Category Archives: Personal Life

Rest in Peace, Pete Seeger

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I’ve been thinking about this post for years.

I used to cover music for several magazines back in the day, especially in the New York area.  Part of the responsibility was to write obituaries, and I remember one day thinking that i’d have to write one for Pete.  I swatted the thought down, not being able to think that far into the future.  Then I wrote one for his brother Mike.  Then last year I wrote one for his wife Toshi.  I knew it was going to happen, and I knew that it would hurt me bad.

I met Pete several times.  I am a regular at his Clearwater Festival, the music festival that supports his environmental group, Clearwater.  As I child, I went on a field trip and sailed on the Clearwater.  I never forgot the rocking of the waves or the singing crew.  It’s one of my fondest memories.

There will be other obits out there that go into all his accomplishments, all the fantastic songs he wrote or popularized, the way he stood up to Joe McCarthy and embraced the Civil Rights Movement, his support of the New York music scene, his dedication to the environment.  Maybe they’ll talk about the movement to nominate him for a Nobel Prize. That’s all academic.

What they can’t tell you is how he made you feel. He made you want to sing.

I never did a full interview with him, but I talked to him many times.  He had a way about him, and when he spoke, you listened.  Not that he was the kind of voice that demanded attention.  It was the other way around.  He was humble and easy going, but possessed of a simple wisdom that made you want to listen for hours.  He made you want to sing.

He was tall.  Really tall. Until you’ve seen him in person, you don’t realize just how tall he was.  Even at 94, he was still this white-haired beanpole in a fisherman’s hat.  He gave off this air of mental and spiritual strength. He made you want to sing.

And so we sang.  He took the stage and led us, and we sang.  Great waves of people singing “Turn Turn Turn” or “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” while he played the long neck banjo or the 12 string.  People of every gender, color and class joining their voices into one.

Pete Seeger is gone, but songs last forever.  Sing for Pete’s sake.

Sing for Pete’s sake

A Delayed Eulogy for Valerie

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One year ago today, my girlfriend Valerie passed away.  It was very sudden. Within three days she was gone.  I didn’t give a eulogy at her funeral, because I was too broken hearted to speak, so I’m going to do it now.

I’m going to try to keep the melodrama to myself.  I’ve written at length about how much I miss and love her.  But the truth is that she’s still a mystery to me.

We didn’t date for very long.  We started talking in early November of 2011 (just before I became homeless) but didn’t have a face-to-face date until early January.  A year is not a lifetime, but she was such a complex, deep, layered, interesting individual that even if we had a lifetime, she would continue to surprise me.

She had STRONG tattooed on one of her wrists, but it could have sat on her fist.  Her words were like cannon balls that burst through anything in their path.  She was not afraid of anyone, and if need be, she would kick your ass.  But she was not there for destruction, she was there to help.  She was the kind of person that could start a revolution, but for the right reasons.  She helped people. She gave till it hurt.  She shielded people with her strength until they took that strength upon themselves.

But she was also gentle and shy.  Being alone triggered panic attacks.  She didn’t believe in herself as much as she should’ve.  She was often passive.  I know that this wasn’t always the case, but this was the Val that I knew.  She was multifaceted, like a cut ruby.  She was large, she contained multitudes (I wish I had a Wilde quote to use there, but I’ll settle for Whitman).

She was the most brilliant writer that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  Her short stories are masterpieces.  She had nearly 25 stories published in magazines, many quite prestigious. Her poetry is sharp and unyielding, like the knife she carried in her bag.  Her novel is not just adorable and hilarious, but it is a wry view of the double standard between pursuit in straight romance novels and gay ones.

She was also a caring teacher who brought the best out of her students.  She never left a student behind. She was so beloved by her students and coworkers that Mercy College set up a scholarship in her name.

I don’t know what else to say.  She was the best person that I ever knew.  She saved me. My only regret is that I didn’t get to spend the rest of my life with her.  I’m glad that she got to spend the rest of her life with me.

Me and Val, with her sister Jean and brother in law Kenny. Jan 2013. I think that this is the last picture of her before she died.

Me and Val, with her sister Jean and brother in law Kenny. Jan 2013. I think that this is the last picture of her before she died.

