The past twenty-four hours have been testing to extremities. I have battled to make a point which nobody appears to hear but me, Grueheads the exception of course. My blood family are a great bunch of folk and our closeness has always been our strength. It has kept us united through adversity on a number of occasions and allowed us to cope with my Father’s sickness through sheer solidarity. Problem has been, I’ve always felt a little on the outside looking in. I’m a different creature, not the black sheep, but neither am I of the same make-up. I have accepted that I have an extra depth of perception to what most possess. Got my Rowdy Piper shades, I see things not obvious to the naked eye. It’s why I scribe, to enlighten, if I can halt a loved one from having to endure what I have the past three years, then who am I to hold that in.
One thing that really ruffles my crimson feathers is when my sentence is cut short by “but I just wanna say…” It harks the dreaded pre-loaded response, the retort already in the vocal chamber regardless of whatever you say. It makes me shiver every time and, as a result, I feel as though I’m speaking via white noise. Why can’t anyone hear me? Am I not concise enough? No that’s not it; I only seek to help others in but, when I feel ready to do so, I feel betrayed by the lack of understanding shown.
I wind up repeating point after point as each pre-determined “but…” detracts from others hearing what I’ve said. It’s like verbal swing-ball Phantasm-style as, each time the ball returns, it cuts through my patience with its blade of ignorance. Ultimately voices are raised but I’m not drawing anyone into a slanging match, I remain clear and calm consistently. At that juncture it becomes a pointless exercise in who has the loudest voice. Yawn!
I have been taken roughly by stress, no lubrication, just relentless parched pounding to my defenses. It’s not hard to deduct, scribing has been my therapy. I don’t need another ‘professional’ climbing into my head-space, fuckers never take their shoes off, I know now what makes me despair. I’ll never desire doing any job to make ends meet from this point, done it all my life and I’m selling someone else’s tainted vision and losing sight of what makes me individual. I’m a scribe for chrissakes, not a store manager. Not a pawn in the Governments skewed idea of Youth Reform. I’ve been those things and have felt like a caged bird, wings clipped and under-nourished. What I really want, need, is to open my beautiful wings through prose, inspire, excite, unite.
Through not filtering what I write, I exhibit the courage in my conviction. Nothing shocks me, judgement on another is not mine to make. Instead I prefer to seek understanding, making me the best kind to confide in. In return, the people I hold dear outside of these Rivers, betray my trust by loading up their oral cannons, thinking my opinion on my own well-being is delusional. I know me best, have lived within myself for 39 years now. Anyone believing they know me better is the deluded one.
Credit with me with some intelligence, the ability to dance to my own drum for once in my fucking life! Believe in me as there a lot of lost souls right now that do and none of them are blood-related. That saddens my very soul, my folks accuse me of shutting them out when, time and time and time again, I’ve explained that my soul is there for all to learn. None of my family read my work, they are aware it’s how I have rebuilt my broken frame but they refuse to invest as they can’t seem to see the hidden meaning in what I scribe.
A few grisly images and some unclothed beauties and they think I’m running some illicit den of malignant iniquity here. Shame on you. This isn’t exploitation, I’m not Baron Samedi attempting to place voodoo on yo asses. I’m a gentleman, just so happens I have a gift. Being a life-long people person affords me the opportunity to use my prose with the intention of unifying.
Two nights ago I was greeted by the words, and I paraphrase “Just because you can use big words, doesn’t mean you’re a grown up”. I don’t name names, or wish to start a witch hunt but feel it relevant to explain my action not to unfollow, block or report this fellow scribe. Regardless of the fact he should’ve known better than to offer such unconstructive ill-informed critique, I let it slide because that’s his opinion and he’s entitled to own that shit, no matter how toxic. I choose my battles always and don’t react to anything fired my way. Had he continued to disrespect the Grue and my beloved sisters then the quill would be fed to overflowing in a second. Wisely, he realized his foolish actions and retreated back into the shadows.
I have nothing to prove to anyone now, my destiny is mine, mine, mine. It just so happens that there is a large battalion of gestating Grueheads with the exact level of freedom to operate. So I won’t be managing any stores thank you very much, I’ll push on with my dream. Organization is key, business plan is critical but not some jargon in a bound plastic wallet, although I shall be drawing one up regardless. I’ll find fellow investors, good honest people, I have contacts. Securing funding is something I’ve done in the past more than once and to the tune of five digits each time. Rivers of Grue is going strong, the true business plan is in my soul, through my prose and soaked in by all you wonderful creative people. On the flip-side of my business card reads Founder Crimson Quill & The Twisted Consortium. That’s all of us, talented passionate people who have invested our lives into making this take the shape it does now. Together our screams shall be heard.
The Rivers of Grue Team shall continue to take shape over the coming weeks, forming various sub-divisions of grue for which to continue giving y’all the voice to unite like-minded people and allow me to continue pushing this forward as the valid business model it is. Five year plan, six months ahead of schedule. Screenplays, merchandise, appearances at all large horror conventions, publishing house, independent distributor. All of those are achievable as long as you don’t believe others’ hype. Trust your gut, it’s got you this far, and shall take us so much farther.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill