I’m a small-town boy.Having the opportunity to hold a book signing, even if nobody requested said signing at the event, in the oldest continuously operated bookstore in the country was an honor.This is a prelude to the Easton Book Festival next weekend, in which I have two roles—part of a panel discussion and an individual presentation on Holy Horror.Putting yourself out there when you’re a writer is important, even if nobody pays attention.I thought quite a lot about it; horror movies are almost always successful, but do people like reading about them?Well, some of us do, obviously, but the average viewer, probably not so much.And then there’s the somewhat embarrassing juxtaposition of the Bible.People know what it is, but don’t want to talk about it.
Two people stopped to chat at the signing desk.One was an adjunct geology professor.We discussed science and religion, which is something on which I used to teach classes.He thought the book idea was interesting, but not enough to read it.The Moravian Book Shop scheduled this on the evening of their sold out ghost tours.Quite a few people came in for a Saturday night, mostly for the haunted Bethlehem walks.The second conversation was with a ghost tourist who thought the book idea was unusual.It is.I admit it.As I say in the book itself, “If you see something, say something.”So it was with me, with Bibles in movies.The bookstore did a nice display, but then, I have an awareness of the smallness of my impact.No surprises here.
The thing that really struck me was just how many people avoid looking at you when you’re behind a table with your books.I know I’ve done the same thing.I’ve gone into bookstores when an event was going on, not knowing about it and having no interest whatsoever in the book being presented.That’s the way these things go.I wasn’t doing this to make sales.McFarland isn’t the kind of publisher you use to make money.For me it was all about the experience.It was like seeing my name outside a church in Manhattan.It doesn’t do anything for you materially, but at least you can say you had it happened to you once.The signing was advertised in the local paper, and on its website.Maybe someone out there took a glimpse and saw something that sparked their curiosity.It doesn’t matter if they buy the book.As a teacher at heart, it is simply the interest that I’m hoping to raise.
Humans can be quite likable, but we have some nasty traits.One is that we tend to think of ourselves as the only intelligent beings on the planet.The funny thing about evolution is that it gave us both big brains and opposable thumbs—a winning combination to destroy the planet.(Just look at Washington, DC and try to disagree.)Jennifer Ackerman’s The Genius of Birds is poignant in this context.Page after page of nearly unbelievable displays of intelligence among birds demonstrates that we are hardly alone on the smarts scale.Birds make and use tools, have better memories than most of us do, and can solve problems that I even have trouble following.We tend to take birds for granted because they seem to flit everywhere, but the book ends soberly by noting how global warming is driving many species to extinction.
Homo sapiens (I’ll leave out the questionable and redundant second sapiens) like to think we’ve got it all figured out.We tend to forget that we too evolved for our environment—we adapt well, which has allowed us to change our environment and adapt to it (again, opposable thumbs).Many scientists therefore conclude that we are the most intelligent beings in existence.Ironically they make such assertions when it’s clear that other species can perceive things we can’t.Ackerman’s chapter on migration states what we well know—migrating birds can sense the earth’s magnetic field, something beyond the ability of humans.We lack the correct organ or bulb or lobe to pick up that signal.And yet we think we can rule out other forms of intelligence when we don’t even know all the forms of possible sensory input.We could learn a lot from looking at birds, including a little humility.
The Genius of Birds explores several different kinds of intelligence.What becomes clear is that birds, like people, have minds.Like human beings they come on a scale of intellectual ability that doesn’t suggest only one kind is necessary.For our large brains we can’t seem to get it through our thick skulls that we need biodiversity.We need other species to fill other niches and our own remarkable ability to thrive has only been because we are part of a tremendous, interconnected net encompassing all of life.Other species have contributed to our evolution as we clearly do to theirs.When we end up thinking that we alone are smart and our own prosperity alone matters we are sawing away at the branch on which we sit.Further up the birds look at us and wonder if we really know what we’re doing.
In a local mall over the weekend where Christmas decorations were being uncrated, I felt cheated.Now I’m not naive enough to suppose retailers can get by without the black season around Christmas, but as a writer of books Halloween themed I felt as if my thunder were stolen.The normal person, I suspect, thinks of scary things only about this time of year.Monsters and horror films are on people’s minds in fall, even though a good horror flick will make a few bucks even in spring or summer.Halloween has a very small window of appeal, however, followed on closely, as it is, by Thanksgiving and Christmas.Why can’t we give Halloween its due?
