in oversimplified terms, that appeal only to emotion and not to intellect. Most of these things cannot stand under thoughtful scrutiny. Yet, we allow them to pervade our news feeds every day, never giving them a thought. The idea of a longer discussion, the idea that maybe I could learn something if I listen to the other side, has been replaced with the very simple, primitive mindset that I am right, and they are wrong.

I am guilty of this. I’ve flooded my Facebook feed with enough political memes to sink a spaceship. I’ve chosen to give that up recently, in the hopes of making more thoughtful posts about issues and maybe stimulating some discussion. Granted, there will still be many people who glance at these and shrug. They’re too busy with their own concerns to worry about it. They have their opinions and that’s that. No room or need for change or growth. That is everyone’s choice, of course. But I’d like to use this space to maybe start some conversations. Because I need to feel like this divided country can come back together again. I know there are people on every side of every argument that hold out that hope. We just need to find each other.

 

How Novel

I’ve written millions of words over the years. Millions. I’ve penned over 20 screenplays and teleplays. I’ve written some short stories that I’ll never admit to. So I wonder what it is about a novel that is so darn intimidating.

I’ve spent a lot of time the past few years exploring the various aspects of the arts. I’ve created a web series and directed the first few episodes. I’ve got other film projects I’d like to work on in some capacity. But the more it I branch out, the more I appreciate the simplicity of a keyboard, a computer screen, and my own thoughts. I enjoy making films, but I’m a writer at heart.

The past year hasn’t been great for that. I’ve written, and what I’ve written is pretty good, I think. But I miss when it was just me and the keyboard, letting the story flow organically, not worrying about whether or not we can afford to shoot this scene or at that location.

I like screenplays. They’re structured. Organized. The story beats and flow makes sense to me. It’s all instinct to me, now. I don’t even have to try to hit certain goals when I write a screenplay. I just know when what needs to happen, and I can make it seem very organic.

A screenplay is meant to be a skeleton, conveying just what is necessary to generate interest and provide a map for the director and actors. It can be written eloquently, but it’s not a requirement. I’ve written these things for years, as noted above. I’ve got it down to a science.

Novels? They’re not organized at all. There’s no formal structure. No flow. No story beats beyond whatever the author decides to throw at you. That makes me a little more uncomfortable. They’re such sprawling, random things. How do you get a handle on it? How do you make sense of a massive story that takes so long to tell and has such a distinct and different flow than a screenplay?

Well, simpler isn’t always better. And lately, my muse has decided to kick me in my complacency and set me back upon the elusive path of writing a novel.

I asked one of my instructors years ago if it were possible to be a novelist and a screenwriter. He told me not everyone was able to make the shift. He himself had done so, because years of reading drivel in the form of B-movie, direct-to-DVD screenplays made him feel kind of “dirty” in a literary sense. He commended my “voice” – my ability to hook a reader with a comfortable narrative voice that reads well, and encouraged me to continue in my efforts.

And so, on I go. I’ve penned around 2500 words in the past few days. I’m excited to be delving back into this world (both the world of the story and the world of writing a novel). Shepard and my other projects will be going forward as planned, of course. This book is kind of a palette cleanser for me, a way to reconnect to my inner writer and to tell a story much grander than any I’ve written in screenplay format. It’s a challenge I’m looking forward to.

Anyone else out there try to balance both screenplays and novels? What’s your preference? Why?

 

Shaking Off the Negative

“The best way of removing negativity is to laugh and be joyous.”

– David Icke

I chose the above quote for my first blog of the year (indeed, the first blog on this site in two years) because it perfectly expresses two particular sentiments: first, the most obvious meaning of the quote, to embrace joy and let go of negativity. The second is more in my choice of author. David Icke is partly known for espousing government conspiracy theories, the majority of which I don’t personally agree with. Yet here we are, finding common ground when it matters.

I spent most of 2013 in something of a hazy, angry rage. The rage was often silent, but ubiquitous. I was frustrated about a great many things, and for much of the year, I believed those things to be external. Every time I turned around, there was a new report or article talking about how religious liberty was being threatened, how Obamacare was ruining the health care of hard working Americans, how the liberal culture was slowly seeping into how the nation is governed such that it is practically unrecognizeable anymore.

