You certainly have Prague-ing rights now! Wonderful prose. Really hoping it will help me improve by osmosis. (And I'll shut up now with the potentially bad jokes haha)... or take a rain Czech. Thanks, Chuck!!
When terror turns to relief, that's a joy. Maybe the biggest joy. The elephant test scared me witless, and a I saw myself in a Czech prison for some Kafka reason just because I'd drawn badly.
There are so many of these empty spaces that beg to be discovered and remembered. There's a series of tunnels underneath the US Naval Academy that we call the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Steam tunnels and service conduits and the like, they're obviously off limits but that doesn't stop enterprising young midshipmen from sneaking out after hours and down into the tunnels to explore. Some of them lead to academic buildings, some of them lead off the Yard for midnight trips to 7-11, and some of them we never fully explored because they were full of water and our instincts of self-preservation (and not getting caught) were too high. I share the love of hidden places and rediscovering what's been lost.
This footnote is screaming for a cartoon by Edward Gorey or Tim Burton: “3
When I went to inscribe a book for him, I asked for the spelling of his name. In the saddest voice ever, he said, “Guillaume, the name no one will ever know how to spell.” It’s a fantastic, self contained, short story. I was captivated by your entire piece of writing - especially the opening. I had a story idea years ago that would have found me riding through life on a white elephant like some sort of self deprecating version of Mowgli from ‘The Jungle Book’. I sat down on a bench to write the idea down on a napkin and my ADHD (a dear friend and rival) lead me into a dark shadow within a nearby doorway. The idea resurfaced while I read/experienced your story. Thank you for the unexpected gift. D
The box was just received! Miss Sassy is the happiest EVER!!! The deluxe cheeseburger in a box— she took off with immediately!! The blueberry donut was first though—- across the room she flew with it wanting to be chased!!! She brought each of the toys to her blanket by me and she’s sitting with them all around her. There was so much laughter and excitement that she wore herself out and now, she’s napping. When I first opened the box— she made off with a packing peanut because I was taking too long to open it for her liking. She dropped it and that’s when she came back for the donut. I took some photos— would be nice to share those with you— will post on my Instagram. Glad you warned me about the pickle. Lol. I’m eternally grateful for what you sent me. The key really hit home in more ways than I can tell you— I will cherish that.
There’s too much I want to share/tell you! My Louie passed away about this time last year, he was 14— before Sassy came into my life— I was a complete mess, I 100% couldn’t function. I never had someone love me unconditionally like that ever in my life. I also have a really hard time being social (mostly due to my weight)— Louie and Sassy serve as the bridge to allow people to converse with me. Just the right common bond to start a conversation. I’m in absolute tears at this moment— trying to collect myself— thank you for being a constant motivation in the past 20+ years— my newsletter is fueling a deeply buried piece of me that is emerging… and I have some really rough stories I’m trying to let out, but they’re so fucking painful, I don’t know where they belong. I was listening to the Joe Rogan interview Aug. 2018– it answered some questions I had. Doing my best research like the old journalist I used to be…
Thank you for what you have shared with us!! I need to return the favor, though!! All the love from Sassy, Rob and myself to you and your family. ♥️🌸🍁
Thank you. Your note made my whole day, and I'll go back to read it whenever I feel down. Aren't those stuffed hamburgers a trip? There are times when the only thing that gets me through is the knowledge that someone is being surprised by a package. Writers are shy and reclusive animals, and we like to have our effect from a safe distance. This Substack has been a true terror for me, and I wanted to thank you for how supportive you've been in the comments. Thank you.
If I'm scarce for a few days it's because I'm trying to get out the Pixie Packages. Honestly, I'm a person packing boxes in a kitchen and driving them to the UPS Store and standing in line. But the goal is to get them delivered asap.
The squeakers!!! It’s a honker symphony everytime we play!!! Hahahaa. She has scared me a few times with them already!! Hahaha. Most excellent choices.
