At Least They're Committed

I’m not entirely sure why we receive Rolling Stone Magazine. We’ve never asked for it, we’ve never paid for it, it just keeps coming to my house. On the cover of a recent edition was a photo of Bob Dylan, who I’ve only lately come to appreciate. He’s cute in the way I think guys are cute, but that’s not what it triggered. It reminded me of Joyce Carol Oates’ short story “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been.” She based the devil on the image of Bob Dylan. She was — and probably still is — a big fan.

What it made me consider more deeply was how Oates had written her first novel as a youth, but it was considered too dark and depressing to publish. I can’t imagine — with all the dark depressing novels out there let alone real life — that something written by a child could be considered so desolate and hopeless that it was deemed unworthy of print.

What I do understand is that darkness, that abyss from whence that novel — and several of her other works — came. I made a choice in my early 20s to stuff a great deal of my darkness aside and strive for the things in life that could make me happy; things other than locking myself in a dark room with a single lamp and poring over text — my own and that imagined by others. Things such as children and family.

Looking back, I believe I did pretty well. But the darkness is still there. It just isn’t scary anymore and it certainly is subdued enough to render me a mediocre writer as opposed to something special. Instead, maybe, it comes out in playful, childlike and constructive ways. Healthy, sure. At least I’d like to think so.