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To be a romantic novel that never wants to end…
A lament to the death of my romantic youth. Why don’t I love Off Campus and To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before? I used to dream in romance, the reluctant frumpy maiden plucked from obscurity by a prince in disguise. I was Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping, desperate to be part of the world of the man she secretly admires, only to find love not with him though through him. I was the spirited heroine of Shania Twain’s, “no one needs to know’ secretly plotting my dream life with a tall, dark and handsome man. I was half the lyric to the tune; you and I collide. Elizabeth Bennett slowly realizing Mr. Darcy is her intended. The magic died somewhere at the intersection of middle age and reality. Not a delicate unraveling, but the veil of night revealing the ugliness of day, a reflection that shattered the looking glass of youth. No magic potion, no yarns of spells to spin. No true love’s kiss. Reality was a steel man, maladaptively ruthless in its hindrances. I still remember when thirty was old. The fields have grown over and thirty is the past, a wilderness of buried moments and missed opportunities. No Eli Merritt to marry or Devon Lecusken to ride off with. The ugly duckling never became the swan and the meet-cute never materialized on the street of serendipity. Love was a melody never composed, not even a bad note on my guitar to draw lovelorn tears. Hope became a headache, and dreams cardiac arrests. The stories became torture. It wasn’t that Cupid missed me. He just never showed up, not even to punish me for hubris, for daring to think I was the subject of love’s fancy. He was a racist zombie in the Kay & Peele sketch. For all was fair for fair maidens and not for thee; Lucy, a black star in a night sky. A maid whom there was none to praise and very few to love. And yet there is yearning, a strong desire that lingers between North and South. Look back. Look back, it pleads like John Thornton, appealing to my sensibility. Don’t look back in anger makes sense.
Comments
So I must confess. I am not happy with the title, 'The Civilization.'
The original title of the novel was "The Civilization of Light & Dark." For the life of me, I cannot recall how I chose the title. I do recall there being a previous title, 'The Land of the Gods.' It sounded too much like a 'real-world spiritual place,' and many such places in the real world used that title. I do believe it came from Ancient Egypt, what they called the land of Punt. Many times over, beta readers and editors suggested a change of title. I tried a few. "Dark Was the Night" was a working title for a while. It sounded too horror-coded. See similar problems with The Absence of Light and The Forsaken Lands. I ended up using "Civilization" as a working title. I expected my publisher to force me to change the title. They never did. Does 'The Civilization' make sense? It still sounded horror-coded. Granted there are horrors in the story, the title left much to be desired. What does the title mean? is a question I got a few times. It's hard to explain. What is civilization? A stable or organized society, distinguished by advanced architecture, systems, and practices. What am I trying to say with the title? The long-form works better, I would say. The Civilization of Light & Dark means only that a society is torn between light and dark forces, good and evil, survival and annihilation, and knowledge and wilderness. I continue to call the novel The Civilization of Light & Dark. All of My Yesterdays
Memories of things, We can only lose. Memories of people Always fuse Memories of light, Memories of night, Of days spent dreaming, Of nightmares dreaded, And bad paths treaded, And today We are alive. What does it mean? I think so I am. I feel because I breathe. My footprints in the sand Time tramples on, And I am forgotten. Stripped of the flesh, Bones from Atoms, Interred and forgotten, Laughter, Tears and farts, And sickness of heart Today In your eyes I am singing, dancing, Soon to be sleeping Where I dream False realities, Of a wishful mind, A tenant renting time, In debt to death Forever, A sobering word For the unknown, The nonexistent That drifts from me, Threatens Everything I am Folded, wrapped tight, Bits and bytes Saved and kept Photographs on mantelpieces, Trinkets and lottery bets, Captured motions, Of reflexes--smile, Moments beguile. Forever and always Today and tomorrow, And yesterdays |
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