Miles To Go Before I Sleep

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I turned 37 (in a row!? nsfw)  on the 13th, but I feel like 50.  Medical bills are adding up, and my body is subtracting.  It doesn’t seem to matter how much weight I lose (70 pounds since February), my body still rebels against me.

I know that I shouldn’t kvetch, but I’m a Jew and that’s my birthright.

To summarize: my ins is refusing to cover 2 meds that they used to, without which I will die.  My endocrine system is fucked. I have a toothache, and I can’t find a dentist that takes my ins.  I injured my knee swimming in November and was misdiagnosed.  Now I have to go in for an MRI to search for ligament damage.  I’m severely bipolar, with anxiety and panic attacks that induce vomiting. I have asthma. I have sleep apnea, but the cpap machine causes panic attacks (having to rip off the mask to throw up is not pleasant. I have the beginnings of Barret’s esophagus (which will eventually cause esophageal cancer, one of the most lethal cancers).  My left foot sometimes goes numb, and I have a B12 deficiency.

Many of these things I’ve lived with all my life, and I have come to terms with.  I was diagnosed with Bipolar syndrome by age 14.  They put me on Lithium, which I think damaged my endocrine system.  I always had asthma.  Everything else is a brand new fucking experience.

This is why I throw myself into my writing.  This is why I aim for a book a year.  I want to leave something behind when I die, something that people can enjoy, that will live on beyond me.  But one book isn’t enough.  Ten might not be enough.  I will never be satisfied with what I’ve done, and I feel like I have a short while to do it.

Valerie died when she was 35.  She was a brilliant writer, with who knows how many great stories still left inside of her.  She was working on her 3rd novel when she died, and it will remain unfinished.  I keep putting off publishing her anthology because I am selfish and driven.  I keep saying “when I finish this chapter, or this book, or whatever.”  One day I am going to die and I hope that it’s not before I get her shit together.  Her work means more to me than my own, so why do I keep putting it off?

No matter how much I may want to, I am not ready to join her yet.  I have miles to go before I sleep.

 

Back to School, Sort Of

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Today I went back to my old high school to talk to the kids. Something about “inspiring them to achieve their dreams through hard work, you can be anything you want, blah blah blah.” I think most of that is true, but it feels weird to be on the other side of that speech. I don’t know if the kids really bought it.

Everyone treats the fact I wrote a novel to be some amazing achievement. It’s not. It’s the natural culmination of what I’ve been doing since I was right there in the chairs those kids were sitting in. I wasn’t struck by dumb luck or divine inspiration. I went to college for Creative Writing. I graduated and started writing for magazines. I paid my dues. I did all the Charlie-work. I fine tuned my craft. It’s not like this came out of nowhere.

Maybe that’s the point. You can one day say “I’m gonna write a novel,” and do it, but it will probably suck. Writing is like any other craft. You have to study. You have to practice. You have to work your goddamn ass off to get good.

A lot of people ignore that. They take short cuts. It shows.

But back to the topic. I really don’t feel like I’ve done anything extraordinary, because it’s something that I’ve done all my life. If I was to suddenly star in a movie or fly a plane, that would be extraordinary. A writer writes, that’s what he’s meant to be. Writing is like breathing, and there’s no other way for a writer to live.

So I went back to school. I said a few words, signed a book, took pictures with the staff and kids. All the while I was thinking about what to write next.

I told you, it’s like breathing.

PS: I almost forgot, yesterday was my birthday. Happy happy, blah blah blah

Happy Anniversary Valerie

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Today is the anniversary of the day Valerie and I met. We went to a little Italian place in Ossining called Capri and to Starbucks afterwards. It was the best date that I ever had. We had been talking for a couple of months already through Okcupid, so I pretty much knew that I would like her. I did not expect to be blown away. By the end of the night, I was thoroughly enamored.

I decided not to visit her grave today, as the anniversary of her death is the 24th.

It’s a rare thing in life when you love someone so wholly, completely, and unconditionally. When I first started dating Val, I loved her and thought she was perfect. With time, I realized that she wasn’t perfect, that she was human, with flaws and quirks like the rest of us. She didn’t need a pedestal for me to put her on. I loved her even more for those quirks and flaws. I loved her for who she was, not who I might want her to be. I didn’t want her to be anything more than herself.

