C.S. Daley's Blog, page 5

GOODBYE SIR TERRY PRATCHETT

I have a confession to make. When I read The Color of Magic the first time way back in the mid-1980’s, I didn’t like it. I bought it from the Science Fiction Book Club and read it in one day. I remember being mildly amused but the teenager me didn’t feel the need to read anymore books by Sir Pratchett for about 5 more years. Then I purchased Good Omens. Not because of Pratchett but because of Gaiman, whom I adored because of the Sandman comic book.

Good Omens is one of those seminal books for me. I have reread it more times than I can count. I don’t think I can ever remember reading a book that made me laugh more. At the time of its reading I was going through a rough spot in a relationship and it was the perfect antidote for my sadness. It forced me to give Pratchett one more try. I read Mort because it had Death in it. I followed that up with Guards! Guards! I was well and truly hooked at that point. I began devouring every book I could get my hands on.

I mean really hooked. I have statues. I have a replica of The Thieves Guild. I have Josh Kirby and Paul Kidby prints of his covers. Speaking of covers. I love the British versions of his covers and began to order them from London bookstores and having them shipped to me (I always picked ones he was signing at. I now have a very large collection of autographed books).

My favorite story about reading Sir Terry was a late night foray into The Truth. At some point Otto, the vampire photographer, gets into a fight with the flash from his camera and loses (I don’t want to give anything away so that was intentionally vague). This caused a rather loud laughing fit by me. It woke Sheri up. She gave me the look. I quieted down. The problem is Otto continued to have tragically funny moments. Each one better than the last. Each one causing me to laugh and waking up my long suffering wife. After the last wake up she began to have words with me. This only caused me to laugh more. I was out of control. I was also on the couch for the rest of the book.

When Sir Terry announced he was sick I began saving books. Not reading them right away. Stowing them away for a rainy day. I knew the end was near and I just couldn’t imagine a world without a new Terry Pratchett book. Now it is here. Even knowing it was coming has left me devastated. I will miss his wit and intelligence.

At some point I know I am going to go back and reread every one of those books. Working my way through the gift he has left us. Savoring every joke. Every sly commentary on the world around us. He is gone but he will never be forgotten. His words will resonate well past my own parting from this world. He was a giant. Rest in peace Sir Terry. The world is a lesser place without you.

The Blackhouse by Peter May

Finding a new author you enjoy reading is always worthy of a happy dance. Finding one whose stories are set in Scotland is justification for dropping to the ground and busting out my mad break dancing skills. Okay, the break dancing isn’t true but everything else is. For years Ian Rankin has sat proudly at the top of my favorite mystery writers’ list. Rankin’s Scotland is a place I could visit again and again.

Now, I am not going to get crazy here and say Peter May is right there with Rankin yet. One book does not make a long steady career of greatness but it was a damn good book. Set in the Isle of Lewis, this is the first book in the Lewis trilogy. The first half of the book is good. The second half of the book is incredible. As in, I know I should be sleeping because I have to work tomorrow but screw it I need to finish, incredible.

The story follows Fin Macleod back to his small hometown to investigate if a murder there is connected to one he is investigating in Edinburgh. The story weaves the current investigation with flashbacks of his troubled childhood. Both stories are powerful but the flashbacks really pack an emotional punch and give the story the momentum and power which will keep you reading well into the night.

Peter May knows how to write people. I believe Fin’s torment. Even more impressive is how May uses the setting to push the story forward. I cared about Fin. I wanted to know more about the Isle of Lewis. I am overjoyed there are two more books for me to read. For me this is a must buy for mystery readers who are fans of Ian Rankin or Tana French. Go pick it up and make sure you have cleared a day to read it. You are not going to want to stop.

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This book was an advance reading copy provided by Quercus Books (US)

I’m Back…..No One Is Safe

I am returning to my blog on a regular basis. I know this makes several of you shudder in fear. I also know this last statement is not true but I suffer from “legend in my own mind” syndrome. A common malady which has no cure. With that….I apologize in advance for the inevitable foul language, disagreeable posts, and all around ridiculousness. You do not have my permission to leave. The fact that you are reading this now shows an extreme lack of judgement and you should be punished. The punishment is reading me.

