What lurks on your street?
Walk to your sidewalk or roadside. Take some time to look in both directions. It's the same quiet neighborhood you've known for years, isn't it? Same trees, same cars parked in the same driveways. Maybe your neighbors are your buddies. There's never a reason to challenge the notion that there's safety in this place. This is home. This is haven.
Or maybe you never dig deep enough.
Think about it. Analyze your own household. Is there only peace and tranquility? You know better. There are the goals and fears of individuals that collide, sometimes with major consequences. It doesn't matter whether you and the person you love have been together for a few months or many years. Children bear their own bundle of problems. Now magnify that hum of emotional activity by the number of houses on your block. Okay, maybe you live in the country and this scenario seems so unreal. Stop and think about what nocturnal predators lurk just outside your window. I once listened to the tortured screams of an animal under attack when I lived on a hill in Eugene, Oregon. I was only mildly surprised when a local newspaper columnist described a similar attack outside her home. You see, safety can be an illusion. Maybe that predator lives within you.
It's in that seam of the unsafe that I set my novels. I work with three separate story lines for full-length novels. One protagonist lives high on a bluff that overlooks an island and open water. "How sweet," you say. Not so nice. This protagonist faces continued threats because of his tormented history. Another protagonist lives in a small Connecticut town as he seeks to escape the madness of Manhattan. He can't escape the madness of his own street. A third protagonist lives in a condo that looks down on Denver's 16th Street Mall. It's nice and tidy, but it can't hide an inner hurricane that threatens to destroy everything he holds dear.
Death, suicide, a killer's mentality? Those hide just below the surface. So, just how safe is your street? How thin is that barrier that keeps you from plunging into darkness?
Walk to your sidewalk or roadside. Look in both directions. Think about what you can't see but you suspect is there. Feel that safety slip away? Good. Very good. Welcome to my world. Now, excuse me while I complicate the life of a man in Connecticut.
Or maybe you never dig deep enough.
Think about it. Analyze your own household. Is there only peace and tranquility? You know better. There are the goals and fears of individuals that collide, sometimes with major consequences. It doesn't matter whether you and the person you love have been together for a few months or many years. Children bear their own bundle of problems. Now magnify that hum of emotional activity by the number of houses on your block. Okay, maybe you live in the country and this scenario seems so unreal. Stop and think about what nocturnal predators lurk just outside your window. I once listened to the tortured screams of an animal under attack when I lived on a hill in Eugene, Oregon. I was only mildly surprised when a local newspaper columnist described a similar attack outside her home. You see, safety can be an illusion. Maybe that predator lives within you.
It's in that seam of the unsafe that I set my novels. I work with three separate story lines for full-length novels. One protagonist lives high on a bluff that overlooks an island and open water. "How sweet," you say. Not so nice. This protagonist faces continued threats because of his tormented history. Another protagonist lives in a small Connecticut town as he seeks to escape the madness of Manhattan. He can't escape the madness of his own street. A third protagonist lives in a condo that looks down on Denver's 16th Street Mall. It's nice and tidy, but it can't hide an inner hurricane that threatens to destroy everything he holds dear.
Death, suicide, a killer's mentality? Those hide just below the surface. So, just how safe is your street? How thin is that barrier that keeps you from plunging into darkness?
Walk to your sidewalk or roadside. Look in both directions. Think about what you can't see but you suspect is there. Feel that safety slip away? Good. Very good. Welcome to my world. Now, excuse me while I complicate the life of a man in Connecticut.
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