While you’re packing Pixie boxes— stay hydrated, you’re heart is immense and devilishly funny. 🤣🎁
What is it with authors and the liminal? I’ve been trying to pin it down. As a child, I found
empty stairwells, subway stations, abandoned houses, and underpasses irresistible. In literature and life, a bordered or bound space that is vacant or does not contain what it’s supposed to gives me tingles of delight—the empty field surrounded by an oleander hedge in The Haunting of Hill House, for example. In general, the liminal is described as frightening or uncanny. For my research, I’ve been following the Liminal Spaces Reddit. There, the liminal is almost universally described as creepy. But to me, the in-between is soothing, like glimpsing beyond the veil and into eternity. Space emptied of humanity has mysterious power. Perhaps these places are dreams come to life; writers like them because the imagination is their workshop and frontier. What do you all think?
My step-Dad demolished buildings for a living. Mom and I would go in and see what was salvageable— we called it being “Scrappies.” Going into all these old buildings to explore and remove found items— was terrifying and fun. Once, I wandered into a basement of a giant Victorian mansion in Pennsylvania, alone— everyone else was outside— the stairs all collapsed under me, I fell, hitting my head on the basement wall and twisting my ankle. I had my flashlight—- I screamed because I saw something in a white dress that looked as if it was coming my way— turned out to be an old wedding dress hanging— a good friend in fashion and burlesque now has it— but, I kept screaming for at least 45 min for help— took awhile to climb back out with help, after I snagged some goodies. I also, continuously, throughout my life in abandoned homes getting ready to be torn down, would come across canned foods. They were echos trapped in jars… I just recently started canning last year, I feel like a mad-scientist as I look at all my jarred harvests. Mwwwhuauauaaah!
My guess is that writers look for places that suggest a narrative. Or they create them. In our old back yard I'd built so many high stone walls and tumbled-down arches that whenever a new person came to visit they'd asked, "What used to be here!?" I'd shrug.
That was kind of mesmerising. And if a collection of celebrity drawn blue elephants isn't the most original thing I don't know what is. Realistic elephant versus cartoon elephant versus abstract elephant...
Today I recommended Pola’s Oloixarac’s “Dark Constellations” to a coworker who I learned has read all of your works (and, yes, I also promoted this forum and its amenities). The coworker was intrigued by the book enough to take a photo of the copy I conveniently had in my bag for rereading purposes. Your post today makes me want to offer up “Mona,” Oloixarac’s latest, an autofiction based around an international writer’s festival/competition. There’s a sordid inventiveness in the Argentinian author’s style, even filtered through translation, that makes me think of your pieces.
Some of the most intriguing stories are collected by contractors specializing in rehabbing homes acquired through estate sales. Basements with patched cement floors should probably be resealed and let be.
But, if you can't help yourself, you might find a skeleton, love letters from a sea captain to one of two sisters. Then to the other sister.
Chuck, you’re probably already aware of this, but Gabby Petino was a fan of yours and had images of her reading Fight Club and Lullaby on her Instagram. For me it makes what happened to her that much more heartbreaking as it takes a special kind of person to be a fan of your work. It seems like your fans are always very humble, down to earth people that anybody would want to be friends with. Seeing the way that guy manipulated her into thinking she was a crazy, horrible girlfriend really broke my heart.
There’s a previous post/entry with the title “Can I Sleep at Your Place Tonight?” a ways down where he covers his thoughts on the matter. Very much aware.
Yes, thank you. Many folks texted me about this. It's as sad as Elisa Lam's story. Because my father was also murdered, I know the family must be suffering. My heart goes out to them.
Three things:
Live an interesting life where you're not afraid to make mistakes.
Remember everything, good and bad.
Don't die.
Back to packing Pixie Packages for shipment tomorrow.
Was waiting for Mr. P. to chime in first. Wanted to add the words of the late Kurt Vonnegut. Paraphrased - baby, you’ve got to be kind.
You certainly have Prague-ing rights now! Wonderful prose. Really hoping it will help me improve by osmosis. (And I'll shut up now with the potentially bad jokes haha)... or take a rain Czech. Thanks, Chuck!!
My heart burst at footnote 8.
When terror turns to relief, that's a joy. Maybe the biggest joy. The elephant test scared me witless, and a I saw myself in a Czech prison for some Kafka reason just because I'd drawn badly.
😂 I can't draw so this would have been terrifying to me too.
