Stephen Metcalfe's Blog, page 3
January 16, 2024
Polling Shows
I was reading this morning that polling shows Donald Trump leading Joe Biden in five key elections states and I must say I was surprised. Yes, I lean politically left and feel that Biden has done a good shop since taking office, and yes, I deplore Donald Trump and feel he has been a horrible influence on American politics and culture, but…. I try to respect the fact that there are a lot of people who don’t agree with me. We live in an anguished time. People are afraid, anxious, uncertain, and distrustful not just of our government but of each other. It’s easy to blame “those in charge”, easy to feel that if there were different people calling the shots, things would be different and better. Different? Certainly. But better? I’m not so sure. I have no strong sense of what the people vying for the Republican candidacy would do if they were elected. What would their policies be, what changes would they look to make and why? Has politics always been more about cultural differences than vision and accomplishment? The Gavin Newsome/Ron De Santis debate was two men – or was it two states, California and Florida – hurling personal insults at one another. As was Nicki Halie versus “you’re so desperate” Ron DeSantis debate. I didn’t get a sense from either of them “this is what I’m about, this is what I believe in, and this is how I’d go about making it better if I was elected.” Big phrase there. Make it better. From what I understand Trump’s only answer to making things better is to push a greater anti-immigration agenda and to block Muslims and middle easterners from entering the United States. Oh, and he wants to be a day 1 dictator, to go after and root out the vermin in America, the utterly deplorable people who have had the unmitigated gall to criticize him, indict him and demand he be taken to justice.
As I’ve written before, I worry about the future of democracy. I fret about news headlines that have come to resemble over the top movie titles and insane video games. I worry about unprincipled, dogmatic politicians and the interest groups that finance them. I worry about the future of my children, the future of all our children. And my question is this. What are you going to do for them? The children. All the children. If you were asked this question at a news conference, how would you answer? Could you answer? What are you going to do for the future of the world? How are you going to make it better.
The polls and the politicians running for office don’t ask or answer that.
“Make a career of humanity. Commit yourself to the noble struggle for equal rights. You will make a better person of yourself, a greater nation of your country, and a finer world to live in.” Martin Luthor King
December 5, 2023
The Night Visitor
The annual Christmas play
It is 1981.
A cold, grey kitchen. A stove. A fridge. A stove with the oven door partly open to provide heat. A table. A single unlit Christmas candle on it.
Bing Crosby’s How Lovely is Christmas is playing on the old radio.
WAYNE and HORACE enter. WAYNE is white and late 50’s to mid 60’s. HORACE is a black man, 40’S. Wayne wears a moldy, stained bathrobe and old slippers. He is disheveled. Horace wears a too-thin over coat. He wears a neat shirt and button down sweater beneath.
Wayne turns off the radio as:
WAYNE
Well, sit down if you have to.
HORACE
I can stand, sir.
WAYNE
Suit yourself. I don’t care. I will.
He sits.
WAYNE
Don’t think I do this on a regular basis.
HORACE
I do appreciate it, sir.
WAYNE
Well, don’t. I’d do it for anybody. Even you.
(a moment)
You’re gonna be in my house and I offer you a chair, you sit.
Horace hesitates; then sits.
WAYNE
What the hell you doing out in weather like this anyway? Colored boy like you, you oughta be frozen to death.
(a beat)
Well? That was a question.
HORACE
No, sir, that was an insult.
WAYNE
You don’t like it, there’s the door.
Horace rises.
HORACE
Thank you for your hospitality, sir.
WAYNE
Now, hold on, hold on. I’m not gonna have you turned to an ice cycle on my conscience.
(a beat)
Tell you what, I’ll do my best not to call you a colored boy and if I do, you won’t take it personal.
Horace hesitates. He sits again.
WAYNE
And don’t call me, sir. My name’s Wayne McKee. You can call me Mister McKee. I don’t need to know who you are.
Silence.
wayne
Get up.
(rising)
I said, get up. Switch. This chair’s closer to the stove.
HORACE
No need.
WAYNE
I told you, this is my house. I say there’s a need, there’s a need, you don’t like it, you can go back out in the snow.
They switch.
HORACE
Thank you.
WAYNE
Don’t thank me. Told you, I’d do the same for anybody.
Then:
HORACE
I’m going home.
