At a former workplace we were at one time inundated by moths of a curious size. Standing outside with a work colleague surveying the potential business on a Sunday afternoon, he looks at the moth thoughtfully before parsing his lips to speak. “Have you seen The Mothman Prophecies?” he asks. “It’s really creepy and it’s based on a true story.” I admit that I have not seen this movie. I don’t really think much of it until another work colleague poses the same question and description almost verbatim. I am intrigued. I don’t particularly know anything about this movie, but the expression on my workmates’ faces as they talk about it spurs me to learn more. Eventually I borrow the movie from a local DVD store. It is creepy and it is – apparently – based on a true story. What is this story?
I imported a paperback copy of The Mothman Prophecies with a white movie tie-in cover from the United States. That poor paperback became batted as I thumbed my way through it, first at home and then interstate while on holiday. It was fascinating and disturbing. The flying humanoid terrorising residents of Point Pleasant, West Virginia, circa 1966-1967 had apparently existed. But it was only the tip of the iceberg. There were even more sinister and oddball things covered in the book that the movie didn’t even make reference to. But even more than that it introduced me to John A. Keel, the author, who was thoughtful and intelligent. He had a deliciously wicked sense of humour. He had a rich sense of voice on the written page. He seemed to genuinely have a lot of respect and compassion for people, especially people who had unusual experiences (people who were frequently ridiculed and dismissed by others). The simple truth was that before reading The Mothman Prophecies I thought paranormal subjects were purely the domain of wide-eyed crackpot ‘true believers.’ Keel’s book was a refreshing revelation.
But more than anything the book excited me and instilled this strong feeling within me that I was doing something wrong. I mean why would anyone answer phones for a living when you could be sitting on far off hills watching strange meandering lights (UFOs), interviewing people and writing incredible books?!
I located a copy of Keel’s first book, Jadoo, in Sydney and had it shipped to me. Keel had been fascinated with ’sleight of hand’ magic tricks from a young age, and Jadoo is his foray into the Orient and the Middle East to find ‘real’ magic. The things he details on his travels are truly fascinating, from the black market trade for mummies in Egypt to an invitation to live with bonafide devil worshipers, elaborate trickery with snakes, and even individuals who have themselves entombed only to come out unscathed. As I read of far off lands and ancient mystical practices I also learnt much more about Keel himself. I took great comfort in the knowledge that he too feared the blank page. I learnt about his Keel’s parents and home, his desire to write, how he had changed his name. I clung to each page as he struggled to sell articles of his adventures to magazines and as he systematically sold off his camera equipment just to make ends meet.
I was completely in awe of this man and as I ordered another of his books and it would arrive I would abandon the one I had been reading in favour of the new title (eventually going back to finish all the books). Soon I had multiple copies of many of his books, different editions. I snapped up cheap books whenever I encountered them, determined to share them with friends. The Eighth Tower (also published as The Cosmic Question), UFOs: Operation Trojan Horse, Disneyland Of The Gods, Our Haunted Planet, The Complete Guide To Mysterious Beings (also published as Strange Creatures From Time and Space), The Fickle Finger Of Fate (Keel’s lone piece of published fiction). I even discovered in my research a collection of short stories for school students that included one by Keel about the Great Houdini.
I was able to track down some recordings of talks he had given at FORTEAN events and these only endeared me to him further.
Something about Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down The Bones grated on my sensibilities and I took an almost instant dislike to the book. So much of it is at best abstract and at worst wishy-washy and metaphysical. Goldberg is first and foremost a Bhuddist, she quotes somebody by the name of Katagiri Roshi so extensively that I think he deserved a writing credit. (No, really. By the time you reach page 111 and she decides to make reference instead to self-help guru Tony Robbins it feels like a breath of fresh air.) While there are inherent psychological concerns to any act of creation, I didn’t think the idea that ‘ants are elephants’ (a curious study in metaphor) rang true or that pretending to smoke in a cafe would somehow make me a better writer.