A little history. Several years ago I challenged myself to write a blog every day for a year. I did it for two. Some of the posts were great. Some of them were not. It was fun and it kept me writing. It also burned me out. Over the last year I have been itching to get back at it. I have found that I can’t survive on fiction writing alone. Honestly, I think my fiction writing has suffered because I have ignored this blog.

I won’t be posting every day. I am shooting for two to three times a week. The posts will be everything from book reviews to rants about Donald Trump’s hair. I am eclectic that way. I hope I can rebuild my readership to what it used to be. It was fun knowing people were reading. I am not concerned if I don’t.

I will also be writing on tumblr for anyone who is interested. That page will be exclusively about my life-long battle with food and weight. I don’t plan to post any of that over here. So, if this is something that you think you might want to read head here https://www.tumblr.com/blog/csdaley.

For the rest of you. Thanks for joining me. I hope I can keep you entertained. If I can’t, I am sure it is your fault.

BROKEN

I am a broken. I have always been broken. I can not remember one moment in my life where my brain has ever left me the fuck alone. It has been all out war. There were a few times early in my life where my brain almost finished me. Moments where it just felt like everything would be better if I could make the noise go away.

I don’t talk about it often. I have mentioned it in passing. Some of my friends know it is there. My wife is aware but I have never really opened up to anyone. It has always been so hard to explain. How do you quantify despair? How do you describe a darkness so heavy that it feels like it is crushing the oxygen right out of your body?

I consider myself a thinker. I love knowing things. There is nothing more exciting to me than doing research only to discover something new and unexpected which spins you off reading in another direction. I spend a lot of time in my head. I think about my life and decisions I have made. Where I was and where I am now. I feel like I am winning this war. It has been a very long time since I have thought about not being here. I often joke that I am handling my shit about 80% of the time.

Then Robin Williams killed himself. I grew up loving Robin Williams. He spoke to me like few other artists did. Some of his stand up was a window right inside me. I cried a lot that night. I sat there and watched his movies and cried. I knew I shouldn’t do it. That I should distance myself but I couldn’t stop. I could feel the darkness surrounding me but couldn’t do anything to stop myself from not making it worse.

I may be handling my shit 80% of the time but damn that 20% is still a complete fucker. This week school started and I could feel the depression start to lift. My students are like medicine. So are my cats and running and reading and writing. So are my friends and family.

I am broken. I can’t change it. I can only manage it. I wish it was otherwise but I have to be ever vigilant. I suspect that my 80% thing is complete and total bullshit. I have come a long way. I still have a long way to go. Luckily, I am stubborn and love a good challenge.

Why I Run

It’s pretty simple really. If I don’t I get bigger than the Stay Puff Marshmallow man. I love food and seem to come equipped in a body with no stop sign when I eat. I mean I can pack down some serious food. If I told you about some of the days I have had in my life I am fairly certain I can make a few of you sick.

So I run. I run a lot. Even that isn’t enough. I have to keep track of my calories consumed. Otherwise kids will soon be running in fear as I rumble down the road swallowing up small villages.

Since I have started running I have lost over 75 pounds. I have packed on a lot of muscle. My calves look like Popeye’s forearms. I have run a marathon and many half-marathons. I have turned into Golem collecting my precious medals (it’s true I love those shiny things). I am now training for the New York Marathon.

This is the right thing for me. Everyday I look in the mirror. I am not a vain person. I have no false aspirations to Brad Pitt status. I look in the mirror to see the fat me staring back. Right now, at this point in my life. I am not fat. This changes nothing, the fat me is always there lurking, waiting to offer some fried chicken.

The fat me has had it rough. As a kid. fat me was tortured ruthlessly. There were times in my life where my only friends were Star Wars action figures and books. Fat me was on blood pressure medicine. This is a frightening thing when you come from a family where many males have not made it into their 60′s. Fat me didn’t have much fun as a child and seems to be going out of his way to not have much fun as an adult.

So I run and I eat and I run and I count calories and I stay skinny. Because I want to live. Because I want to be able to bend over and tie my shoes. Because my wife for some strange reason wants me around. Because the zombie apocalypse requires fleet feet. Because I like shiny objects. My preciouses…..

