Jim Harrison died a little over year ago, and at the time I wrote a tribute to him that was published in a local magazine. What follows is an updating of that piece with further reflection because the writings of Jim Harrison, particularly his 1988 novel Dalva<\/em>, my favorite American novel of all time, have showed me the way I want to proceed anew, just like they did 20 years ago. Somewhere along the way, I lost something critical and transforming that his writing had given me.<\/p>\n Almost every published writer I know can recall the moment when the desire to become a writer transcended mere fantasy and crystallized into hard reality\u2014meaning, I\u2019ve got to do this<\/em>!<\/p>\n My moment occurred on March 10, 1997 in a NW Portland bookstore. That was the day I met Jim Harrison, celebrated author, poet and Western literary icon, who died March 26, 2016 from heart failure at the age of 78.<\/p>\n I ran to see Jim Harrison with his book in hand. I see now I was running to change my life. Sometimes we run and we don\u2019t even know the reason we\u2019re running. Jim Harrison\u2019s writing made me run that afternoon. To that point in my life, I had read every published work by Harrison except his debut novel Wolf<\/em>, starting with his collection of novellas, Legends of the Fall<\/em>. His writing mesmerized me. When I read his work, it inspired me to live stronger, heartier, bolder, lustier, imbued by history, better informed by nature, with more meaningful original purpose, with more edge. His stories made me consider moving to the country because that\u2019s where all of his fiction was set and these were much more interesting places than cities, particularly Portland. Harrison also made me want to own a dog, because he created characters who cooked for their dogs, and I loved that image. He wrote: \u201cThere is something about doing a favor for a dog that calms you down.\u201d I later discovered that was about the truest line ever written in modern American fiction.<\/p>\n The line outside the bookstore was long, going well outside the door, spilling out into the sidewalk. I waited in silence and heard others talk about their passion for Harrison\u2019s writing. I had never seen an author in person before and really didn\u2019t know what to expect or how to act.<\/p>\n There he was sitting at a table. A large man. He had one eye missing from a childhood accident and was sipping red wine from the biggest goblet I have ever seen. It must have held the contents of an entire bottle. Behind Harrison, stood a gorgeous Native American woman, who handed him this or that item or book, depending on the fan\u2019s needs.<\/p>\n I wish I could remember exactly all I said to him, but I don\u2019t. It wasn\u2019t memorable and probably a clich\u00e9. I did introduce myself and mention it was my birthday. Harrison said, \u201cHappy birthday Matt\u201d and then signed those words in my book.<\/p>\n He shook my hand and I drifted away from the table and out of the store. I walked back to the loft looking at Portland thinking something had to change. It had to be big.<\/p>\n In July of that year, I quit Portland and moved with Cindy to the upper left edge of Oregon, near the ocean, in the attempt to become a writer. I hadn\u2019t written a word for publication and knew my time was running out. Seven or eight years later, it all started coming together, albeit unconventionally, and I realize now that Jim Harrison\u2019s writing provided much of the instigation I needed. He got me into the country and he got me into dogs and he got me into finding the hearty stories of rural places that weren\u2019t being told. He wrote: \u201cWhat do stories do when they are not being told?\u201d<\/p>\n Good question. I considered it daily as I go through life in the largely untold story of being a member of The Registry of Sexual Offense.<\/p>\n In his lifetime, Harrison published 21 novels, three collections of novellas, 14 books of poetry, two volumes of essays, a memoir, and a children\u2019s book. My hands down favorite is the novel, Dalva<\/em>.<\/p>\n A short time ago, I reread that novel, not the same copy from 25 years ago, because I had long since given that one away, and every other copy I found in thrift stores. The book came over me like a spontaneous revolution. I knew I had to find a way back to the land, the hard work on the land, like the ten years I served as caretaker of national wildlife refuge when I learned to live the life Harrison extolled. He kept extolling that life in his fiction and poetry until the day he died.<\/p>\n Harrison got away from me. I didn\u2019t even know it was happening. I\u2019m not sure how to return to him, his ideals, but I have a goal. That\u2019s the frequent power of fiction; it can induce a better path for the reader\u2019s future in a way that therapy can\u2019t. Therapy can help in other ways. Then of course, there is the ocean for inducement, too. Harrison spoke to me about that as well.<\/p>\n Many lines of Harrison\u2019s writing stand out to me, but the following passage is way up on the list. I don\u2019t recall what book it came from.<\/p>\n I sat on numerous beaches and stared at the ocean until it was an ocean inside my head. The experience was a world away from the American idea of God as someone who drove around in a dump truck full of figurative candy to toss to deserving people if you beckoned him properly. The ocean was a god unknown, galactic\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n This passage comes to mind almost every time I stand on the edge of the ocean. I\u2019m going on 20 years at the Oregon Coast and have written 19 books since moving here. I\u2019m the writing the book of my life right now. Rereading Harrison in moments of crisis has helped restore a sense of purpose for my creative and personal endeavors.<\/p>\n I never tried to write like Harrison. I just wanted to emulate his passion for everything. His writing helped unlock my passions, some of which I didn\u2019t even know existed. One such passion was hanging out in dive Oregon Coast bars and observing local characters. I got that idea from Harrison\u2019s fiction and recently published an e-book collection of my coastal dive bar stories, Oregon Tavern Age<\/em>. It was he who wrote, \u201cHow can you experience the rich fabric of life in a locale without visiting the bars? The answer is, you can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/04\/afterikkyu.jpg\")
<\/a>My encounter with Harrison landed on my 33rd<\/sup> birthday and lasted about a minute. It occurred at a signing for the release of his new collection of Zen-inspired poetry, After Ikkyu<\/em>. My then girlfriend, soon-to-be wife, Cindy, had bought the book earlier that day for my birthday. She surprised me with it in the Pearl District loft I owned and where we lived, and then shocked me with the information that Harrison was appearing\u2014right now!\u2014at the bookstore ten blocks away. She told me to get going.<\/p>\n