These things upset me because I care about our country. I care about the freedoms we enjoy. I am vehemently oppossed to a nanny state, to spreading the wealth, to limiting individual rights. The notion of big government makes me absolutely nauseous. Our nation is being run by a man who has never had a day of real work in his life, who was educated by the hippies and idealists of the previous generation, people who embrace ideas and philosophies that sound great on paper, but that fail miserably when implemented in reality. The incessant “I had no idea” rhetoric, the disdain with which he and his administration treats the founding principles of this nation (ideals that enabled him to get elected in the first place)…I’ve had my fill and then some.

The problem is not that these things upset me. The problem is what I do with my anger and frustration over them. For the past year, I’ve just raged on endlessly about it, complained about, pointed out the million reasons why it’s all going to fail. I stand by all of those arguments. They’re valid. I see it. A lot of other people see it. But – I let that anger just fester and change me, until I couldn’t see any good in anything. And that is where I went wrong.

Now, I admit, another source behind the “rage” was a personal issue or two that I’ve been dealing with. Questioning my faith, that sort of thing. I think most people face that kind of existential crisis. When it’s over, you’re either more certain than ever, or you have an epiphany that changes your worldview completely. In my case, it was the former. I’ve changed the way I think about some things. Or more accurately, my understanding of things has evolved, and said thought process changes came about organically because of that evolution.

We’ve got a lot of crazy things coming up in 2014. Creative projects will at long last reach fruition. Others will begin, and even on the homefront, things are set to change and evolve. It’s an exciting time. Thankfully, the holidays somehow managed to lift my spirit, to make me remember that life isn’t just all about the negative, even when it seems like that is all that surrounds us. I see signs of my fellow countrymen waking up, in light of a number of victories for Christian employers who don’t have to cover abortion-inducing drugs in their health plans, and in the reinstatement of the Robertson patriarch in Duck Dynasty (and prior to that, Cracker Barrel’s putting the Duck Dynasty products back on the shelves). I’m pleased to see more conservative Americans making some noise.

As I always do, I hope to post more frequently here and establish a more consistent routine for my writing, both fiction and non-fiction. I’m sitting on some cool ideas for screenplays and stories that I wouldn’t mind getting out there and selling. And of course, projects dear to me, such as Shepard, will be coming to fruition this year. Very excited about getting that out there!

But be warned: no topic is too big or small, to politically correct or risque. Read future entries at your own risk. And if I happen to offend you: stop what you’re doing, head down to Target, and buy a sense of humor.

 

Divergence

Where will you go when the road splits before you?

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference

Robert Frost

I have to admit, it’s been years since I’ve thought about this poem.  As a literature nut who has straddled two worlds for most of his adult life, one would think I would have kept this particular piece a little closer to my heart.

At times, it seems like it’s a never-ending battle.  What do I want to be when I grow up?  The problem with that question is that I am, in fact, grown-up.  And all I can say that I am for certain, is indecisive.  I am not unique in this, nor am I the only one who has ever, or will ever, face these kinds of choices.  Left or right, fight or flight…such ponderous questions inspired one of the most well-known and memorable poems in all of literature.

My paths in the woods are career paths, specifically technology and entertainment.  I’ve walked this line for years, content to keep one foot on the tech path, and one foot on the entertainment path.  I write in my spare time, and work a full-time job in Information Technology.  I have a degree in computers, but I also am earning a degree in film.

It’s a curious combination, since scientifc, technologically minded people tend to be more left-brained, and creative people tend to be more right-brained.  Yet I’ve managed to straddle this line for over a decade of professional life, and the end result thus far has been a spectacular display of mediocrity.  Let’s take stock, shall we?

On the tech side of things, my career has been remarkably bland.  Oh, I have proven myself to be a hard worker, a self-starter with a talent for effectively managing processes and procedures and implementing improvements that save time and money.  I flourish in environments where I can contribute, and where my ideas are heard.  I have a good handle on technology and its practical applications in the business world.  Yet my I.T. career has been one stellar support job after another.  It is only now that I’ve earned a position that is more specialized and focused.  I’m comfortable here, to be sure.  And I’m drawing a terrific salary (especially in light of the few years in my twenties when I left I.T. for awhile).  Yet, things are stagnate, because there aren’t enough hours in the day to fervently pursue an I.T. career, manage home life, and continue with my “other half.”

