haven

Sometimes the journey is what counts...

Hey, I'm a writer. Sometimes we're not the most pleasant people to be around.

Huddled over, pressing these keys, focused entirely on the word, everything else gone away. Do my eyes even blink? Is anything actually happening in the world outside? White noise background buzz.

I keep a personal journal. I've typed entries on a regular basis since late 1997. Yes, it has become quite extensive - and detailed. Though I delve into highly personal territory with this blog, sometimes in an abstract manner, there are facets of the journal that are too... involved and private... to make it into this public forum. It's not self-censorship in any way - it's a personal safeguard (some things should not be widely known), and a protection of people in my life who might not enjoy secrets and blemishes revealed.

It's all a journey. For me, much of it entails the written word. The writer uses experiences accrued along the way and feeds off the vitality of emotion. The writer expels demons through the word. Sometimes the overactive mind reaches the breaking point and it manifests in words of vitriol, phrases of hostility. Other times the word comes in a kind word, or the low, soothing note spoken to a lover in the dark - the heart's gentle release.

My gaze takes on a sharp scrutiny missing for too long. Negativity extricated. The words from my mouth soften. Always the pessimistic optimist. As has been said, "Life is too short to be pissed off all the time." I explore new avenues with a sense of adventure. I see hope in tomorrow.

There is a return. The din in my head recedes. I focus now on my life as it has been presented to me. It's too short to spiral downward into fear and doubt's murky cesspool. When I drown, there is help beyond the words. Those who save me are the people who know me - who truly knew me all along and not some vague facsimile or a misplaced creation of someone I am not. They keep me above the surface. They provide safety and a haven in their hearts.

Another return to what has been absent - benevolence, affection, mirth. A balance - or an antithesis - to the me whose mind reflects the dark and whose imagination broods, ruminates, speculates. Words and actions to soothe, to support, to sustain.

Alpha and Omega, the symbols of eternity, the first and the last. It's inside us. When it's all run down, when emotions are frayed, when the world is shrouded in shades of gray, when all seems so evasive and intangible and weak, what do I have left? Me.

Alpha and Omega. The bringer of balance. The inside opens. Light pours outward and life tilts upward.

The snake behind me hisses
What my damage could have been.
My blood before me begs me
Open up my heart again.

And I feel this coming over like a storm again.

permutation

With a new name and logo, the Small Press Center became the Center for Independent Publishing on May 31, 2007. Being associated, to an extent, with the publishing community (I'm one of those fringe purist writers - don't mess with my words), I was in attendance. After all, I've been to a variety of events at the (former) Small press Center, and I know Lloyd Jassin, a publishing attorney and the Chair of the NYCIP Executive Committee.


The event was well-attended, scattered with those of us who have a love for books, writing, and the spirit of independence - and wine. Ah, yes, there was a cocktail reception consisting of, from what I could see, wine. There weren't any cocktails. Still, I indulged in several plastic cups of the red stuff. I also felt compelled to engage in a Fight Club gag:


The guest of honor was Barney Rosset. Who is Barney Rosset? Read closely and learn, ye in need of a publishing history lesson. He is the man responsible for bringing literary classics such as "Lady Chatterley's Lover" (D.H. Lawrence), "Naked Lunch" (William S. Burroughs), and "Tropic of Cancer" (Henry Miller) to the United States when those books were still banned due to alleged obscenity due to provocative cotent and so-called scatalogical themes. In other words, these books had balls, and the Puritanical sect of the mid-20th Century U.S. couldn't handle it.

Adversity and the long arm of the law shoved aside, Rosset founded the independent Grove Press and published these works, among others. In doing so, he subjected himself to years of costly legal hassles. But in the end, he broke through the heavy lead curtain of censorship and created new paths and possibilities for the independent publishing community. Here is your blog writer meeting Mr. Rosset:


"Our new name more accurately describes who we are," said Lloyd J. Jassin (below).


More here about the Center for Independent Publishing and the opening night cocktail reception.