WAYNE
What?
HORACE
You ask me why I was out in the storm. I’m on my way home. For Christmas.
WAYNE
Hmmph. Where’s home?
HORACE
Newark.
WAYNE
New Jersey? That’s a eighty miles from here. You never heard of a bus or a train?
HorACE
Till the snow picked up, I’d hoped to save some money for Christmas presents, hitch some rides.
WAYNE
Hmmph. Didn’t have much luck, did ya.
HORACE
I did. All the way from Boston. Nice couple. They dropped me off about a mile from here. Then it began to snow harder.
WAYNE
White?
HORACE
Snow is white, yes, sir.
WAYNE
No. This couple, picked you up. Were they white?
HORACE
Yes, they were.
WAYNE
Wouldn’t catch me doin’ that, take my life in my hands.
HORACE
You are one mean-ass, bitter, old cracker, aren’tcha?
A MOMENT
WAYNE
You want coffee?
HORACE
Don’t go to any trouble.
WAYNE
It’s made. Just gotta heat it.
HORACE
Hot coffee’d be nice.
Wayne rises. Heats coffee on the stove.
WAYNE
Got family?
HORACE
Yes, I do.
WAYNE
Wife?
HORACE
I don’t think she’s tired of me yet.
WAYNE
Hmmph. Kids?
HORACE
A boy, three girls.
WAYNE
You got all these children, what are you doin’ in Boston?
HORACE
Lookin’ for a job.
WAYNE
Hmmph. No jobs for colored – (he catches himself) — no jobs in Newark?
HORACE
Not the kind of jobs I’m lookin’ for.
WAYNE
And what is the right kind of job for a smarty-pants like you?
HORACE
I’m a chef.
WAYNE
A cook?
HORACE
No. A chef.
WAYNE
Same thing.
horace
No, it’s not.
wayne
What’s the difference?
HORACE
The difference is the food you make.
WAYNE
What do you make?
HORACE
For Christmas dinner tomorrow, I’ll be cooking shrimp Etouffee, a roasted acorn squash salad, cranberry relish. Gratin Dauphinoise. Cochon de Lait.
WAYNE
What’s that?
HORACE
It’s Cajun style roast pig.
WAYNE
You got something against turkey?
HORACE
Not a thing. I do it with oyster cornbread stuffing.
Wayne
Dessert?
Horace
Chocolate éclairs are my specialty.
WAYNE
Yeah, well, I’m not one for fancy food.
HORACE
You would be if I cooked it, Mr. McKee.
WAYNE
Coffee’s hot. I don’t have milk.
He puts down two mugs. He sips.
HORACE
What is it you do, Mr. McKee?
WAYNE
Conductor. Metro North Railroad, thirty years. Retired in eight-one. Mandetory.
HORACE
You got family?
WAYNE
Course I got family. What do you think I am?
HORACE
Wife?
WAYNE
Dead.
HORACE
Children?
WAYNE
I got a daughter. She’s got her own life.
HORACE
You have friends?
WAYNE
You are one nosey son of a bitch.
HORACE
That may be, but I got a wife, children and friends and I got a warm, happy place to go for Christmas.
WAYNE
But you’re not there, are you?
HORACE
Just a matter of time. They’ll be waitin’ for me.
WAYNE
I think you should go back out in that blizzard and leave me alone.
A moment
HORACE
You want to come with me?
WAYNE
What are you talkin’ about?
HORACE
You want to come with me, Mr. McKee. To Newark? A man shouldn’t be alone, no food or company at Christmas.
WAYNE
Me in a room with a buncha little Picaninnies? You got your nerve.
HORACE
Mr. McKee, I guess you never got nothing but sticks and rocks in your shoes for Christmas.
WAYNE
You don’t like it, you can leave. Leave, goddamn you!
Horace rises, puts on his coat, starts to exit –
WAYNE
Don’t go.
(a moment)
I’ve been sitting here. All day long. Hardly able to move. Wondering. What did I do wrong. What happened and why is it like this? I can’t seem to figure it out.
HORACE
Can I tell you a story?
wayne
At this moment, you can do any damn thing you want.
horace
Once upon a time there was a lonely, old man. Christmas came this one year and he had no tree, no presents, no people. He just sat around in an old bathrobe being unhappy with the world. He had a daughter he could call but he didn’t want to because she hadn’t called him. He had a Christmas candle on his table, one his wife had bought a long time ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to light it.