On the creative side of things, there is no career to speak of: just a series of side projects, many of which have languished in “development hell” for years.  The efforts I have put forth, when I do put them forth, have been great, and very well received.  My virtual series, Frontiers, was at one time one of the most widely read fanfic series on the internet.  Yet, we’ve been releasing Season 3 since 2008.  I’ve begun several film projects that ended up being cut short due to various complications.  I’ve written several promising prose series that have a pretty big reader base, but they are stalled out early in the run.  Yet here and now, I’ve got a great web series off the ground, I’m planning my next short film, and things more moving with my classes.  But things are still stagnate to a degree. Why? Because there aren’t enough hours in the day to fervently pursue a career in writing or film, manage home life, and continue with my “other half.”

It takes a special kind of talent to straddle two sides of the fence.  It’s given me insight into reconciling different and opposing viewpoints over the years, making me something of a peace maker.  It’s allowed me to coax reluctant people into joining me on whatever damn fool crusade I’m embarking on.  But when it comes down to it, you have to take a side.  To walk that line forever is foolish and impossible.  One cannot serve two masters, at least not reliably.

I’ve never been more capable of venturing down one of those roads or the other.  Never been more prepared.  Will I have the steadfastness to choose technology and let go of my more creative nature?  Or will I have the courage to leave the relative safety of the familiar and embark upon that road less traveled?

In the end, it’s never really been about which I would choose.  It’s been about how long I could keep them both up.  How long I could kid myself into thinking it’s possible to keep it up forever.  How long it would take me to find the courage necessary to finally, fully commit myself. 

For me, there’s only ever been one thing I love, one thing that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me giddy every day before work.  And my only regret, is that it’s taken me this long to realize it.  I’ve always “known” mind you – but the true epiphany, the true, self-permeating realization that I cannot possibly do anything else…that’s a little more recent.

I always thought that making this choice would be some epic event.  But it isn’t.  It’s a calm, quiet, private moment where something inside of me finally says, “Yes. Yes, you idiot, you’ve finally accepted it. Now go on and live your life. You’ve got a lot of wasted time to make up for.”

Two roads diverge in a wood, and I —
I will take the one less traveled by
And that will make all the difference.

 

Lead Role Cast

“Bella Morte” Lead Role

“Bella Morte” (Beautiful Death) is my next project, once Season 1 of “Shepard” wraps in October.  It explores the life of a beautiful femme fatale, Jaiyana, as she is forcibly drawn out of retirement and hired to take on one final hit.  Even though I’m still refining the script for this short, I’ve had the rare pleasure of already casting the lead role.

Those of you who have directed anything, stage or screen, know that casting a project can be both incredibly exciting and very challenging.  Sure there are casting directors and talent agencies to help narrow down the choices for you, but ultimately it comes down to matching that vision of a character in your head, with actual, physical people in the room next to you, patiently awaiting their turn to audition.  This also means keeping an open mind about it.  You may have to compromise on that vision to a degree.  But sometimes that’s when the greatest magic happens.

While casting “Shepard” I was met with tremendous good fortune.  I was fortunate enough to be able to offer two roles the very same night as the auditions.  The actors were just that good, and that perfect for the roles for which they auditioned.  I very nearly was able to offer a third that night as well, the role of Jamie.  We had two strong contenders for the part, so I decided to do callbacks for them both and see how it would go.  Once we got rolling, the choice was obvious.  And honestly, it had been my gut instinct from the start.

Megan von Wertman is a versatile actress.  She auditioned for two roles originally: Jamie, and Shayla.  These two characters are so diametrically opposed to each other, I was actually surprised to see she wanted to take them both on.  Far more common was to audition for Allyson and Jamie – characters that were more similar to each other.  Megan could have easily handled either role, but I was very compelled by what she brought to Jamie.

Most times, the “quiet” girl comes off as being fairly bland.  But Jamie, in Megan’s hands, leapt right off the page, right off the screen.  Finding a pretty girl to fill a role like that is easy.  But finding one who can infuse a character with so much personality – especially given the brevity of the character’s sides – is much more challenging.

It was also about that time I noticed that Megan’s versatility could make her the perfect candidate for Jaiyana, the assassin brought out of retirement in “Bella Morte.” Jaiyana is a challenging role, to say the least.  There’s a lot more to her than just being a patient, precise killer.  So much more, in fact, that to divulge even the slightest detail would utterly spoil the film.  She has a lot of pain and grief to carry with her, and a profound sorrow that most people cannot begin to imagine.  If there is a place more tormentuous than hell, that is where Jaiyana resides.  But there’s also a humanity to her, a spark that makes her relatable, sympathetic to the viewer.  To have already met the person capable of tackling that broad range at this early stage is definitely a pleasant surprise.

It’s a rare treat at this level to have such consistent good fortune in casting.  I couldn’t be more pleased with my cast for Shepard – every one of them is exactly right for their roles.  And now, Bella Morte is starting things off in the same way.  Although we’re months from rolling cameras on this exciting short film, I greatly anticipate seeing Megan’s Jaiyana in action.

 

Character Profile: Jason Shepard

“These kids aren’t my problem.”

It’s hard to imagine such a calloused and self-centered individual had such humble beginnings, but such is the case for Jason Shepard.  Born into a single-bedroom apartment (literally; his mother couldn’t afford insurance and had him at home), Jason grew up without luxuries like toys, disposable diapers, or medical care.  His mother worked three jobs to provide for them, after his father walked out soon after he was born.

Jason attended a poorly rated public school, where he was mocked behind his back for his limited wardrobe and the lack of a hot shower every day.  The constant taunting led to many fights and an ever-increasing build-up of anger and frustration.

Yet at home, Jason seemed content.  He enjoyed spending time with his mother at least once a week, and spent the rest of the time plucking away at a guitar she had bought him at a yard sale.  It was his most prized possession, and on it, he taught himself how to emulate the sounds around him.  He spent hours listening to the rock stations on the radio and picking out the tunes, then playing them himself.

Unfortunately, one of his mother’s job was working in a local mill, where she contracted a serious lung disease that prevented her from working.  After a friend offered legal counsel, she sued the company and the money won from the lawsuit allowed her to finally give Jason the kind of house and life she had always wanted for him.

High school turned things around for Jason.  His mother – with her health deteriorating – invested some of the money from the lawsuit and managed to make enough to provide for herself and Jason for a long, long time.  No longer ridiculed, Jason reveled in newfound popularity due in part to his impressive guitar skills.

Jason found himself escaping more and more into his music as his mother’s health declined.  He began writing songs, putting the lyrics to paper and then making up the tune as he went.  He also began casually dating Amber DiSoltes, a fellow Senior.  His mother had desperately wanted to see her son attend his Senior Prom, so he took Amber.  She told him how happy she was and how proud she was of him, giving him a strangely long embrace before he departed.

The next morning, Jason returned home to find his mother had died in her sleep.  He was devastated. He was invited to stay with his grandparents, but chose to move to New York instead, in the hopes of escaping his old life and pursuing a music career.  He left Saint Paul without so much as a goodbye, refusing even to take part at his own graduation.

Working as a Taxi driver in New York, Jason met up with Silas Bishop, a fellow aspiring musician.  Silas was playing a gig at a night club with his partner, Nathan “Nate” Reinke.  Their third man cancelled at the last minute, and Jason – who overheard this on a cell phone while driving the two to their engagement – offered his services.

The trio performed a few cover songs, and a few tracks written by Silas and Nate (which Jason picked up on after hearing the recordings just once).  By the end of the night, people were asking for EP’s and demos.  Silas and Nate offered Jason the job permanently, and Damned Azkus was born.

The band met with great success, eventually signing on with Interscope Records.  The band kicked off a brief tour in the Northeast to celebrate.  The album was a regional success, and a world tour was in the works.  Meanwhile, Jason had married Katherine “Kat” Veneziano.  A groupie for the band from age 16, she fell in love with Jason and married when she turned 18.

