Brian Kirk

I often wonder about the muse, and her secretive nature. Is she lazy? Is she chaste? What causes her to come and go without warning? At times bashful, a tease, hiding just on the edge of observation, skirting away when confronted like a skittish kitten. Other times brazen, slapping one awake in the middle of the night with a fully formed idea or meticulous piece of prose, demanding one to take action or suffer insomnia.

I consider the muse to be the keeper of ones most intrinsic talent. Be it a form of creative expression, intellectual acuity, or athletic ability. Regardless of its outlet, the muse graces its host only on occasion. Athletes call it The Zone, Intellectuals: Insight, Artists: Inspiration.

Whatever appearance she assumes, the muse makes her presence known in a moment of complete, transformative epiphany, then takes flight, demanding one to chase her down the rest of one’s life and figure out what she requires to visit more frequently.

And you know what she wants? All she wants is attention. She may be the most attention greedy entity in existence. I once thought that the more prolific the artist or more accomplished the athlete, the more promiscuous the muse, a little nymphomaniac, offering it up all hours of the day. Now I realize that this is not the case. The most prolific performers are almost always the most dedicated people in their field, giving more time to their craft than anyone else.

Did I say attention? No, that is wrong. In order for the muse to overcome her timidity, and interlace her fingers with yours like a lover, the muse requires sacrifice.

So, the question becomes: is she worth it?

I speak as though I’m an expert here. I am not. I am just now coming to this realization, beginning to see the first glimpse of a slightly more trusting, reliable muse learning to count on a more consistent level of affection.

Nor can I speak for everyone.

But, for me, there is nothing more thrilling than when she appears unexpectedly, transporting me to a place of such splendid fantasy that I cease to exist in the physical world. Awakening later (how much, who knows?), dazed, surprised not to find a string of drool dripping from my lower lip. Times when she arrives and cinches a saddle to unbridled ideas, driving them forward at a relentless gallop, long hair waving in the wind, contrails of road dust swirling in her wake.

And nothing is more dispiriting than when she abandons me, leaving me to contemplate trite ideas. Leaving me to slug heavy, cumbersome words through pools of sludge.

I cherish spending quality time with my muse. So, is a relationship with her worth less time spent surfing the web, checking the channels, bellied up to the bar?

What a silly question.

Yet, still.

Why, then, is it so hard to give her the attention she deserves?

I came across this fascinating (for me at least) documentary called, “What we still don’t know.” This video includes contemporary Cosmologists, Theoretical Physicists, and Mathematicians all speculating on the mysteries of life that science has yet to explain.

The big ones.

The juicy ones.

The one’s that make your head hurt, and when seriously contemplated, make you feel slightly uneasy, anxious even, as though being spied upon, late at night, through a large back window.

The two main issues addressed in this video are, 1) how the world was created, which is covered in this entry and, 2) where do we go from here, which I’ll address in a future one.

This video takes a purely scientific point of view – hard, pragmatic, skeptical scientists, for which supreme beings are blasphomy to their sensibilities. While some of these characters are a bit eccentric, there aren’t any of the loony extraterrestrial-worshiping misfits that normally counterbalance, in a negative way, these theoretical explorations. Yet, this video elicits more mind stimulating theories than anything I’ve ever observed on the SciFi Channel. This video should open the most rational eye, and force the most sensible person to think, “You know what, this world is freaking strange.”

So, how was the world created? The big question is this: was the world created specifically for us, or are we just a random by-product of molecular fusion? The narrator explains that the more recent advancements in theoretical research suggest that the world was created by some form of intelligent design. This hypothesis coming as a result of highly sophisticated computer programs that simulate the conditions of our planet’s existence in relation to it’s universe. Because scientists know what elements construct our planet matter and atmosphere, they plug these qualities into a computer, then start screwing around with it. Their purpose is to figure out what other combinations of elements would result in the hospitable conditions required to sustain human life. What they’ve learned is that Earth’s specifications, in relation to the universe, are so precise, so “fine-tuned,” as to eliminate the possibility of random coincidence. In order for us humans to exist, the world basically has to have been created exactly like it was. The slightest, most infinitesimally minor tweak and we don’t survive. The problem is that this fine-tuning, requires, well, a fine-tuner.

There are actually three current theories to address this quandary.

1) A divine being: God. The Scientists, in this video at least, are still searching for a more “scientific” explanation, so they don’t spend much time exploring this theory. Or the documentary Producers figure that this theory has been sufficiently explored through other outlets. They’re probably right.

2) Our universe is one of an infinite number of other universes, therefore there are an infinite number of cosmic conditions, so it’s simply a matter of percentages that one universe should support human life. This theory, however, requires the same leap of “faith” of traditional religions. We are incapable of observing any universe other than ours, therefore have zero proof that would suggest that there are others, or how many, or whether or not they are different in any meaningful way.