There are so many of these empty spaces that beg to be discovered and remembered. There's a series of tunnels underneath the US Naval Academy that we call the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Steam tunnels and service conduits and the like, they're obviously off limits but that doesn't stop enterprising young midshipmen from sneaking out after hours and down into the tunnels to explore. Some of them lead to academic buildings, some of them lead off the Yard for midnight trips to 7-11, and some of them we never fully explored because they were full of water and our instincts of self-preservation (and not getting caught) were too high. I share the love of hidden places and rediscovering what's been lost.
This footnote is screaming for a cartoon by Edward Gorey or Tim Burton: “3
When I went to inscribe a book for him, I asked for the spelling of his name. In the saddest voice ever, he said, “Guillaume, the name no one will ever know how to spell.” It’s a fantastic, self contained, short story. I was captivated by your entire piece of writing - especially the opening. I had a story idea years ago that would have found me riding through life on a white elephant like some sort of self deprecating version of Mowgli from ‘The Jungle Book’. I sat down on a bench to write the idea down on a napkin and my ADHD (a dear friend and rival) lead me into a dark shadow within a nearby doorway. The idea resurfaced while I read/experienced your story. Thank you for the unexpected gift. D
I kind of want to write an entire short story around those fingernail marks alone.
Who here remembers being a kid and making their first ouija board? Man, the adults flipped their shit when they found out. Made it all so very real!
Yeah, just leave off when Cap't Howdy starts to move the planchette.
Chuck!
(Forgive me, this writing is all over the place)
The box was just received! Miss Sassy is the happiest EVER!!! The deluxe cheeseburger in a box— she took off with immediately!! The blueberry donut was first though—- across the room she flew with it wanting to be chased!!! She brought each of the toys to her blanket by me and she’s sitting with them all around her. There was so much laughter and excitement that she wore herself out and now, she’s napping. When I first opened the box— she made off with a packing peanut because I was taking too long to open it for her liking. She dropped it and that’s when she came back for the donut. I took some photos— would be nice to share those with you— will post on my Instagram. Glad you warned me about the pickle. Lol. I’m eternally grateful for what you sent me. The key really hit home in more ways than I can tell you— I will cherish that.
There’s too much I want to share/tell you! My Louie passed away about this time last year, he was 14— before Sassy came into my life— I was a complete mess, I 100% couldn’t function. I never had someone love me unconditionally like that ever in my life. I also have a really hard time being social (mostly due to my weight)— Louie and Sassy serve as the bridge to allow people to converse with me. Just the right common bond to start a conversation. I’m in absolute tears at this moment— trying to collect myself— thank you for being a constant motivation in the past 20+ years— my newsletter is fueling a deeply buried piece of me that is emerging… and I have some really rough stories I’m trying to let out, but they’re so fucking painful, I don’t know where they belong. I was listening to the Joe Rogan interview Aug. 2018– it answered some questions I had. Doing my best research like the old journalist I used to be…
Thank you for what you have shared with us!! I need to return the favor, though!! All the love from Sassy, Rob and myself to you and your family. ♥️🌸🍁
Thank you. Your note made my whole day, and I'll go back to read it whenever I feel down. Aren't those stuffed hamburgers a trip? There are times when the only thing that gets me through is the knowledge that someone is being surprised by a package. Writers are shy and reclusive animals, and we like to have our effect from a safe distance. This Substack has been a true terror for me, and I wanted to thank you for how supportive you've been in the comments. Thank you.
If I'm scarce for a few days it's because I'm trying to get out the Pixie Packages. Honestly, I'm a person packing boxes in a kitchen and driving them to the UPS Store and standing in line. But the goal is to get them delivered asap.
The squeakers!!! It’s a honker symphony everytime we play!!! Hahahaa. She has scared me a few times with them already!! Hahaha. Most excellent choices.