How often do people say “I love you, but”? I love you, but I wish you didn’t pick your nose. I love you, but I wish you’d find a better job. I love you, but I wish this or that. I didn’t “love her, but,” I “loved her, because.”

I miss her every day, and every day I will.

And so this is Christmas…

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Some of you might know that I am Jewish (I talk about it all the time), and I celebrate Chanukah (with a hard ‘ch’ like you’re clearing your throat).  What you may not know is that I, like many other Jews, celebrate Christmas.  We do this because we’re “encouraged” to by both society and by business.  Schools and jobs close for Christmas, but not Chanukah.  The only time that our family can get together is on Christmas.  We have to celebrate it by proxy.  So much for a “war on Christmas.”  It’s actually a war on every other winter holiday.

This year was especially awkward, since Chanukah fell so early.  My family had no get together this Christmas or Chanukah.  If you’re wondering why Chanukah moves around so much, it’s because the traditional Jewish calendar is lunar, not solar.  The Sun doesn’t vary its position in the sky very far in Israel.  It was much easier back then to track time by the Moon.

Penguins make it festive

Here’s an imaginary conversation with someone pissed off because I say “happy holidays”:

Me: Happy holidays
Them:  I’m Christian, blah blah blah Fox News blah blah blah War on Christmas blah blah blah Obamacare.

Me: Do you celebrate New Year’s?

Them: Of course

Me:  That’s two holidays.  Plural.  Happy holidays.

I do often celebrate Christmas though with a goyish family, or at least I try to.  I like the festive nature.  I like that people pretend to love each other, if only for a short while.  I like Christmas music.

During WWI, the warring sides actually had a truce during Christmas.  They say that you could hear the enemy singing Christmas carols from the other side of the trenches, and they joined together in song.  Then they went back to dropping mustard gas on each other.

During the American Revolution, Washington famously crossed the Delaware River late Christmas night for a surprise attack early morning on the 26th, the famous Battle of Trenton.  No blood on Christmas, plenty the day after.

Forgive me for being bitter, but last year’s Christmas was beautiful.  I was with Valerie and her family.  I was madly in love (still am), and enamored with my new family.  Less than a month later, Valerie was dead, and I have yet to recover.  I doubt I ever will.

The photo that I use as an avatar is the photo Val and I took for Val’s mom.  We put it in a nice frame.

The point is, wen I was younger, people often said “keep Christmas in your heart all year long,” but no one does.  We go right back to hating each other once the clock strikes midnight.

Merry Christmas.  Keep it in your heart all year long…in other words, don’t be a dick.

A New Interview

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Hey there.
I haven’t been very active lately. November is a hard month for me. Once the sun disappears, I get depressed. I’ve always been that way.

In addition, Valerie’s birthday was the 17th. I visited her grave with her mom. It was hard, so very hard. I left some carnations on the grave, and her mom left a carvel ice cream cake. They were her favorite, and a birthday tradition.

I wanted to post something about Valerie earlier, but even writing this small amount makes me cry. I honestly don’t know if it will ever get easier.

But that’s why I’ve been absent from the blog.

I do have some good news. There’s a new review for Song of Simon and interview of me at All Things Book-Review. I know that those of you that follow my blog know quite a bit about my life. This is a little more insight. I hope that you enjoy it. I can’t tell if I give good interviews or not. I try not to use the standard platitudes that most people do, but balancing that without sounding like a douchebag is hard.

Later,
Craig
craig with bandana cropped

Nine Months

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It was nine months ago today that Valerie died.

I haven’t written anything about her in a while, though she is always on my mind. For a while, I was marking the days, then the months on Facebook. I realize that it is a pretty drama-based thing to do, so I am refraining from it this month. But I need to acknowledge it in some way, acknowledge the pain I am in and how much I love and miss her. Even as I write this, tears roll down my face and soak my shirt. I can’t stop.