Twin boys soon followed, and “Kat” ended up leaving the road life to raise the kids.  Jason grew more and more distant, unable to find satisfaction at home or abroad.  He turned to drinking, had several affairs, and fell into a deep depression.  This life wasn’t what he had hoped it would be, and he had no hope left for any other kind of life.

After a late show one night, Jason took a groupie back to the hotel with him. Both were seriously drunk, and the girl, Tiffany, decided she didn’t want to wait until they were back in the hotel.  She climbed atop Jason, and the subsequent coupling resulted in a terrible car accident.  A piece of shattered windshield nearly tore Jason’s hand off.

After surgery, he was told his nerves were shot. He could never play guitar again.  The band was unable to find a replacement and their future deteriorated.  When Kat found out how the accident had happened, she took the kids and left.  Jason was utterly alone once more.  He spent several weeks in rehab only to fall back into old habits.  He landed in jail, lost his license, got it back, and repeated the cycle.

Perhaps it was fate that Jason ended up taking a trip into Virginia.  He had been drinking again, and was pulled over and arrested near Saint Paul. The arresting officer recognized him, and made a phone call on his behalf.  Jason went before Judge Harold Slate and was sentenced to community service, in the hopes of rehabilitating him.

Though he’s had a difficult life, it’s hard to feel sorry for Jason. Most of his current troubles are his own doing, and he doesn’t seem to care or look out for anyone but himself.  Yet deep down, there is a small part of him that is still that sad, lonely little boy who had only a guitar and a loving mother to get him through each day.

Fate has a funny way of bringing things full circle, and of forcuing us to confront the ghosts of a past we thought we left behind.  And so it goes with Jason Shepard, now standing at the beginning of a journey that will bring him face to face with shadows of his past and that will change his future forever.

 

I Do…and I Would Do It Again

One of the main reasons I love the Christmas season is that it always kicks off with a celebration that is near and dear to my heart.  No, not Thanksgiving.  Or Black Friday.  Or Cyber Monday.

I’m talking about December 1st.  See, back in 1997, I proposed to my girlfriend on December 1st, and she said yes.  Two years later on that same date, we got married.

Twelve years and 5 kids later, we’re still going strong.  It’s been quite a journey.  Like all couples, we’ve had some major highs and some major lows.  But the true character of a relationship isn’t defined by the warm fuzzy feelings you get when you’re together, or by the way your heart races when you see that special someone.  Those things are fine, and they have their place early on in a relationship (and in a mature relationship as well).

The true character of a relationship is defined through sacrifice.  In my mind, love and sacrifice are synonymous.  Love is about making your needs secondary and focusing on someone else.  In a good relationship, the other person holds the same convictions and does the same for you.  So it’s letting go of your own needs and relying on your partner to meet them, while at the same time, doing all you can to meet theirs.

That’s a scary prospect.  It means being truly and completely vulnerable.  But in that vulnerability is a freedom, a sweet release.  There’s no need to be guarded, no need to put up a façade, because you know this person accepts you for who you are, mistakes and all.

It’s taken twelve years, but Mrs. Grimm and I are reaching that point.  In the past few years (since I became “Miracle Boy” – read my earlier blogs for that cheerful tale…) we have truly learned to trust in each other implicitly and love each other sacrificially.  It’s meant letting go of certain convictions.  It’s meant leaving comfort zones.  It’s meant truly trying to understand each other in the most intimate way possible.  Not intimate in the romantic sense – that’s easy.  This is true intimacy.  The kind that weeps with you at your bedside as you’re heading into surgery, and holds you after the loss of a dear family member.  The kind that holds your hair back when you’re ready to throw up, or squeezes your hand as your beloved pet is being euthanized. The kind that strives to understand what you’re going through, even though they don’t have a frame of reference.

There’s so much more to being in love, and in a relationship, than we ever see or hear about on television or at the cinema.  So much more than is taught in any class room.  And that lack of real, practical knowledge has led to many problems for many people.

