I’ve been thinking a lot about life and death this week. A very dear friend of mine is saying good-bye to her mother after a devastating stroke. The pain in my friend’s face as she is hugging her non-responsive mother for what may be the last time is exquisitely beautiful in a raw and primitive way. Anyway who reads my books knows that I write about death a lot. Wait For Me focused on reincarnation, Because of Dylan explored the death of an old friend, Lost and Found in Laurel Ridge zeroed in on the guilt and eventual acceptance of the death of a loved one. I’ve always found death and the way we deal with it a compelling topic. I suppose working around it for so many years has made me somewhat pragmatic, understanding that it is inevitable; it’s also incredibly unifying. We all will die despite our economic standing, how many books we’ve sold, or the credentials behind our names. Most of my patients who have been facing death are quite accepting towards the end. Whether it is because they are tired of being in pain or looking forward to the possibility of seeing those who have gone on before them, I’m not sure. I just know that the majority of my patients have expressed to me that they are ready to see what waits for them beyond this world. Where the difference comes is in the way those left behind handle the loss. Each time one of my friends loses a parent (I’m unfortunately at that age now) or even worse, a spouse or child, I’m riveted by their responses. It’s so unique and beautiful and awful….why are some people made stronger while others never recover? Why are some people angry while others are accepting? Why do some people want to talk about it while others are supremely uncomfortable with the topic? I don’t know the answer to any of my questions. I have no jewels of wisdom to pass along. Maybe that’s why I write so much about death. I doubt that I’ll ever figure it all out but there is comfort in the exploration.
Monthly Archives: June 2015
Scare me….please
“The 3 types of terror: The Gross-out: the sight of a severed head tumbling down a flight of stairs, it’s when the lights go out and something green and slimy splatters against your arm. The Horror: the unnatural, spiders the size of bears, the dead waking up and walking around, it’s when the lights go out and something with claws grabs you by the arm. And the last and worse one: Terror, when you come home and notice everything you own had been taken away and replaced by an exact substitute. It’s when the lights go out and you feel something behind you, you hear it, you feel its breath against your ear, but when you turn around, there’s nothing there…”–Stephen King
I was going through some children’s books yesterday, picking out some old favorites (The Very Hungry Caterpillar, the gold standard of children’s books) and discarding others. I have a real bias against children’s books that are too wordy. So much can be said in so few words. Of course, this is coming from the person whose first novel was over 400 pages. Anyway, I found this book that I had never read before. It was about a woman who finds a bone in a graveyard and takes it home. A ghost keeps demanding that she return it. Remember, this is a children’s book. My co-worker was hoping that the book ended with the lady and the ghost becoming friends, but alas, no such luck. The old woman returns the bone finally and the very angry ghost leaves. I LOVED IT!!! I would have been so ticked off if the ghost had wanted to befriend the lady. I do not know what perversion exists in me, but I love being scared. I love scary things. I love jumps in the night and, even more, I love teasing people just to scare them. For example, try conversing with someone and then slowly shift your eyes to right over their shoulder. Widen your eyes slightly, as if you’re not quite sure what you’re seeing. Inevitably, the person will say, “What? What is it?” Shake your head, frown worriedly, and say, “Nothing.” I get so much pleasure out of doing that. I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight when I placed my life-size doll outside of my brother’s room, raised her arm in greeting, knocked on the door, and ran. Hearing my brother’s screams was awesome. Tonight, I’m going to see a scary movie that I have had marked on my calendar for months. When I saw the trailer back in the winter, a lady in the movie theater jumped so violently that she spilled her 64 ounce drink. That is my kind of movie. Even though most of my books contain a bit (or a lot!) of the paranormal, I’ve never tried a scary book, until now. My newest work contains a very scary child. I’m having fun with it, but no promises on the scary-meter. I may be a perpetrator of scary pranks, I may run to every scary movie there is, but I don’t know how well I can write it. I will have fun trying, though. By the way, if any of you other indie writers sell a book in India (just sold my first) do not get overly excited when you see the commission total. The rupees to dollar exchange rate is less than impressive. However, welcome India!
Sandy Huth 