Horace proceeds to search the kitchen for more matches as he talks.
HORACE
Well, that Christmas Eve day it began to snow early. Snow so heavy, it was like a weight. That old man was sittin’ there, when he heard a knock on the back door. When he opened it there was this black man standing there, cold, not dressed for the storm. He asked if he could come in, get warm. The old man didn’t like black people but he said yes. He tried to pretend it was an imposition but truth is, if someone hadn’t shown up at his back door, he just might of been getting ready to stick his head in an unlit gas oven. He had no idea that Zwarte Piet – Black Peter – Saint Nicholas’s right hand man – is out and about on Christmas Eve, searching for somebody needs a friend. Furthermore, this old man had no idea that the only way you get a visit from ol’ Black Pete is by inviting him in. And then when he tries to leave, you have to ask him to stay. You have to offer him some old fashioned hospitality. Like a cup of bad coffee.
He’s found some matches.
HORACE
Now I’m no Black Peter, Mr. McKee, and we both know you are not that stubborn, unhappy old man, but I do know that inviting somebody in, is one way of getting a Christmas candle lit.
Horace lights the candle. Silence.
WAYNE
I got a car.
HORACE
What’s that?
WAYNE
I got a car in the garage outside. I could drive you. Down to Newark.
HORACE
In this weather?
WAYNE
It’s got snow tires, it’ll make it.
HORACE
Only if you’ll stay and have Christmas dinner with us tomorrow.
wayne
You mean it?
horace
With the Pickaninnies.
Wayne gives a quick, hard nod. He holds out hand.
WAYNE
My name’s Wayne.
HORACE
My name’s Horace.
They shake.
WAYNE
Merry Christmas, Horace. I’ll change into something and get the keys.
Lights to black.
November 29, 2023
The Casual Age
Our is a casual age though it’s impossible to take casually. Sportswear has happened. It’s beyond the ruins.
I am, if you don’t know, paraphrasing the English writer, D.H. Lawrence, author of Lady Chatterley’s lover, who I doubt ever went out in anything but a coat and tie. He might these days. Casual has become the standard uniform of America. Jeans, shorts, T-shirts, sweatshirts, sneakers; they’re everywhere you look. It’s like a nondescript uniform; everyone dressing the same.
(I’m talking about men, of course. I wouldn’t be so bold or foolish as to talk about what women wear these days–though if I was forced to come up with a single word it might be “tight”. Is everyone on their way to yoga class? But back to the boys.)
It wasn’t always like this. Coming of age in the sixties and seventies, I remember the sudden popularity of bellbottom jeans, and loose-fitting tops. I also remember the “preppy” look – creased, cuffed slacks, collared shirts, and sports jackets that suggested you as being “somewhat” educated and hopefully on your way to some kind of professional success. I remember I enjoyed combining the two, jeans, collared shirt, and jacket of some kind. In my New York City days I supplemented this with, of all things, a pair of suede cowboy boots. Why, I’ll never know. Whatever the reason, it was like walking the cement sidewalks in ski boots. In New York, I also remember during the winter sporting a full length, herring bone, wool coat. Today it probably would be a polyester ski jacket.
Both boots and woolen coat, plus a lot of other things, hit the back of the closet when I moved west. I was a writer in the entertainment industry. Lawyers and agents and producers and accountants wore suits and ties, and quote-unquote talent wore pretty much whatever the hell they wanted. In fact, the more successful you were, the sloppier you were. My uniform for most of those years was still a pair of jeans, a button-down shirt – what my sweet daughter referred to as a “handsome shirt” – and a throw it over your shoulder sports jacket. As for shoes, I think most of them time I wore a pair of leather bucks. From what I see now, I’d be considered decidedly overdressed. I sense even the lawyers, CEOs and agents wear T-shirts to the office – that is, if they’re not working from home. I’m not sure when it all changed but it has. And it’s not just clothes.