Run Gingerbread Man, Run – New York Marathon Edition

I am not completely sure where I lost all semblance of sanity. It was sometime in the last year. A tiny little thought gave birth to a giant goal. A goal that has taken on a life of its own. It started with the basic thought that I wanted, no needed to get healthy. I couldn’t continue to yo-yo around with my weight. I knew I had it in me to be healthy but I couldn’t seem to make it stick. I would lose a bunch of weight and then start to gain it back. I shed 75 pounds. I never gained it all back but I did start climbing back towards it. I needed to find a way to stay on course.

It was then that I started running again. This time I decided to throw in some of my natural competitiveness and decided to work towards running. In college I ran 5Ks regularly. I made this my first goal. I accomplished it quickly. I then had a friend tell me she was running a half-marathon. I didn’t think this was a run I could ever make. 13.1 miles is a long way. My back is not great. So naturally I said yes and began working my way towards it. No one was more shocked than me when, not only did I finish it, I finished it in under 2 hours.

It was then that I got really crazy and decided to go for a marathon. I gave myself 4 months and signed up for the LA Marathon in March. Again, I shocked myself when I actually ran the damn 26.2 miles. I didn’t run it fast and the last 6 miles were hell but I did it. I knew I was going to do another if for no other reason than I wanted to do it better. Originally, I was going to run the Seattle Marathon in June. Then the Boston Marathon bombing happened and I knew right there I wanted to run the New York Marathon. People have asked me why not Boston. The simple reason is New York is next and I love New York.

I knew I would never qualify on time but I wanted to run this race bad. I was so angry at the Boston bombings. There was just an urge I knew would not be satisfied until I ran this race. Not being able to qualify on time meant I had only one option. Find a charity team that would have me. I began looking through the teams when my eyes settled on the Boston Children’s Hospital and the connection I felt was instant. I knew I wanted to represent them. They were a Boston charity that represented kids in need. It was a perfect fit. I applied immediately and then waited anxiously. After a short interview I was in and I couldn’t be more excited.

I get to run the New York Marathon and I get to help a great charity. I admit I was a little anxious when I signed up. I am responsible for the $3000 minimum I pledged to join the team. Anything I don’t raise I have to cover on my own. Sheri and I talked about it and decided we loved the charity and would just cover any amount I was short. It would be worth it.

So my insanity continues. I will now train over the next few months to run my second marathon. I will have run 6 half-marathons and one full by the time I run New York. I hope to be in the best shape of my life. I will be overjoyed to have raised money for the Boston Children’s Hospital.

My life will continue to go in directions that surprise me.

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If you can spare a few dollars to help the Boston Children’s Hospital (and help me hit my goal) then please click on the link. I will be eternally grateful.

Christopher Daley’s Boston Children’s Hospital New York Marathon pledge page

A Tale of Anger, Hate, Words, and Love

I don’t remember the exact moment I realized I didn’t fit in. It might have been when my third grade teacher flipped my desk in the middle of the class and ridiculed me. It might have been fourth grade as I sat silently at a table reading my comic books while the school bully mocked me and threatened to beat my ass. By the time I reached 8th grade I knew. It was ingrained in me. Etched into every pore of my body. A part of my DNA that I could not embrace. I wanted to fit in. I didn’t want to be teased by the “popular” kids. I didn’t want to bullied because I admitted to liking a girl who I apparently had no business liking.

I didn’t know how to handle being different, thinking different. I had no mentor to show me how to embrace my uniqueness. It wasn’t long before all that pain was turned into anger. Boiled over into hate. I hated everything, my parents, my world, my peers. There was nothing I hated more than myself. I hated my fear and my weakness. I hated not standing up for myself. I hated being a victim. I took my hatred out on the world. I became a dark and angry person. Always on the edge of violence. Waiting to explode on people. Waiting to hit and scream. Waiting to deliver pain. Waiting to receive it.

