In recent weeks, I’ve received several messages from readers of the blog either complaining about the dark tone of my writing or worried about a state of mind that produced the so-called dark tone.
What is dark? What is a tone? Why write? Why not bicycle to only benign and bucolic places? Why not just check out?
I can’t answer any of these questions, but I do cogitate on them, pretty much every waking moment of my creative life.
Where do you go as a writer when you’ve see such things as I have the last six months in Portland? What do you do with the four deaths in my life? I’m not building driftwood forts for the time being. My mind is not meandering with the ocean and contemplating matters of our antediluvian beginnings. I’m through employing dogs as a metaphor for how to live. No more meditations on Jello or ospreys dropping eels from the sky. No more chronicling of preposterous and poignant tavern stories from rural Oregon. No more Christmas tales.
That’s all for now on this subject. But keep reading readers. I appreciate your attention. Let’s see where this all goes. Even I don’t where it’s going.