3) We are a simulation created by a species of supreme intelligence. This species would not just be more advanced than us, they would be so intellectually superior that we could not fathom their intelligence. In this scenario, we are essentially a series of characters in a hyper-advanced version of The Sims. Basically, we exist in a alien computer.

So, right now, those are the three basic areas being explored. Any one of those explanations is apt to make one scoff, or say something like, “Don’t insult my intelligence with this nonsense.” But this is what our most intelligent minds have come up with. Personally, I embrace the weirdness of our world. Think of the possibilities these scenarios allow for.

Heaven, Hell, the Rapture.

Infinite universes = Infinite number of different species, some fundamentally opposite from us. Some fundamentally the same except for one essential difference, such as an inability to hate, or to love.

Alien simulation suggests that they can manipulate the settings whenever they want, creating an entirely new basis of reality at any time.

And these are real, scientifically based ideas, not just something you’ll find in a piece of speculative fiction.

Face it, our world is weird.

It’s time we all start believing in strange.

January 11, 2010.

A date to remember. Why? Because today feels like the beginning of something. Today feels like the beginning.

Let’s take stock. Where do I stand at the first of this new year?

Well, I quit my job so I don’t have a steady income.

I don’t have a steady income, yet I am just a few months away from being a first time father of twins.

My pregnant wife (pregnant with TWINS!) is on strict bed rest, so I am a full time care taker (or is it care giver?)

I’m out of shape.

Oh, and the economy is a bleak breaker of spirit.

So, where does that leave me?

Happy. Happier than I’ve been in years. Filled with an inflating sense of hope, optimism, and determination.

I may not have a salary job, but I’m making a living doing what I love most: writing. What a blessing.

My wife and I struggled to conceive, and now we’re going to experience the special bond that only twins bring. Precious.

Bed rest is actually bringing my wife and I closer together. Preparing us. Teaching me patience and how to accept sacrifice. Making me become a better husband, and, hopefully, future father.

I’m out of shape? So what? I like to eat. But I’ve quit smoking, curbed my drinking, and am about to embark on a fitness program (P90x) which will get me back to where I need to be.

I can’t control the economy, but I can control my attitude towards it. And my attitude is this. Passionate people with drive, determination, and an unbreakable spirit will always rise above challenging times. People say I’m crazy for quitting my job right now, but I believe that this is the best time to pursue your dreams. The playing field is about as even as it’s going to get. This is the time when people play it safe, the perfect time for the people willing to take risks.

Look at my life on paper, and it may appear shaky, but I’ve never felt more in control, and prepared to apply myself, I mean truly give every particle of my being towards achieving my dreams, as I do today.

I hope you are all taking stock.

And I hope you feel the same way.

Today is a day to remember.

Skinny, pleading, reaching.

Towards me.

Naked and menacing.

Deformed. Coy, and indecent.

A hanger, these trees.

Creepy, scary? Sure. But Clive Barker is as legitimate an artist as anyone out there. Great, intimate interview with one of the genre’s true masters.

My motivations for writing are rather mundane. I enjoy telling stories and have a  desire to entertain others. Pretty simple.

That’s not to say that I don’t take storytelling seriously. For me it’s gravely serious. Something I agonize over. Every time I sit before an empty page I’m prepared to give my best. And my best is usually pretty good. Not yet great, maybe. But rock, solid good.

Which gets me to thinking about expectations. What’s the goal here? If you’re going to go for something. I mean really go for something, you go all in, don’t you? And, in the pursuit of art, that ultimate zenith is to create a timeless masterpiece. One that endures the ages, still as emotionally crushing a century after it was conceived.

There is nothing as simultaneously inspiring and dispiriting as a timeless piece of art. There is the initial beacon of hope that something this magnificent is possible, followed by the humbling, honest assessment of one’s own meager ability.

Still, if immortality is the ultimate goal of an artist, it warrants a study into what separates good from great. Temporary from timeless.

Let’s start with the base qualifications. Timeless, enduring pieces of art, and we’re talking about all forms here, from sculptures to songs, share one core similarity: they expand our emotional range. They make us feel something entirely new, or they provide clarity for an emotion that we were, beforehand, struggling to express or define. They awaken our senses in a way that make us feel more alive and connected to the people and ethereal world around us.

Secondly, they break the common conventions of their day, often to be imitated for decades or centuries to follow.

I write speculative fiction, mostly horror. There aren’t too many examples of timeless masterpieces in this genre. There are iconic themes and characters (Dracula, zombies, the Cthulhu Mythos, etc.) but few true pieces of timeless art. Poe comes to mind. I can safely say that his work will find its way into the next century. But who else? Lovecraft, maybe. I’d love to say that Stephen King will, but would be reluctant to put money on it. Bradbury? I don’t know, my mind is drawing blanks. I hope someone out there can offer some other hopefuls and examples of our genre’s true masterpieces.