There were nights I would sit in my room and think about ending it all. Just silently letting go and releasing myself. I wanted it to end but I didn’t know how to make it happen. My rage and sadness consumed me. It burned me up inside. Swallowing everything I thought I could be. The one tether that held me together. The tiny little string was words. I consumed them ferociously. Everything I could get my hands on. I lived in the library. I imagined a world that was better than the one I lived in. The wordsmiths were like magicians. Weaving a spell. Giving me moments of relief. Moments of escape.

I began writing poetry. It wasn’t pretty. My poetry was like a cauldron of blackness. I poured my hate onto blank pages. I let go of wanting to fit in. I wrote to find myself. I wrote to let go of the hatred. It leaked out of every pore. I knew if I was ever going to find love I had to find away to love myself. There was no sudden epiphany here. I didn’t wake up one morning and understand what had turned me into this creature. I suffered through the death of my sister, my best friend, the father who abandoned me. I waded through the torrent and somehow found myself.

I want to hate the Tsarnaev brothers but my well has run dry. I have no more hate to give. I don’t pity them, I don’t forgive them, I don’t understand them. They are nothing to me. I want justice to be served. I want it to be served in our courts. I want their victims to be showered with love and kindness.

There was a time I was capable of violence. A time when my heart was black as coal. I hated like a champion but I did not let it beat me. It will not beat me now. I will shout love into the world. I will bring love into the world. I will write love into the world.

—-

Art by Peter Max

Transformation

The marathon is in the bag, done, finished, conquered, and survived. I went to Los Angeles this last weekend with a stomach full of trepidation and a head full of anxiety. I walked around all day Saturday actually wondering what have I had done. I in no way felt prepared for the adventure I had signed up for, and by adventure I mean insane attempt to run farther than I had ever made my body run before. It was quite simply the hardest thing I have ever done.

My doubts were not helped by the severe back pain I had had all week. I threw absolutely every trick in my bag at it in hopes of making the pain go away. I had a massage. I put medicine patches on it. I stretched. Took a few bubble baths (don’t judge me. I like bubble baths). By Saturday the pain had subsided enough that I thought I could do the marathon on Sunday.

Then Sunday came and I was shocked at how nervous I was. When I took off running I had no clue what the final result would be. I learned a very valuable lesson early. The LA Marathon is crowded. I could have taken one of the higher starting times based on my half-marathon results but I choose to start back in the pack. I like to pass people when I am running. I was afraid if I started with people who ran my pace I would burn myself out early. This worked in my half-marathon. It did not work here. There were so many people I don’t think I got into my regular running stride until mile seven.

This is not a good thing for me. I pay a lot of attention to my mechanics because of my back. I could tell I was running a little awkward with all the slow downs and speed ups as I tried to get around people. Next time, I start towards the front and rely on my GPS watch to set my pace.

I also learned that I am a very good half-marathon runner. When I hit mile 13.1 I felt relaxed and good (despite the awkward start). I do remember having the thought, “damn it! I am only half way there.” When I hit mile seventeen I still felt good but I began to realize that I might have overdone the hydration. I had been so worried about dehydrating that I forced myself to drink. I could feel the water slapping around in my stomach. Next time, I am going to drink when I am thirsty.

Mile nineteen came and I made my next mistake. I didn’t know the course as well as I should have. I thought I was done with hills. I felt good and decided to push a little harder. It showed in my mile time. I ran mile nineteen in nine minutes. Then I hit a hill and my legs started tightening up. When I pulled into the water station in mile twenty I slowed down to get a drink and I felt the muscle in my upper back thigh completely cramp up. It was an agonizingly bad cramp. I have never had a cramp here and didn’t have any clue how to get rid of it. Fearing I would be unable to finish the race I stopped, stretched, and massage it out.

The cramp went away and I started back on the course but the last six miles were agonizing. The leg felt like it was going to cramp back up the whole way. I slowed way down trying to control it. At this point I went from trying to nail a good time to making sure I completed my first marathon. When I crossed the finish line the first thought which entered my brain was, “I am never going to do this again.”

It was an interesting feeling walking around at the end. I was happy but not as happy as I thought I would be. Honestly, I was really annoyed at how slow I was over the last six miles. I couldn’t stop thinking about the course and all the mistakes I had made. In short, I was a little annoyed with myself. It wasn’t until two days later that it really hit me, I had run a marathon. 26.2 grueling miles of body torture. A feat most people will never accomplish. I got a little happier at this point.