While you’re packing Pixie boxes— stay hydrated, you’re heart is immense and devilishly funny. 🤣🎁
What is it with authors and the liminal? I’ve been trying to pin it down. As a child, I found
empty stairwells, subway stations, abandoned houses, and underpasses irresistible. In literature and life, a bordered or bound space that is vacant or does not contain what it’s supposed to gives me tingles of delight—the empty field surrounded by an oleander hedge in The Haunting of Hill House, for example. In general, the liminal is described as frightening or uncanny. For my research, I’ve been following the Liminal Spaces Reddit. There, the liminal is almost universally described as creepy. But to me, the in-between is soothing, like glimpsing beyond the veil and into eternity. Space emptied of humanity has mysterious power. Perhaps these places are dreams come to life; writers like them because the imagination is their workshop and frontier. What do you all think?
My step-Dad demolished buildings for a living. Mom and I would go in and see what was salvageable— we called it being “Scrappies.” Going into all these old buildings to explore and remove found items— was terrifying and fun. Once, I wandered into a basement of a giant Victorian mansion in Pennsylvania, alone— everyone else was outside— the stairs all collapsed under me, I fell, hitting my head on the basement wall and twisting my ankle. I had my flashlight—- I screamed because I saw something in a white dress that looked as if it was coming my way— turned out to be an old wedding dress hanging— a good friend in fashion and burlesque now has it— but, I kept screaming for at least 45 min for help— took awhile to climb back out with help, after I snagged some goodies. I also, continuously, throughout my life in abandoned homes getting ready to be torn down, would come across canned foods. They were echos trapped in jars… I just recently started canning last year, I feel like a mad-scientist as I look at all my jarred harvests. Mwwwhuauauaaah!
Yay! A sister in Mwwwhuauauaaah!
♥️♥️👋🏼👋🏼👋🏼♥️♥️
Wow! Same here. I have a magnetic pull to these liminal spaces for as long as I can remember!
My guess is that writers look for places that suggest a narrative. Or they create them. In our old back yard I'd built so many high stone walls and tumbled-down arches that whenever a new person came to visit they'd asked, "What used to be here!?" I'd shrug.
This post is reminding me to dust off my copy of "The Poetics of Space" by Gaston Bachelard.
Author + All Work - No Play = A Dull Boy
And then you get smacked with a baseball bat and locked in a pantry with ALL THE BOXED COOKIES YOU CAN EAT. Works for me.
That was kind of mesmerising. And if a collection of celebrity drawn blue elephants isn't the most original thing I don't know what is. Realistic elephant versus cartoon elephant versus abstract elephant...
Stick elephant.
Today I recommended Pola’s Oloixarac’s “Dark Constellations” to a coworker who I learned has read all of your works (and, yes, I also promoted this forum and its amenities). The coworker was intrigued by the book enough to take a photo of the copy I conveniently had in my bag for rereading purposes. Your post today makes me want to offer up “Mona,” Oloixarac’s latest, an autofiction based around an international writer’s festival/competition. There’s a sordid inventiveness in the Argentinian author’s style, even filtered through translation, that makes me think of your pieces.
Some of the most intriguing stories are collected by contractors specializing in rehabbing homes acquired through estate sales. Basements with patched cement floors should probably be resealed and let be.
But, if you can't help yourself, you might find a skeleton, love letters from a sea captain to one of two sisters. Then to the other sister.
Dead bodies create a lot of paperwork.
Repatching a cement floor doesn't.
Packing Pixie Packages all day. Look for me from time to time. Forgive me for the story, "Prayer," that I inflict on you tomorrow morning...
Chuck, you’re probably already aware of this, but Gabby Petino was a fan of yours and had images of her reading Fight Club and Lullaby on her Instagram. For me it makes what happened to her that much more heartbreaking as it takes a special kind of person to be a fan of your work. It seems like your fans are always very humble, down to earth people that anybody would want to be friends with. Seeing the way that guy manipulated her into thinking she was a crazy, horrible girlfriend really broke my heart.
There’s a previous post/entry with the title “Can I Sleep at Your Place Tonight?” a ways down where he covers his thoughts on the matter. Very much aware.
Thanks for letting me know Rob. I’d somehow completely missed that post. Ugh, my bad.
Yes, thank you. Many folks texted me about this. It's as sad as Elisa Lam's story. Because my father was also murdered, I know the family must be suffering. My heart goes out to them.
Had the chance to visit Prague once, and I must return. Such a beautiful, magical place.