The smell of deep purple

Written January 2014 - Never published.

This new year's day was met with a sense of determination and no small amount of pique.

The preceding years lay spent and depleted like inert uranium rods giving off only trace memories, and nothing more.

I don't put much significance to new years supertistions. I've always believed that the days are yours to do with, or do without. The hold no more practical magic than that which we imbue them. So this new years meant nothing to me.

Accept, they did hold the promise of seeing my parents. The two most important people on this planet, responsible for my existance, for good or ill, they have wrought the man who types these words, and they are my corporeal tether.

I love my parents. I love them with a reverence and understanding of a man who is not only a parent, but a human who has made enumeral mistakes in life and in parenting. I love my parents in the way that an alcohlic loves his sobriety, in that they've been through the same fire of the blood and the ruin of bad decisions. And I love my parents with the love of a child who realizesd that without them in my life, my life would have been so much worse.

This is the clarity the new year brings. The singularity of being enlightened by age, wisdom, and geography.

Also, the rush of realization that there are things that need to change, and they need to change for the good of my family.

I've discovered that my knack for turning phrases was an elaborate ruse my smarter self played on my waking self. That the delight in putting words ogether was always a plan to be a writer. Yet my smarter self knew that my waking self is a petulant ass who would rebel instantly and being told what to do, or what it should be. The swell of personal satisfaction that would come from woeing a woman with words, was just a remedial writing class my smarter self created. And the companionship was the reward for a word well written.

It continued in various ways, ways that wpould let me practice this craft, get better, stronger. And in a moment of inspiration, on the heels of news that would normally have shut me doown, I discovred that in order to cintrol anything I create, I would need to generate the source. If I wanted to control the way a movie would look, the way a television show would eveolve, the way a video game should be played, I would need to create it it myself.

With the wild eyed fervor of a newly appointed dictator, I saw that my future needed to be shaped by my own hands. That I wanted - no, that I demanded complete, all encomnpassing control of my work. And if anyone wanted my work, they'd agree to my terms, or kiss my ass. Respectfully.