It also didn’t take me very long to back off of my own words “never again.” I knew this wasn’t true. Hell, I knew it almost as soon as I thought it. This is why I spent so much time analyzing what I had done wrong. I wanted to run another one and I wanted to do it better. I signed up for the LA Marathon as a way of forcing myself to push farther than I thought my body would go. So I did it again. I signed up for the Seattle Marathon in June.

I know a few things are going to have to change though. I am going to have to transform myself. I need to get leaner and stronger. I need to make sure my core can handle the workload. It’s time to stop carrying any extra fat. I am going to have to make my body into something it has never been. A lean, mean, running machine. I will never be super fast at running a marathon. At this point I have one goal. Finish it in under four hours. I have a half-marathon time of 1:50, so I know it is possible but I am going to have to be a different person. Eat better, exercise better, stretch better. I like being competitive with myself. I am excited by this challenge. I have no idea where it will take me. Well, that isn’t true. It is eventually going to take me back to the LA Marathon next year. After that, who knows.

Marathon Man

Life has been interesting for me as of late. My writing has been ridiculously behind schedule. My editing for NerdSpan.com has been a lot of fun and at least gives me the opportunity to be a little creative. Then there is my running. I successfully ran a half-marathon in November and then got all crazy on myself. I signed up for the LA Marathon.

I really don’t know what I was thinking. 26.2 miles is a very long run. I was overcome with the desire to challenge myself. To try something I didn’t ever think I could do. Let’s face it here. I have bad knees and a bad back. Every time I run it is a balancing act of running, form, and pain awareness. I actually feel pretty good on most runs. Every so often my back or knees flare up. This is my biggest fear. What if they flare up during my run?

I did a 16 mile run last week to see what issues I would have on a longer run. The first 15 miles went relatively well but I hit a huge wall in mile 16. I could have probably gone four more but then I would have been done. I realized I wasn’t hydrating or fueling my body right during the run. I was also pretty sure my shoes were wrong. I immediately went into the shoe store and had them look at me. I apparently was running with a pronation on my inside foot. I am hoping this corrects my foot soreness.

I am now two weeks away from the marathon and I am a little scared. My brain goes through moments of total confidence and absolute terror. I know once I get running the terror will go away. The rest will be endurance. I ran 150 miles in February so I know I have the strength.

I can’t wait until it is over. The thought of crossing the finish line exhilarates me. It will be a great moment in my life. Then it will be onto the next challenge. Finishing my next book would be a good one.

Figuring It Out

I have spent a lot of time over the last few months trying to figure out which direction I want to head in my future. The truth is I have been a little depressed. I have had a hard time shaking it. I have not been blogging or writing very much.

I know enough about myself to understand I need to pull my head out. I made some plans and goals that didn’t quite work out the way I wanted them to. I got transferred to a new teaching postion a week before school started and while I rolled with it pretty good it gobsmacked my writing schedule. I love the new position but it has been a lot of work. I am creating everything as I go along.

As we head to the new year I decided it was time to really get my shit together and figure out which direction to take my writing and my life. The non-writing part was easy. I simply set a crazy goal and am now working towards it. I have decided I am going to run the LA Marathon in March. I have booked everything and paid all the non-refundable money. In other words, I went all in. My insanity knows no bounds.

As for writing. I need to finish the edit on Dragonroot and get it published. I have set April as my goal there. I also want to get my next book written by the end of this year. I am about half way through it so I think that is reasonable. I have also taken a new job. I am now the editor for the Bookworms (book reviews and book news) section of a new website NerdSpan.com. I have enjoyed my first few weeks on the job. Even more importantly is that keeps me writing and creative.

I am just not myself when I am not putting words to paper. I know this and yet sometimes I fall into these strange funks. I am hoping working at NerdSpan will keep my creative juices flowing. Force me not to go all turtle like and withdraw from my creative life. I am not going back to blogging everyday but I will be spending a lot more time here subjecting you to my world views. My way of punishing the world for failing at the Mayan Apocalypse and not making me a feudal lord.