Letters From the Labyrinth 374

Filling the Days While Waiting For Your Turn

I have two offices now. The first is at my home. It’s a large room lined with bookshelves running floor to ceiling. Those shelves are filled with copies of my work — three copies of every edition of every book, comic, magazine, anthology, etc. I’ve ever published or been published in. The walls are covered with original artwork from my book covers, framed photographs, posters from film adaptations of my work, and more. There’s also two shelves full of literary awards. The desk in that office is J.F. Gonzalez’s desk — a ridiculously huge piece of furniture that Mike Lombardo and I nearly killed ourselves moving.

When we were finished, we discovered that the desk comes apart.

The second office is a small space at Vortex Books & Comics, back behind the coffee bar and tucked away in a corner of our shipping and receiving department. My desk there is a card table, which feels like sort of a full circle thing. When I first started writing seriously, it was at a card table set up in the utility closet of the trailer my first wife and I lived in (a trailer and lifestyle which I drew heavily on for TERMINAL). I wrote four novels and a dozen short stories at that card table, banging them out on a Brother WP4000 word processor. None of the novels were ever published, but they were good practice. Of the stories, “Down Under”, “Backstabber”, and “Two-Headed Alien Love Child” were eventually published. Usually, I wrote to music, if only to drown out the sound of the hot water heater which was right next to me.

I used to feel very far away from that time in my life, but lately, time seems to mix and swirl together for me, and things that happened 50 years ago happened yesterday, and things that happened today just didn’t happen at all.

In this office-away-from-my-home-office at Vortex, I don’t have a noisy water heater to contend with. But the walls are very thin, and there is a tiny, one-room efficiency apartment on the other side of the wall. An old man lives there, alone. All I know about him is that his name is Tom and he’s on oxygen. I know this because his oxygen was mistakenly delivered to my store, and i took it over to him.

As near as I can tell, Tom spends his days watching television. Everything he watches most likely has a nostalgic value for him. It’s all shows of what I presume must be his youth — Gunsmoke, Bonanza, old Looney Tunes and Little Rascals episodes, I Love Lucy, The Honeymooners, and old game shows. I’m guessing he’s using Pluto or Tubi?

I often sit here and wonder about Tom, over there on the other side of the wall, filling the hours of his remaining days and waiting to die. I wonder about what his life was like, and what the path was that led him here to this place, living utterly alone in a one room apartment no bigger than my kitchen, watching old television shows that must bring him some small sense of comfort. The thing I wonder about most is why he’s alone. Did he ever know love? Was he married? Did he have friends?

Are they all gone now? Is he all that’s left? Did everyone else get their turn, and was he consigned to bid them farewell one-by-one, and if so, what the hell did that do to his emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being?

Tonight (Sunday), as you read this, Mary and I will head down to Washington D.C. and meet up with Yvonne Navarro, Linda Addison, John Urbancik, Michael T. Huyck Jr., Drew Williams, and many other writer friends. Then, Monday morning, we’ll all assemble at Arlington National Cemetery and see Weston Ochse off. Later this month, folks will do the same for Jim Moore. We won’t be able to make that remembrance because friends are dropping fast enough now that we would be off every week if we attended each and every memorial service and funeral.

It occurred to me this morning, as I was polishing the glass of Jesus and Dave’s memorial, that the vast majority of the people I’m closest to have already caught their turn. Sure, there are still some people left here, on this level, whom I count as being close to. My wife. My kids and family. About a dozen and a half writers and Navy buddies. But there are far more on the other side than there are here. My inner circle of close, dear friends dwindles, and each time that happens, it leaves me with more acquaintances, strangers, and people who want to be my friend simply because of who I am.

And suddenly… I understand Tom from next door. I am filled with a great and terrible apathy, and I have the urge to stay here, in my tiny little second office, and read books that I once enjoyed, and watch television shows that have always provided an escape, and wait for my turn.

But that’s no way to run a railroad, or a bookstore, or a writing career, and it’s certainly not conducive to being a good father or husband. And so, I shoulder on, faking the grin and the charm when I don’t have it in me to offer them genuinely, and I wait for my turn with acceptance and expectation.

Good morning. I’m Brian Keene and this is Letters From The Labyrinth, a weekly newsletter for fans, friends, and family.

Here’s that guy who wrote at a card table in a trailer.

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Scares That Care’s AuthorCon III is next weekend. Come join 1,000 of your fellow fans and favorite authors. Tickets, hotel info, and schedule can be found here.

I’ll be heading straight there after Weston’s funeral. I had to be there Wednesday anyway, to start prep, so I’m using the extra day to sit in my hotel room and write.

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If you’re local, a reminder that Sarah Langan, Cynthia Pelayo, and Todd Keisling are signing at the store today. You can find the details here.

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Work this past week was focused on FALLING ANGELS: THE LABYRINTH Book 4, AFTER WORD, MONSTERS OF SAIPAN, and several commissioned Lost Level stories. I also boxed up books for Gemma Amor, Bryan Smith, and Eric LaRocca to haul to AuthorCon III, as well as items for the silent auction. And I worked on my speech for the second annual Wilburn-Thomas Award.

I can’t remember if I mentioned it here a while back or not, but I’ve been having some cognitive issues, so I find that To-Do Lists help a lot in that regard. My To-Do Lists for the past few weeks and the weeks ahead look like the ramblings of a madman, however. Things like “CINA AIRPORT JOHN” and “VEGAN” and “DAKOTA 2ND” and “BOURBON L&G” and “FRANKIE LZ”. Anybody looking at them would be like, “What?” But it’s simple, really. here’s the key:

“CINA AIRPORT JOHN” = Have John Urbancik pick up Cynthia Pelayo at the airport for her signing here today.

“VEGAN” = We’re taking Sarah, Cynthia, Todd, and his wife out to dinner after today’s signing. I need to remember to find a place with vegan options for one of them.

“DAKOTA 2nd” = Dakota Lawrence’s Friday night show at AuthorCon III sold out, so I need to add a second show Saturday night.

“BOURBON L&G” = I need to remember to take this bottle of Bookers for Laurel Hightower and Gemma Amor to AuthorCon III.

“FRANKIE LZ” = I need to refamiliarize myself with my notes on Frankie’s time in THE LAST ZOMBIE before I proceed with writing the next chapter of FALLING ANGELS: THE LABYRINTH Book 4.

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Currently Watching: Curb Your Enthusiasm (Max), Survivor season 46 (Paramount+), and rewatching Boardwalk Empire (Max).

Currently Reading: The Devil Thinks I’m Pretty by Charlene Elsby, and The Angel of Indian Lake by Stephen Graham Jones.

Currently Listening: Brian Keene Radio

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Friday night, my 16-year old and I attended his high school musical’s production of Little Shop of Horrors. We had a great time. It’s been too long since he and I had an evening to hang out together, just the two of us, and I’ve missed it. I know that it’s natural and necessary. he’s not a little boy anymore, and he needs his independence. But selfishly, I enjoy that time.

The kids did a great job and put on a wonderful show. As a former high school theater kid (3 musicals, 3 plays, several assembly skits, and President of Drama Club), it did my heart and brain good.

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I don’t do social media at all anymore (other than for promotion). This newsletter and my Patreon my primary outlets for any real communication of substance. I Blog each morning on Patreon — just a few brief paragraphs that serve as a mini-version of this newsletter. You don’t need to be a paid Patreon subscriber to read them. They are accessible to everyone who subscribes to my Patreon, paid or not.

Thanks, as always, for reading. I’ll see you every morning this week on Patreon, and see you back here again next Sunday.

— Brian Keene