I’m blessed and fortunate to have a wife that I truly want to spend the rest of my life with.  There’s nobody else on this planet I would rather be with.  Nobody else I could be with.  She makes me a more full and complete a human being than I could ever be on my own.  Her strength supports my weakness, and her faith inspires mine.  On the surface, we may seem to be as mismatched a couple as ever there was one.  But on those most precious things in life, we are in complete agreement.  We stand together where it counts, and have seen each other through the darkest days we’ve ever known, and through some of the highest highs you can imagine.

My most precious gifts outside of my family, are the words I put to the page or the screen.  I love my writing dearly and passionately.  So what better way to express my love and gratitude to the most precious and amazing woman in my life than with an entry such as this?  Fear not ladies, she’s getting more than a blog about her!  But a gift of words born of the most sacred and cherished part of myself is, in my old-fashioned mind, a far more suiting declaration of love.

So to you, my beloved Mrs. Grimm, I wish the happiest of anniversaries.  I count the past 12 years to be among the best in my life, and I am a better man for knowing you, and for the influence you’ve had on my misguided and sometimes unnervingly self-centered life.  For that, and for the uncountable, unknowable number of times you’ve stolen my breath away, I love you.  And I will endeavor to show you the same selfless, sacrificial love that you have always shown me.

 

Thoughts of Theda: Ten Years Later

When most people think of 2001, undoubtedly the first thing that comes to mind is the tragedy of September 11^th.  9/11 was a big part of the year no doubt, but for my family it was a blip on a very tumultuous radar.  We went through a job change (good!) and a move back in with my parents (not as good…).  We learned Kim was pregnant with our first child.  We learned I was adopted.  We found my birth family.

But it was November 15, 2001, that defined that year more than any other day.  It was the day my beloved grandmother, Theda Marie Soltes, died.

I was much closer to my grandparents than most kids, because I saw them so often.  They always lived close by when I was a young child.  I can’t tell you how excited I used to get when I would see their car appear on the road in front of our house, turn signal aglow to come into our driveway.  I loved them both dearly – they were sweet, kind, loving people who had survived more in their time on Earth than we will ever likely know.

Before I could even walk, I was already spending a lot of time with my grandparents.  My mom would work, and my dad would help his own mother out on her farm, so I went to “Grandma and Pap-Pap’s” very frequently.  I vividly remember their home – a modest trailer in an Ohioville trailer park.  I remember every room, the texture of the carpet under my toes, the smell of each room, the arrangement of the furniture.

When my grandfather got sick, they left the trailer and moved in with us.  I loved having them there, spending time with them.  I remember our game nights at the kitchen table, the trips to New Jersey to see our family, Christmas visits to my aunt’s house, and so much more.  It was a wondrous time for me, and I didn’t think it would end.

Yet end it did, as all things must.  My grandfather spent his final years in a nursing home and passed away in 1993.  Those were hard years on my grandmother, but I always enjoyed getting to go and visit him.  He would always tell me to stay in school and learn all I could.  I guess I took it to heart; I’m 32 and still in school!

When he died, it was also extremely hard on my grandmother.  He was her companion, her life partner and soul mate.  They had been together for many years.  My grandmother continued to stay with us, and she ended up watching me quite often since my mother had to work full time (my parents had divorced when I was a baby, and my stepfather had died in 1987, so it was just my mom, gram, and I).  As a result of spending all that time together, my grandmother and I forged a strong bond of respect, friendship, and love.  She would let me prattle on about some video game I liked (she loved the “chicaboo’s” from Final Fantasy) and always let me have full run of the television set after school (whether she approved of what I was watching or not).

As I got older, we would spend time just talking.  She loved to sit out on the porch or in our breezeway and smoke, and I would go out and join her.  We would watch the boats on the river, and talk about all kinds of things: faith, politics, the Great Pumpkin…the latest TV show or movie, or what we both did that day.  Sometimes I would seek her advice and she would patiently grant me her wisdom.  Other times, I needed to vent and she listened closely.

I can’t think back to a single crisis or difficult time that I went through as a child that she wasn’t there for me.  When my step-dad died, she held me and dried my tears and told me it was going to be okay.  When I was too scared to go to sleep at night, she would sit with me until I dozed off.  When my grandfather went into the nursing home, she let me sleep in his bed (they each had their own).  If I wanted to rent a video game, she would always dig into her purse until I had the money I needed.  If it was too cold to walk to the video store, she drove me in her great, hulking boat of a car (an old school Chevy Impala).