They say clean shaven faces in America coincided with the introduction of the disposable safety razor in the early 1900’s. After that anyone with a beard was too lazy to shave or too poor to buy a razor. That changed in the sixties. Beards and moustaches became rock and roll cool again. As someone with a heavy beard, I had all sorts of facial hair at various times throughout my twenties and thirties. Never thought twice about it. But I never had anything that cascaded down my chest all the way to my sternum which is what I often see when I look around now. Who are these guys pretending to be? Henry the VIII? Leonardo Di Vinci? Grizzly Adams? I don’t feel as if I see faces anymore.
Why don’t we couple beards today with modern haircuts. I’ve had long hair. I’ve also had crew cuts on occasion. But I never buzzed the sides and back of my head and then pulled what was on top into a rooster comb. I mean, does anyone really need ten pounds of hair on top of their heads? Apparently a lot of guys do. I see it cascading, seemingly uncombed and unwashed, down around their shoulders. I see a lot of shaved skulls out there as well. This, of course, is why so many men today wear – the crown of casual – baseball caps!
Baseballs hats were designed in the early 1900’s, not for style, but rather to keep the sun out of a ball players’ eyes. It is now an accessory that is more common than underwear. Here in sunny, coastal So-Cal, baseball caps are as rampant as sardine roe on both men and woman alike. I don’t think they are ever taken off. They’re worn indoors and outdoors, into restaurants, to the john and probably to bed at night. Unlike underwear, they often convey a message above the brim. Does that guy on the street corner like assault rifles or tennis rackets? Read the hat – does it say Wilson or NRA? – it’ll tell you. And if he has it on backwards, which means he’s using the cap to keep his neck from getting red (no pun intended), read that casual monogramed T-shirt he’s wearing. That will tell you even more.
There was a time, when men wore plain, white T-shirts under shirts with collars and buttons, shirts that you tucked in. Today, T-shirts are the real shirts. And add words and letters, and you now have “a canvas that associates you with a specific movement or tribe.” T-shirts now tell other people what team you root for, where you’re from, what bar you go to and what beer you drink, what school (if any) you went to, what political party you vote for, what places you’ve visited and what stores you shop in.
But here’s the thing. At the end of the day, who really cares. Are you comfortable? Are you warm enough? Are you even thinking about what you wear? No, why waste the time. And there are still the “occasions”. My daughter recently got married. I pulled a 25-year-old black suit out of the closet. It was out of style, double breasted, pleated but it still had a sense of elegance and – surprise! – it still fit. Collared, white shirt, tie, black oxfords – things I hadn’t so much at looked at in years. Add a shave and a haircut and I was ready to go.
The entire event was incredible. The ceremony, the vows, the celebration that followed. Friends and family in attendance. They’d obviously gone to the back of their closets as well. There were suits, ties, jackets, dresses, heels. But we could have all been in shorts and T-shirts, wearing baseball caps, and the love would still have been in the air.
It ain’t about the wrapping paper, is it. It’s about what’s in the heart.
1974
November 17, 2023
Book Club
I had a zoom meeting with the WA Book club in Austin Texas this last week. The club’s president, RoseBetty Williams was generous enough to share her post meeting thoughts. I thought I’d share as well. My first impression? Who wrote this book?
At our WA Book Club meeting this past Wednesday, we had an extraordinary conversation with Stephen Metcalfe by zoom. He discussed his book ATTACHMENT PATTERNS and answered our questions. The discussion was enlightening, interesting and thought provoking. His honesty and lack of pretention were refreshing and captivating.
The book explores life’s challenges and tragedies through characters in COG group therapy who have PTSD and depression issues from war, car accidents, cancer, drugs, marital discord, abandonment, family relationships or the lack thereof, homosexuality, death and more.
To quote Kay B., “After reading a book like this, one feels normal”.
On page 75, Metcalfe writes, “Anxiety issues affected 40 million people in the US, that eight percent of all adults would develop post-traumatic stress disorder, that for every reported suicide there were 25 unsuccessful attempts and that over 200 billion dollars a year was spent on mental health, making it the costliest medical condition in the country…Who would have thought there could be so many different kinds of crazy. Who would have thought that so many people could have mental health problems and that they’d cost so much?”
There are so many one liners and paragraphs in the book that resonated with us. Here are just a few:
Pg 29 COG model of emotional regulation: thoughts inspire feelings, feelings lead to action and behaviors. When anxious, we avoid…when afraid, we fight or run, when we are sad, we isolate, and when we feel joy, we love.