My wife pointed out that Halloween is a big retail event.Indeed it is.I started noticing Halloween paraphernalia on the shelves fairly early in August.I know that even without capitalistic prompting I start to sense the season then.It’s in the air.Certain early August mornings you can smell a faint whiff of autumn on a breeze slightly cooler than expected.The first leaves start to change and fall before September.It will be another couple of months before the season makes itself felt in full force, but the early hints are there.A believer in delayed gratification, I hold back.Idon’t buy, but I absorb.The melancholy grows through September until as the calendar tells me it is now officially October I can begin to exhale.This is the time when those of us who are horror misfits can seem somewhat normal.I walk into a store and “Ho, ho, ho!”The joke’s on me.
Autumn already slips by too quickly.Every year before I know it the ephemeral beauty of changing leaves is gone and the subtle chill in the air turns frigid.Damp leaves are raked up to make room for snow.The swiftness of this season is perhaps one reason so many people value it.Summer can stretch long with its uncomfortably warm days and winter can linger for nearly half the year with its opposite feel.Halloween is a holiday that intentionally falls in the midst of transition.That transition has been commercialized, however, into buying seasons.Only halfway through October the price of Halloween goods drops to sale rates.Corporate offices are chomping for Christmas cash.What I really need is a walk through the fallen leaves and a few untrammeled moments to consider where we are rather than what we might earn.
Yellow and orange leaves on a damp pavement.A sky claustrophobically occluded with gray clouds.A decided chill in the air.All you have to do is add a few pumpkins and the feeling of October is complete.I don’t know why this particular image of the change of seasons grips me the way it does.As a homeowner I don’t want to turn the heat on too soon because the gas bills will jet up and will stay that way for seven or eight months.I get depressed when skys are cloudy for days at a time.Around here the leaves have only just begun to change.In other words, there’s a decided difference between the way I imagine October and the way that it feels on the ground.In my imagination there are Ray Bradbury titles, The October Country, The Autumn People, but here in the physical world I shiver and add another layer.
Over the past several weeks I’ve been struggling to figure out why horror appeals to me.It seems to be the Poe-esque mood rather than any startles or gore.The sense of mystery that hangs in the air when you simply don’t know what to expect.Will it be a warm, summer-like day or will it be rainy and raw, a day when you wouldn’t venture outside without the necessity to do so?October is like that.It is changeable.Beginning in late September it is dark longer than it is light and for much of the rest of the year I will go to bed when it’s dark outside.It’s always still dark when I awake.Is it any wonder that October has its hooks in me?
Short stories, of which I’ve had about twenty published, seem to be the best way to capture this mood.You see, it isn’t a sustained feeling.It’s piecemeal like that extra quilt you throw on your bed at night.The urge to hibernate creeps in, but capitalism doesn’t allow for that.October is an artist, and I’m just the guy wandering the galley, pausing before each painting.This feeling only comes after summer, and it is fleeting.In November the leaves will be down and the cold will settle in quite earnestly.The candles we lit for Halloween will be our guide-lights to those we hold out to Christmas when the dayglow will begin to return at an hour that reminds us change is the only thing that’s permanent.And in this there’s a profound hope.
Like most thinking people I’m wondering what’s wrong with our government.If such wrong-doing were so out in the open any of the rest of us would be in jail, but because 45 stacks the courts the way GOPers want them, they think he’s God.Using the Constitution for toilet paper, the Republican party believes itself above the law so it can, well, make up the law.These are some angry, messed up people we’ve got in elected office.I’ve seen some interviews with the key players, and it’s clear they literally—and I mean literally in the literal sense—think of politics as a game.They don’t care how many lives get ruined; they just want to win.They give the male gender a bad name.
This whole shambles reminds me of something I learned a few administrations ago—nobody really has the answers.A low-functioning president is one thing (we’ve survived them before), but one who refuses to obey the law is quite another thing.Subpoenas ignored, catastrophic foreign policy decisions made, and rallying since day one, we are being led by lawmakers who stand in contempt of the law.All of this makes me think of deals with the Devil.While I await the results of the peer review of Nightmares with the Bible, I recall what the outcome of diabolical deals always is.It’s not true that “cheaters never prosper,” but it is new that it is being codified into law.Hammurabi is rolling in his grave.Even Caligula would be giving his forehead a palm smack.