Together, we discovered the universe of Star Trek.  We started watching The Next Generation and the love of this show would have an indelible effect on me for the rest of my life.  In fact, we spent many late nights watching TV together.  Nick at Nite used to be a staple of ours during my summer vacation.  I remember watching old classics, like Bewitched, My Three Sons, Make Room for Daddy, Mork and Mindy, Green Acres…all golden.  And newer shows (at the time) like The Golden Girls were mainstays as well.  She even let me indulge in horror movies on weekends (though she always maintained she didn’t like the ones with sex in them because she felt very uncomfortable watching that with me…and that never changed, not even after I got married and Kim was pregnant).

Sometime around 1998 or so, they discovered my grandmother had an annurism in her heart.  She had to go to Cleveland, to the Cleveland Clinic, in order to have it operated on.  We thought that was it, and there were a few times when it looked like it would be over.  But she survived and recovered, feisty as ever.  In fact, she even made the journey up to Erie to see one of my plays being performed.

We had our share of bumps in the road, too – always brought on by me and centered mostly around the time I was, shall we say, going through that special change from boy to young man.  I grew cocky, thought I knew it all, and she still loved me just the same.

During one of our last Christmas’s together, my gift to her was a poem that to this day I cannot read with a dry eye.  Hell, I can’t even think of it right now with a dry eye.  It was simply titled, “A Grandmother’s Love” and it’s probably one of my better pieces.  I decided to write it because earlier that year, she had undergone major heart surgery and had nearly died several times.  Yet she made a full recovery, eventually even regaining her wit and sense of humor.  Having almost lost her, I vowed that never again would there be things left unsaid.  And there never was.

I remember the day of her death vividly.  It was a Thursday.  Kim and I had just come back home from visiting my family in Kentucky for the first time a day or two prior.  We had come home from work and had dinner, and it was obvious she didn’t feel well.

After dinner, Kim and I retreated to our room.  Kim opted to soak in the tub for a bit (it was her pregnancy addiction for awhile) and I played a game of Twisted Metal 3 on the PlayStation.  I heard a noise coming from downstairs that I soon figured out was someone calling for help.  I had thought my parents were down there, so I didn’t give it a second thought, until Kim drew my attention to it as well.

I ran downstairs and found my grandmother trying to get to her bed.  I panicked.  I ran out into the living room, where my mom was dozing on the couch.  I woke her up and told her what was happening, then ran back to my grandmother’s side. Someone – Kim, I think – called an ambulance.  My grandmother was laying in her bed by then.  “I’m dying,” she said.  “I’m scared.  I’m dying.”  I insisted she wasn’t, and kneeled next to her.  I held her tight as she told me she was sorry that she wouldn’t get to see our baby.  I just held onto her, and I felt her fade away.

An ambulance came, tried to revive her.  They took her to the hospital where her body finally shut down and she was pronounced.

The rest of that night was a blur of tears and sobbing, of holding onto loved ones and finding strength and comfort in family.

A few days later, I found myself giving a eulogy for my dear friend and beloved grandmother.  I told those gathered how she taught me, through her own selfless, sacrificial life, to always see the best in people, and to love unconditionally.  That’s how she loved those dearest to her.  That’s how she loved me.

They say that losing your own father is the day you truly become a man, and say goodbye to your childhood forever.  But for me, it was the day I lost my grandmother.  My journey these past ten years has not been easy.  My grandmother’s passing left a deep void in many lives, although she herself led a long and fulfilling life with no regrets.  And though I managed to get through the eulogy without breaking down, I made up for it every night for weeks after.

So here we are, ten years later to the day.  It’s been ten years since I’ve had the pleasure of sitting in the same room as her, talking to her about Star Trek (she would have loved the recent movie), or about faith, or about her many experiences.  And it’s those times – or their absence – that hurt the most.  Those nights we’d sit out on the porch under the stars and just talk.  Or, not talk.  The long car rides around town to do shopping.  Staying up late to watch our shows on TV.  And although the past decade has dulled the worst of the pain, I’ve also learned to look upon those memories with gladness in my heart.  That’s what she would have wanted, anyway.  No tears of sadness, just the happy ones.