Pg 48 Depressed people didn’t feel pleasure or happiness. They were irritable, aggressive, and they kept to themselves.
Pg 123 It can often be hard to draw the line between honest and hurtful.
Pg. 146 Art can survive anything but indifference.
Pg. 174 Focusing on the past and worrying about the future means you are missing out on the present. You’re missing out on honest to goodness life.
Pg. 188 Really, we should count our blessings while we can… Most of you have people who care about you. You have the time, no, the obligation, to love and to laugh.
Pg. 223 No fate is worse than a life without love.
Pg. 203 I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many depressed, stressed out people. We are all connected. When numbers of people are hurt, frightened and confused, we all are. It is more important than ever for human beings to be self-aware, attentive and generous in spirit with one another.
Stephen Metcalfe explained that we are all connected and those connections create and foster attachment patterns, therefore, the title of the book ATTACHMENT PATTERNS.
We highly recommend ATTACHMENT PATTERNS and give the book 5* out of 5*.
October 30, 2023
October 10, 2023
Pretty Good Words
It’s been about four months now since my novel, Attachment Patterns, was released by the publishers. Okay, four months and thirteen days, 23 – no, wait, 24 minutes and who knows how many seconds. But hey, who’s counting? How’s the book doing, how many copies have been sold in the last four months, you ask? I have no idea. None whatsoever. The reviews have been very positive; all four and five stars on Amazon and there have been a dozen book clubs that liked it enough to want to set up a “meet the author” zoom meeting. But is the book circulating among the general reading public? Is it out there? Somehow I doubt it.
The experience with my first two novels was pretty much the same. The Tragic Age and The Practical Navigator were released by a St. Martins’ Press, in 2015 and 2018 respectively. Both got excellent reviews – Tragic Age received a Kirkus starred review; no small shakes – and I sat back and waited to see what would happen. What happened was pretty much nothing. Both novels were read by friends and acquaintances – the email list – but beyond that, they pretty much sank to the bottom of the general public pond. Was I disappointed? Yes, I was. But in retrospect, not as much as you might expect. Unlike the opening of a play, where it all seems to happen at once – the audience reaction, the reviews, your reaction to the work on stage – the release of a novel seemed to happen over a period of time. The ride to the bottom of the pond was a slow descent. By the time I realized it wasn’t going to go the way I’d hoped – to the bestseller’s lists! – I was already on to other writing.
Am I disappointed with this current release? Yes, but again, not as much as you might expect. I’ve had to ask myself what I’m looking for when a book is published. Compliments and acclaim? “Look at me, look at me!” Maybe in the beginning of my writing career but none of that is all that important to me anymore. Invitations to come to speak about what you do at book fairs and writer’s conferences. These days, I think I could do that twice and then I’d be done with it. Money? Well, money never hurts. It’s always been nice to make a buck as a writer. I did that for twenty-five years, working in the movie biz – took every paying job that came my way because I had the sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t last forever. And it didn’t. But it set me up to work on the things I care about now. Oh, and speaking of movies, would it be nice to see my books made into films? Guess what. I’ve already written the screenplays.
But getting back to the point of all this, four months after publication I find what’s most important to me is the simple knowledge that there are people who have read and in some way been entertained, even transported, by what I do. Thankfully, I know that some people have. Simple as that.
Occasionally I’m even one of them.
It’s an interesting experience to have books on the shelf – your books, your shelf – that you haven’t looked at in a while. One day, out of nowhere, something compels you to pick up a copy and take a quick gander. You don’t recognize what you’re reading at first. It might as well have been written by someone else. You read, you turn the page, you skip ahead, you read some more. Not bad, you finally say to yourself. Not bad at all. Pretty good words.
I had that experience for the very first time with Attachment Patterns the other day. There was a copy in the back seat of my car, and I was waiting for my son and what the heck, I picked the book up, opened it to the middle and began to read. Much to my surprise, I liked it. I really liked it.
What else is there to say?
*
Side notes. My first full length play, Vikings, written when I was in my twenties, is going to be produced at the Austin Playhouse in 2024. What makes it truly special is that the role of the grandfather, Yens, is going to be played by my friend of over forty years, the actor, Dave Florek. A trip to Austin, Texas is definitely in order. And –
My second full length play, Strange Snow, is also being produced in 2024. In Japan of all places. How do you say “Opening day, opening day, look out trout, we’re on our way!” in Japanese? I have no idea. Maybe I’ll have to go find out.