Today has been a wash. I did manage to go to the gym today and get in a good 50 minute swim. It helps. I find that when I swim, I’m so focused on it that I don’t have room to think of anything else. Besides, pool water hides tears.

But once I got home, I just crawled into bed. I’ve been in the fetal position, clutching a stuffed animal that I got her when she was accepted into the Binghamton doctoral program. It was a furry dinosaur, and it actually freaked her out some. Sometimes things would just get into her head like that.

She was such a special person, and I miss her so much.

Real Life Alignment: A Pointless Voyage Into Good and Evil

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I decided to take some time off of my shameless plugging in order to discuss something that is often, if not always, on my mind.

I am a nice person. I am always polite to people. I hold doors open. I compliment people for no other reason than to make them feel good. But am I a good person? There’s a difference, and being nice does not necessarily equate to being good.

I’m not saying that I am a bad person. I don’t think that there are many truly bad people in the world. There’s a current book out whose name I can’t remember. It says that one out of twenty people, 5% of the population, are sociopathic. They have no ability to feel empathy, or to act in any way other than for their own benefit. We all know at least one sociopath (I happen to know several). Not all of them are criminals or even noticeable in their sociopathy, but all of them are incurably selfish.

We are all selfish at one time or another, but that doesn’t make the person “bad.” Being selfish all of the time–being unable to be anything but selfish–that’s bad. Of course, there are other kinds of evil too. There are many normal people out there that have explosive tempers, or purposefully hurt someone to fill a need inside of them. I think these are learned traits, though, and different from sociopathic behavior. They’re just assholes.

I play a lot of roleplaying games. In D & D, they have something called “Alignment.” This is where you decide your character’s world view on an ethical (law vs chaos) and moral (good vs evil) scale. When I was younger, I used to argue with my DM that people were inherently good, and it was ethics that were variable. He countered that most people are neutral: they care about family and friends, maybe even the greater world around them, but they do little to help anyone outside their immediate circle.

I was an idealist. I am not anymore. I think that my DM is right. You can be a nice person, but unless you are taking an active stance towards improving the world, you are neutral. “Good” is reserved for heroism in RPGs, and in a lesser sense, in real life.

Because I’m a writer, and especially because I write speculative fiction, I am constantly grappling with the nature of good and evil. Song of Simon, for example. Simon begins as a “nice guy,” but an ordinary guy. He has fears, he has moments of selfishness. He makes bad decisions that come back to haunt him. Yet the novel is about him growing from a “nice person” into a “good person,” a person that will take a stand to defend what is right.

There are other characters in Song of Simon that are not quite so heroic. And there are those that appear heroic, but have done (and do) horrible things. I tried to show the variability of what is good and what is evil. Good and evil isn’t black and white. It isn’t even shades of gray. Good and evil is every color in the rainbow and every shade therein. It’s alizarin crimson and yellow ochre. It’s midnight blue and aquamarine. There are no simple answers to be found.

As for me, I’m going to make a change. I’m tired of just being a nice person. I want to be a good person. I want to help, and I’m gonna find some way to do it.

Watchmage Returns!!!!

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After my last story arc of Watchmage, I decided to take a break to work on the novelized version. Demand was high enough for a new Watchmage story that I came back. And so today is…

WATCHMAGE WEEK!!

Yesterday I released the first chapter of the new story arc, “The Wild Hunt.” I will release another chapter tomorrow and on Thursday. After that, I’ll go back to the old routine, a new chapter every Monday.

This new story is very personal to me, and much darker than the first two. I wrote this in the first few months after Valerie died, and it’s fairly obvious. It was painful to write, but everything was painful then. To be honest (and aren’t I always) things are still very painful.

I have other motivations as well. During my absence, Watchmage fell behind on votes. I didn’t realize it, but the end of this month is the Jukepop bi-annual prize. Whoever is in first place wins 500 Dollars!!

I am behind, but it is still within my reach with enough votes. I need help from my fans and friends though. Please vote for the new chapters. If you’ve voted, thank you. You can also share the link on facebook, twitter, or word o’ mouth. You can also leave reviews at the bottom of the serial’s page. Thank you so much.

The next post will be about Song of Simon, as we’re getting close to release date. Stay cool, friends.