Theda Marie Soltes was an incredible woman.  She was forever self-sacrificing.  She was a provider.  A patient and wise caregiver.  A dear friend.  Someone to be trusted in all things.  She was and continues to be my hero: an paragon of unconditional love.  She lives on in all that she taught me, things that I have now imparted to my own kids.  And through her namesake, my little girl, Alyssa Marie.

People like her only come along once in a lifetime.  The world is much poorer for her absence.  Yet her long, full life left an impression on numerous lives.  I am blessed to have known this wonderful lady, and blessed to have called her “Grandma” and friend.  I am blessed to have had her guidance, wisdom, and love for as long as I did, and it is ever my prayer to prove worthy of that gift, and of the example by which she lived.

Ten years gone, but forever in our hearts.  No good-byes, Gram.  Just good memories.

 

Back to Basics

The new year is always a great time to think about starting fresh.  It’s an arbitrary and sometimes rather silly human custom to attach such significance to a date.  Dates aren’t “real” per se, but man-made constructs to help denote the passage of time.  Marking time goes all the way back to the beginning of human history (and some believe even before), although I grant you it wasn’t as extreme as it is today.

I’ve never been a “New Year’s Resolution” kind of person.  I’ve never really believed you need a new year to make a chance in your life.  And this is coming from a guy whose day of birth was actually ON New Year’s Day (January 1st, 1979 to be precise).  Nevertheless, the end of the holiday season does seem to be an appropriate time to re-examine things.  For one thing, it involves a degree of cleaning, as the Christmas tree comes down and the decorations are put away from another year.  It’s time to set things back the way they were (or change them, if need be) and, basically, “get on with it.”

I’ve spent a lot of time over the past month reading and reviewing some of my creative efforts.  I can honestly say that a lot of what I’ve written has held up pretty well.  But then I look at more recent writings and already they seem flat, stale, uninteresting.  In fact it’s hard to tell they were even written by the same person.

Life stresses have come and gone and changed me as a person – but I have let too many things get in the way of one of the greatest pleasures I have ever known.  I love writing – I love creating and crafting, of taking vague ideas and giving them form, structure, substance.  Writing is at the core of almost all communication, be it professional or amateur, for entertainment or personal enjoyment.  There’s not a single aspect of the process I don’t enjoy.  I even get a rush from clacking on a keyboard and seeing the letters appear on the screen.

Yeah, I’ve got it bad.

But I’ve also gotten away from that.  I’ve let other obsessions get in my way.  I’ve let life stress and other problems get in my way.  I stopped giving myself time each day to write.  (Okay, so I’ve always been terrible at writing to a deadline; I said I was good, I didn’t say I was perfect).

So yes, as the title of this entry suggests rather non-discreetly, it is high time I not only go back and focus on my original creative passion, but it’s also time I improve it.  Writing pretty words only gets you so far if you can’t do it consistently.  My personal lethargy (or perhaps laziness would be a better term) has been nipped in the bud on several levels in my life – including, now, this one.  I’ve had a screenplay that I’ve been writing off and on for about twelve years, now.  Twelve years!  (Its history predates that; it had been a prose story way back in Jr. High.)  It’s time for that screenplay to get finished, to see life again.  My VS, Frontiers, has stagnated severely thanks to an inconsistent release schedule (that was almost entirely the fault of yours truly).  The fanbase has sadly dwindled a bit, but a few have stayed on and for them, I will make sure this show gets done.  (Got a few plans in motion to gain a bigger readership, too.)

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions.  But what I am going to do is make a commitment to myself to become a better writer.  To stay focused on it.  To wrap up Frontiers, to get Clash done once and for all, and then to move on to projects I actually intend to film, like Eternia and The Way of Seeming.

It won’t be easy.  I’ll probably stumble, or get bored.  But things worth doing are often the most difficult to achieve.

Oh yeah, one more resolution: to stop using so many darn cliche’s.