Attachment Patterns is available on Amazon at:
September 22, 2023
Ai Words
Newsflash.
Amazon has now limited the number of books an author can self-publish on its Kindle website to three a day. Their concern is that some authors are using Ai services to generate manuscripts and then they’re posting them on Amazon to sell.
Well, thank goodness these “authors” and their Ai buddies are limited to three a day. I mean, it only takes the artificial intelligence in my feeble brain about a year and a half to generate a manuscript. How would I ever compete? Oh, but wait, it’s not about quantity, it’s about quality, right?
Oh, I’m the river and the moon
Oh, I’m honey in June
I’m like candy, so sweet
I’m like mulch on your feet.
Yes! That incredible poem was written in eight seconds – 8! – by an Ai. (Okay, by me – but you get the point.) It will take me at least a full day to figure out how to submit it to a paying poetry journal which of course I plan to do. Unless Ai can do it for me, in which case they can take over querying agents and publishers for me about the work that’s sitting unread on my desk. But no, even an Ai isn’t willing to be bored to death.
I mean seriously, people, is this what writing is coming to? We won’t talk about the money game. I’ve been fortunate in my career but to my mind, money and writing never completely went hand in hand. I was told more than once in my creative youth that “writers can’t make a living, but if they’re lucky, they can make a killing”. I was also told that “no one ever asked you to be a writer”. Rule 1 means that unless talent and fate turn you into Tom Stoppard or into J. K. Rowlings or Stephen King, you’re going to work at other things to keep going with your writing. Rule 2 means that when you’re down on your luck and wondering why you didn’t try to go to law school, you need to remind yourself that no one ever asked you to fucking do this.
So if the odds are against you, why do it to begin with? My answer is this. Writing – creative writing – isn’t just throwing words onto the page to see what sticks. Writing is losing yourself in the world and characters you create. When you’re working well, you can take a breath, dive in and then when you finally come up for air, hours have passed. It was like you were in a waking dream. Let there be light your brain said – and there was light. It ain’t always like that. A lot of the time, it’s one step forward two steps back. It’s research and doubt and questions and trying to see things through a perspective other than your own. It’s leaving your desk feeling as if you’re up against a stone wall and there’s nowhere to go. But when you’re on a roll, when your skis are blowing fine powder, well…. it’s a singular experience. You sure – okay, maybe – wouldn’t trade it for law school.
An Ai can’t experience that. And I suspect neither do the people who are now using an Ai for creative endeavors; the people who look at art in general, at writing, at acting, at composing, at painting, as merely ways to make that Stephen King killing. This is one of the things the WGA and SAG strike is about. Writers and actors are telling executives, producers, agents, studios, and streaming services that the future of film and television cannot be based on computer generated words and images. There have got to be artists – human beings – actively and predominantly involved.
Second newsflash. Besides limiting “authors” to a mere three books a day, Amazon has also made a point of saying all who use Ai to generate or enhance their work must state up front that they have done so. Why? Because they suspect that people who buy books will want to know if they’re reading something written by a machine or a fellow human traveler. It will influence their purchasing preferences accordingly.
In the end it all comes down to the paying audience, doesn’t it.
August 8, 2023
Sisyphus
My lovely wife is now walking dogs with me. We rise. We get the chip off the old block son and the beautiful daughter off to school which is like dragging burros out of a barn and now, because the wife feels that Juneau, the canine jet pack, and Mully, the canine garbage disposal, also deserve exercise, she’s decided to come with me when I walk the idiot doodles, Louie and Napoleon. Yes, at the moment, we have four dogs in the house. One more and by law, we have to declare ourselves a kennel.
My lovely wife considers dog walking together a date.
