Godspeed, Uncle Irving
After an extended stay in Carkoon and the glittering cone of silence, I received a single rejection in the last two weeks. The agent sent a kind letter which basically said, great story but the manuscript is too long. I discussed this problem with other writers and such out in the blogosphere, and it seems that as a debut author, I must once more cut down the word count in my manuscript. I am trying to do that before any more full requests come in (hope springs eternal). That is where I have been and where I will remain until the task is accomplished. I so want to work on my new book, The Pirate Queen, but that will have to wait. I must sell the current book for the new book to have a place to belong.
The apocalypse is proceeding slowly. The white horse is no longer lost. Its rider is dividing us as he claims to be uniting us. Hint, when an antichrist unites, he simply slaughters (and I mean that literally) all that oppose him. His supporters, sickeningly, cheer the slaughter or blindly never know about it. Their ignorance, blissful and willful, prevents them from even realizing there is anything to oppose. And so this master manipulator of men, hidden in shadow, seldom seen in the light, rides his white horse. He’s there. He’s riding. The blood red horse is bridled and chomping at the bit, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it. So, I’m just going to keep writing.
My great uncle Irving passed away this past week. I am certain that was the rapture at work. He was a truly good man, and Heaven awaits him. If Heaven did not exist neither would men like Irving Massey. He was in his late nineties when he took his last breath, escaping mortality’s grasp after an extraordinary life. He fought in World War II, came home, was stricken by polio, married the sweetest woman you can imagine, produced four children, and enriched the lives of all who knew him.
I always forgot about the wheelchair. No matter how often I saw my uncle Irving, I always forgot that he could not walk. He shined with love and kindness, and that was all you saw, not the wheel chair, or the human frailty. Such was the magnitude of his spirit, that despite all the horrors he witnessed and the challenges that he endured, he remained among us for almost a century.
It is the ending of an era. May he rest in peace. There are too few men like him in this dirty world. If only the rest of us could live our lives in such kindness, love, courage, generosity, and gratitude, the rider of the white horse would be rendered impotent. Godspeed, Uncle Irving.