But in the more mainstream areas, which tend to turn out the majority of these masterpieces, what is the secret? What separates Michelangelo’s David, from Gutzon Borglum’s Mt. Rushmore? One is a moving piece of everlasting art, the other is a well respected monument. Which would you rather see if given the opportunity?

Brilliant plays hit broadway every couple of years, yet which ones will be witnessed by the theater goers of the twenty-second century? I assure you Shakespeare will be there. And he deserves to be. His work is still awe inspiring, even compared to the contemporary masters of screenplay.

Don Quixote, a book that I admittedly adore, is essentially a slap stick comedy, yet it lives in print five hundred years after first being authored. Would it have the same notoriety if it were written today? Are there more deserving books (Confederacy of Dunces) that sit in obscurity, or is this simply an example of the immortal quality of ageless art?

The Beatles vs. The Beachboys. Why one over the other? Can’t deny the brilliance in both, but the next generation will still worship Lennon over Wilson.

Also, at what point can a piece of art be considered timeless? How much time has to elapse? Seems unfortunate for the contemporary critics, not to mention the creator, if they never get to appreciate the significance of what they’re experiencing.

I’d like to hear your thoughts on, or experiences when faced with, truly masterful, timeless art. What makes it such? What are some of your favorite examples?

Where did our work ethic come from? This unyielding need to stay busy, to always be productive, often to the detriment of our lifestyle.

At my old job, it was a badge of honor to leave the office late. People who left on time were ridiculed, “Whoa, leaving early. Must be nice!”

Honestly, I never got that. We weren’t getting paid overtime. Every hour after the companies established closing time reduced my pay rate. And isn’t that why we work? It seems like it’s gotten to where people need to commit self flagellation just to justify their job.

Not miserable? Well then perhaps your position is expendable.

This attitude appears to be deeply ingrained in the American mindset. I thought I was an exception, but I was wrong. Two weeks removed from the rat race and I still feel guilty about sitting idle for longer than ten minutes at a time. I aim to change that.

It’s ok to enjoy life. It really is. There was a time when enjoying life was my chief occupation. A time when I existed in a constant state of euphoric happiness, completely in sync with my surroundings, finding joy in the most simple exchanges and trite observations.

That changed when I took an office job. I changed. Slowly, imperceptibly; but unequivocally. I stopped enjoying the simple things. I noticed myself laughing less. Drinking more. Complaining too much.

It’s not the jobs fault. It was my fault, for buying into the system and neglecting my internal callings.

We’re supposed to work our fingers to the bone. Quit to pursue a life passion of writing? That’s just crazy.

In fact, at a farewell dinner with a couple of clients, that was the toast they offered, “Here’s to insanity!”

No, for me, staying would have been insane. We’re born with talents and an internal rhythm that we need to embrace in order to live in harmony. I have been boldly defying these things and have paid in happiness and an appreciation for life. While continuing my corporate career would ensure financial stability, the price is too steep. The sacrifice too great.

This isn’t a call for laziness. Not at all. I plan to work more in the coming years than I ever have in my life. I’ll have to if I have any hope of being able to sustain this lifestyle. But it’s work that allows me to live harmoniously with myself and surroundings. It’s my purpose. I can’t believe I have been neglecting it as long as I have, turning my back on my true self, all because it seemed to be what was expected.

There’s a familiar voice that’s recently reemerged in my daily ruminating. One I haven’t heard from in too long.

It’s time we got reacquainted.

I thought leaving work on my last day would be like Forest Gump busting free of his leg braces, racing off to embrace the possibilities of his new-found ability. Instead, I found myself numb. Underwhelmed. It was less like venturing out on an epic voyage as it was like leaving work with the sniffles, knowing that tomorrow would likely be a sick day.

I quit my job on Friday, October 30th, after nine years of climbing the corporate ladder at an Ad Agency. It was a great job, with great people, and good pay. Had I stayed, the pay would have soon become great as well. Part of me knew that I had to quit before it did.

I have a passion for telling stories. Dark, unsettling stories. I’m not sure why, as I’m a pretty cheerful guy. But the impulse to tell these stories has grown greater over the years until, now, it has become all-consuming. Causing me to quit my lucrative  job to pursue the hapless life of a horror writer.

Fortune and fame? Not hardly. I’m just hoping to avoid failure and shame.

But, I’ll tell you, now that the deed is done, the decision irrevocably made, I couldn’t be more elated. I spent the last several years setting unlikely milestones to reach before I could seriously consider this as a realistic option. The most important, of course, was to actually get some work published. Fortunately, each goal has been reached, every excuse slain.

During my last week of work, a friend offered this sage advice, “God won’t lead you to it, unless he’s willing to lead you through it.”

I don’t believe that this expression suggests that there is a divine path which has been neatly paved for me to follow. But I do believe that I’m being given an honest shot to pursue an improbable life passion. And I’ve decided not to pass it up.

The same friend also pointed out that my first official day as an aspiring horror author was on Halloween. Prophetic? I doubt it. It should make for a good story, though.

And that’s what this is all about.