A date means I’m expected, not unreasonably, to engage in human interaction. And so, while my mind, as usual, careens around the video arcade that is my brain pan –
– do NFL players actually enjoy beating the crap out of one another? — why do we consistently spend more than I make? – why do I find my reflection in the screen of my Kindle so disconcerting as it boots up? – as an adult, why am I still getting skid marks in my underwear? — – why is that dog pushing a large rock across the field with its head? –
– my lovely wife chats and I pretend to listen. And because she’s smart and knows me well, every so often she’ll suddenly turn to me and say – you’re not paying attention, are you. Of course, I am, I’ll say. What did I just say, she’ll say. And because I have this weird ability to remember words but not their meaning – probably developed during college years when I’d cram for a test two hours before taking it and then to the fury of my roommates, pass it – I’ll recite not just the last thing she said but the last three things she said. She will still be suspicious. As mentioned, she knows me too well. She knows I have the ability to be present but not present at all.
Walking with her is a challenge in that I walk fast and she walks slow. I walk to get it over with, she walks to enjoy it. My lovely wife is consistently in the moment. I’m either brooding about my past or being anxious about my future.
On a walk, I yell at the idiot dogs to bring them to order. She coos at them. I find it annoying that they listen to her.
On a walk, I am oblivious to physical space. More than once I have almost hip-checked her into the bushes. You must have been a heck of an actor in college, she’ll say. I was never an actor, I’ll tell her, I was a star.
As a star, I find it annoying that my lovely wife expects me to clean the dog’s feet when we get home. She wants doggie feet hosed and towel dried. She doesn’t seem to realize that I have work to do, things to read, brilliant things to write. She’s proud of what I do but still, she often seems to feel that I procrastinate for a living. She doesn’t understand that when she comes into my office and the TV is on and I’m watching the tennis channel, I’m “filling my creative tank”. You must be running on empty, she’ll say.
As I said, she knows me too well.
But back to the dog pushing the rock across the field with its head. The dog is a bull mastiff named Daisy. She is 90 pounds of solid muscle. Her head is as big as a basketball. Her owner tells me that she is pushing this enormous rock around the field with her head because she likes to. Some dogs fetch, she pushes mini-boulders. She especially likes it when there’s a hill to push it up. That way when she gets to the top and – oh, joy! – it will tumble back down again. She can then push it up again. And so on.
In Greek mythology Sisyphus was a trickster punished by the gods to do the same thing – roll a boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down. He had to repeat this throughout eternity. Sisyphus, philosophers will tell you, is a metaphor for man’s existence. You push the rock and just when you think you have it where you want, it fools you and rolls back down again.
Such is life. Like Daisy, all you can do is use your head and try to enjoy it.
July 24, 2023
The THIRD(!!) Cover
Well, here it is. Yes. Cover #3 newly edited by the publishers for my novel Attachment Patterns. It should be noted that cover #1 was described in an otherwise positive review as “the worst book cover in the history of mankind”. The publishers took this to heart and immediately insisted on some changes — if I paid them $100. What the heck, we were in this together. Cover #2 was somewhat better (see essay – The New Cover) but still not great. I suggested again that the canvas had to have a sense of wear to it – of history – and sent them a photo of aged patio stone. I also felt the frame had to say something more – I sent photos of different frames – and for the third time suggested they create some breaks in the corners to suggest broken (attachment) patterns of human connection. I now think both canvas and frame look a bit better. When these changes see the public light of day who is to say. And really, if I may say so, who cares? Because it ain’t about the book’s cover, darlin’, is it. It’s about who’s reading the book and I’m not sure if anyone is and I’m still at a loss as to how to personally get the word out there other than: HEY! IF YOU BOUGHT IT AND YOU LIKE IT, PLEASE SAY SO! PLEASE TELL YOUR FRIENDS! PLEASE SHARE!
If anyone has other ideas I’m eager to hear them.
July 10, 2023
The New Cover
Is it an improvement? I think a little bit. I’d still like to see some breaks in the frame itself. It would suggest broken, not yet repaired, relationships. Thoughts welcome. By the way, the novel has gotten some good reviews on Amazon. I’ve posted some of the below. I’m grateful for them – thank you!
Reviewed in the United States 
on June 2, 2023
I just finished this book, and I feel the urge to write these random thoughts.
You know that scene. It has become a favorite milieu of film. The circle of folding chairs, the coffee station in the back, the odd assortment of participants, the pouring out of emotions. Hello, my name is So and So and I am …. Well what would it be like if you found yourself in one of those chairs? How would you react? Would you participate? Would you just fold your arms and smirk? Would you be empathetic to the group or planning your escape?