But a funny thing happened. As I was reading the book (and rehearsing in my head the damning critique I would give it in my blog), something did sink in. Goldberg writes:
How to generate writing ideas, things to write about? Whatever’s in front of you is a good beginning. Then move out into the streets. You can go anyplace. Tell me everything you know. Don’t worry if what you know you can’t prove or haven’t studied. I know the fields around Elkton because I say I do and because I want to walk out into them forever. Don’t worry that forever might be the one week you’re there as resident poet or salesman for a tractor company or a traveler on the way west. Own anything you want in your writing and then let it go.
The next thing I knew I was writing. Despite telling myself I was just going to read a chapter or two before bed, I was writing. Infact I wrote for several hours before eventually going to bed somewhere around 3am. I realised in that moment that there were things that I had never shared with anyone, things that I wanted to write about. Even things that happened fifteen years ago were so brilliantly encapsulated in my memory, and they wanted to be written.
Despite my earlier mentioned misgivings, this book does have a lot of good qualities. There is some really practical advice about stationery (pens, notebooks), idea generation, writing motivations and techniques. I was particularly interested in reading up on the ettiquette of writing in cafes and restaurants since it is something that I had been wondering about for months. If you are feeling philosophical about your writing, then by all means pick up a copy of this book. It will certainly help you approach subjects in new and refreshing (if at times oddball) ways.
Dave Stewart, of the Eurythmics, on finding your own voice:
But very shortly after that the trick is to find your own voice or your own style of playing, your own way of looking or being and not be scared to make that as extreme as possible. You know you can always reel it back in again if you’ve gone too far out there. But it’s like, flaunt your imperfections and you will be a star my dear. You know it’s… Anything about yourself that you feel uncomfortable with make it bigger. Like Mick Jagger would do with his lips or Marilyn Manson would do or Alice Cooper would do or, you know, all the characters that you would probably name that are very very very successful in music if you really looked at them they’re very extreme. Everything they’ve done has been very extreme. Whether it’s Kurt Cobain to Madonna to the Stones through to Prince, you know. All of them, you know. Eminem. Kanye West. And they’ve all sang about their real lives and sort of put themselves under a magnifying glass. When Doves Cry when Prince is singing about his mum and dad. Eminem, when he’s singing about his mum, you know. I mean they all just lay it all out on the line and they dress in a way and they perform in a way, they become – and why they become iconic is because all of the things that you would love to do and say and be multiplied times a thousand, so they become larger than life. So if you’re starting out as an artist and you really want to be an artist that becomes somebody who means something to a lot of people [...] its very very difficult to be that person if you just adopt a generic bland persona and use sort of bland, cliched lyrics to describe your emotions. You’ve really gotta go out there.
I was a little amused that Plaxo (an online calendar/address book/organiser service) sent me an email to let me know that somebody I knew had joined their service. I clicked on the link and was presented with the following options.
You can choose between Business Network, Family or Friend. Though the suggested text beside ‘Friend’ is more than a tad condescending, especially for what is essentially a service for connecting and sharing information online.
Your real life friends. (Not your “social networking friends”)
But wait, there’s still more…!
Further down on the same screen:
Pulse is for real relationships. Please do not spam people you don’t know with unwelcome connection requests.
How do you know if a request is ‘unwelcome’ before you send it? Isn’t that the point of the exercise, to give the other person the opportunity to accept or deny the request at their discretion?
I hear the expression ‘IRL friends’ all the time. I understand the desire to differentiate between those relationships in daily life and those that exist online. I understand that there are different dimensions and dynamics to both. What I struggle with though is the implication that friendships formed online are in some way inferior, trivial or ‘unreal.’ If anything, I tend to think these relationships can be much more meaningful to the extent that they’re based on shared passions, interests and beliefs, rather than just the stuff of circumstance – a shared city, workplace, demographic.
Psychology aside, I do worry about the longevity of a web based service that would begrudge such relationships. As it is my friend, the new user of that service, didn’t fit neatly into any of the categories provided and I sort of gave up and closed the window. I don’t really use Plaxo anyway…