America’s desire to become inbred has made us the spectacle for the world.Growing up in the sixties the message of inclusivity was in the air.I had no idea that those a generation older were resenting it, holding grudges, waiting quietly until they could throw inequality back into the mix and use it to stay in power even as they flouted the very law that was used to put them into office.It’s no wonder that three biographies of Adolf Hitler have been published this year.I guess there’s a fairly easy way to tell the difference between an average person and a politician.The average person is fed up with this charade and ready for some actual leadership.A politician, on the other hand, revels in the game he is playing, not concerning himself in the least with the consequences.
The word “Anthropocene” has been showing up quite a bit lately.For a period of many years I was an avid, self-taught amateur geologist.In my dreams I still am, I guess.My interest in the ages of rocks began when I, like Charles Lyell, began to consider the implications of their extreme longevity.The Bible, of course, famously intimates we live in a comparatively new neighborhood.Having grown up believing that literally and firmly, and also having started a modest fossil collection, I failed to see the conflict.I mean, there were fossils right down there by the river.Tons of them.Some Young Earth Creationists had already begun, by that point, to suggest they’d arisen because of Noah’s flood, but dinosaurs still seemed to be a problem.In many ways rocks broke me out of my fundamentalist stupor.
While at Nashotah House I taught electives on Genesis 1-11.I read about the geologic ages of the planet and would fall into Devonian dreams of a world entirely different from ours—a world in which there was no Bible for there were no humans to make God in their image.I knew that we lived in the Quaternary Period of the Holocene Era.I don’t think the term Anthropocene was in wide use then.Parsing it is simple enough—it is the “human age.”The age in which the planet was, has been, and is being altered by human behavior. There’s no agreed-up start date for the Anthropocene, but it will likely be set in the twentieth century; the twentieth century in our way of counting.There have been millions of centuries before that.
A couple of weekends back I attended a church program on plastics.These useful polymers are deeply, deeply integrated into our lives and are promoted by the far too powerful petroleum industry.The problem with plastics is that they break down and invade the bodies of animals and humans.And although they do decompose it takes many centuries for them to do so.Naming the Anthropocene is an effort to get us to see that a human perspective is far too brief to deal with the many issues we raise.Our practices on this planet will likely not destroy the earth, but they may very well make it uninhabitable by us, or by creatures we like to see.Life is persistent, and rock lasts for eons.Even stone’s not eternal, however, and the idea of the Anthropocene is to get us to look at ourselves and realize that our use of this planet, as toxic as it is, is shortsighted.We will someday be the fossils under a bridge long crumbled to dust for those in the future who know of no such thing as Genesis. Perhaps we should act like it.
For the next sixty seconds… (If you were born after Civil Defense aired these commercials, it’s your loss.) I’ve been reading about animal intelligence—there will be more on this anon. Today’s lesson is on artificial intelligence. For now let this be an illustration of how difficult it is to come down from an inspired weekend to the daily technology-enhanced drudgery we call day-to-day life. One of the real joys of seeing art in person is that no tech intervenes in the experience. It is naked exposure to another human being’s expression of her or himself. Over the weekend we wandered through five venues of intense creativity and then, back home, it was once more into the web. The ever-entangling internet of things.
I write, for better or for worse, on my laptop. My writing’s actually better on paper, but you need everything in electronic form for publication, so who has the time to write and retype, especially when work is ten hours of your day? Then a system update alert flashes in the upper right corner of my screen. “Okay,” I say setting the laptop aside, “go ahead and update.” But then the message that states I have to clear enough gigs for an update. I have been a little too creative and I’ve used my disc space for stuff I’ve made rather than Apple. This is a test. Okay, so I plug in my trusty terabyte drive to back things up before deleting them. But the laptop doesn’t recognize the drive. Oh, so it needs a reboot! (Don’t we all?) I give the command to restart. It can’t because some app refuses to quit beach-balling, as if it is the computer that’s doing the actual thinking. Force quit. “Are you sure?” the Mac cheekily asks. “You might lose unsaved changes.” I need a technological evangelist, I guess.
All of this takes time away from my precious few minutes of daily creativity. Restart, login, start copying files. Time for work! Just a mere sixty hours ago or less I was wandering through showcases of genuine human creation. Art pieces that make you stop and ponder, and not have to upgrade the software. Artists can talk to you and shake your hand. Explain what they’ve tried to express in human terms. Meanwhile my phone had died and was pouting while I charged it. I know Apple wants me to upgrade my hardware—their technological extortion is well known. Anyone who uses a computer experiences it. Buy a new one or I’ll waste your time. The choice is yours. This is a test. For the next sixty years…