This is the story of a man in denial. After a panic attack that included suicidal thoughts, his shrink prescribed Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, but he knows that he is perfectly sane and doesn’t belong in a room full of misfits and malcontents. This is the story of that man’s journey, and if you read this book, perhaps your journey as well.
A story about one person’s experience and his thoughts and emotions associated with that experience is normally told in the third person. Such a story works best told in the third person. That is up until now. Stephen Metcalfe pulls off a bit of legerdemain and tells it in the third person —- and it works. It works beautifully, providing a respectful lightness to the subject.
This book is compelling, but not in the “I can’t put it down” way. You must put it down, many many times, to stop and think about what just transpired, how that relates to your world. This is a book to ponder, and perhaps to self-examine. I am not going to recap the story, and in so doing, rid you of experiencing this beautiful tale. I am urging all my friends and I urge you to buy this book
5.0 out of 5 stars You will go through your whole list of emotions.
Reviewed in the United States on May 23, 2023
I have read the majority of Mr Metcalf’s writing. This does not vary greatly from the majority of them. This is showing people at their rawest. Certainly very dystopian in nature. It is reminisent of his character development in what I believe is his best writing which was his play Strange Snow then with the adaptive screenplay/movie Jacknife. In my opinion a very underappreciated and it emmotionally placed you on a rollercoaster. Attachment Patterns started out slow for me but does the same for me . The main reason it was slow at the beginning is I did not like any of the characters espicaly Robert Boone.However as the story evolves I was drawn into their growth and development both good and bad.It drew me in and at the end I did shed tears that were both happy and sad.
5.0 out of 5 stars A funny book that makes you think.
Reviewed in the United States on June 11, 2023
Stephen Metcalfe gets people — at a deep level. He is very funny — yet beneath the humor lies pain and tears. Metcalfe shows that the path out of pain is through connections — attachments. People with early trauma develop insecure attachments. The way to a secure attachment pattern is through a connection with someone securely attached.
This book made my laugh so hard it brought tears to my eyes. And it made me weep with sadness. You will not be able to put this book down.
Reviewed in the United States on May 12, 2023
Definitely worth a read. A compelling story built on relatable characters. It will make you laugh, make you think and if you can put yourself in the characters’ shoes, it might make you a better person.
Without a wasted word, it pulls you through the story and allows you to feel of the power of when people actually start to change — sometimes for the better.
4.0 out of 5 stars Incredibly well writen. WORST cover known to man.
Reviewed in the United States on May 7, 2023
This book is all that it says it it — well-written, emotionally charged, and a really good read. According to his daughter, Isolde Boone (Holdie), the artist Robert Boone doesn’t believe he’s crazy. Although he was recently hospitalized after expressing a desire to die, he attributes this to pandemic-related exhaustion and considers himself calm, stoic, and self-possessed. However, the doctors have recommended that he participate in a three-week Cognitive Behavioral Therapy program. The story proceeds from there to create a captivating look into the mind of Robert Boon, the artist. Like I said, great read.
However, the cover is an absolute insult. My suggestion to the author would be to do your book a favor and give it a cover that it deserves.
5.0 out of 5 stars A bright complex view of human nature that’s enjoyable to read.
Reviewed in the United States on July 1, 2023
I know Metcalfe’s work as a playwright, director, screenwriter, and, more recently, novelist. In Attachment Patterns, his unique talent of putting words to the complexity of human nature starts tentatively as if testing for solid emotional territory, then picks up pace, reaches upward, and scintillates.
5.0 out of 5 stars This is our modern society and a must read.
Reviewed in the United States on June 23, 2023
The author is 100% successful in achieving his objectives in this novel. Through his impressive literary skills he helps readers understand how vital self-understanding is to quality of life and helps readers appreciate the acute mental health concerns in our society today. The characters he creates remind me that my neighbors, co-workers, family members and yes, health care professionals are among those who sometimes struggle to attach and maybe don’t we all to varying degrees. Perhaps the greatest gift from this writer underscores that it is neither the journey or the destination that is most important but rather with whom and how we attach to others along the way.
5.0 out of 5 stars Very enjoyable and insightful read
Reviewed in the United States on June 26, 2023
Well written story of a man and his battle and journey to deal with his demons and find himself. Such insightful descriptions of the process of human self-discovery, recovery, and the dynamics of interpersonal relations with others.
