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Boy Kill Boy Be Somebody
It is now over a year since Keeper first embarked on the mission which has since engulfed my every waking moment. In that amount of time I have hand-crafted nearing 800 different articles, some appraisal, some insightful and introspective, others poetry or works of dark fiction. I have ground my fingers to the bone that whole time and, do you know what, it’s been a pleasure. I have matured as a scribe, using every day’s experience to further my vocation. When I set out I did so with the very best of intentions and wanted to achieve my goal in the correct manner. This would involve staying true to my beliefs, calling reviews appraisals when I know full well that significantly lessens your chance to find that core audience. Even the name Rivers of Grue was entirely organic and entirely devoid of buzz words. If I was going to undertake this then I was damned sure I would be doing it the right way.
Historically, when folk delve into a website, they flitter in and out t will and spend less than a minute sitting in your company. This didn’t interest Keeper, Rivers of Grue was never intended to be silage. I wanted people to stay a while, kick off their shoes after a long day’s grind and afford themselves the opportunity of losing themselves in prose. No piece posted is ever meant to be read only once, the facets are multiple and different pieces designed to fit different mindsets. It’s honest, 100% of the time, no corners cut and balls on the block the whole way. It was either that or the highway. It’s also all about bells and whistles, I am steadily implementing the home cinema experience as much as humanly possible, embedding soundbytes and choosing visuals carefully each time. In addition, I have been known to include quotes and highlight certain key terms as a way of ejecting my words from the page. I’m a film lover and a visual creature, just like y’all. I also have a short attention span and therefore know of the pitfalls for souls such as mine when reading a piece of literature.
When I was at my lowest ebb, during the seasonal season of joy and goodwill, I purged onward, documenting my woe but with intention of always ultimately sending a positive message. I achieved this via breadcrumbs, diminutive morsels alone but formidable in packs, they are beacons of illumination weaved into each verse with intent to providing light through the darkness. Through this implementation it allowed me to enable others to go about their own passion with the belief that they can do so with integrity. I’ve never been a natural leader, too much of a people person to crack any whips, and I didn’t desire to do anything other than inspire and empower. Everyone’s journey is ultimately their own and they must assume the role of captain when it comes to their own destiny but empowerment is a potent tool if utilized correctly.
As the months passed, Rivers of Grue transmogrified into a living, breathing horror community. At first I was siked at the prospect of fashioning this enigma and I marched valiantly with sword unsheathed and ready to bathe in the blood of puritans. Then, around the time of the Pre-Christmas Crash of 2013, I was forced into realizing a rather painful truth. I was still reeling from three years on anti-depressants and coping with inner turmoil and wasn’t as strong as I had first believed. You see, for all the insightful prose in my quill, I haven’t the vaguest clue how to run my own life. I make error daily and make no bones about the fact that I am my own cross to bear. I’m wholly comfortable with that and my sometimes self-effacing style should attest to this. I’m not going to harp on about where my life is at as it doesn’t make for light-hearted reading and I never wish to be culpable for bringing another down.
There have been dramas, tears, tantrums and that can only ever be expected. What has saddened me most is that some have questioned my integrity through all this and the fact remains that I do all of this for love, nothing more, just love. I haven’t received one red cent for anything that I have done and currently I make a vagrant seem flush. Again, this is something which I am, maybe not comfortable with, but understanding of. I have belief in my ability and know that the tides are about to change but I’m fully prepared to roll up my sleeves every day regardless of how I am feeling and scribe work with the sole goal of forging a connection, sparking a fuse. When a new soul has arrived in the rivers, their enthusiasm is infectious. I love nothing more than to observe first-hand the site unfurling for a newcomer. This has been misconstrued as favoritism when really that is who I want to be; meet and greet. Light duties are all I can muster when my cerebellum is pounding 24/7/365 in the pursuit of reaching our goal.
Another misconception is that the goal I speak of is mine, mine, mine. That’s a negative, when Rivers of Grue undergoes its metamorphosis it is the souls within which will prosper. That has never been in question in my mind. However, while we’re in transit, I can barely wipe my own ass let alone be proficient puppeteer for an ever-swelling militia. Besides, I don’t have skirmish in mind for when we reach our utopia. I am on the cusp of commencing a screenplay and learning on the go through pieces of fiction such as Whorewolf and The Keeper, but still I share all that I scribe each day through the site like clockwork. Sometimes I can come across as distant but, in truth, it is mental exhaustion. It can be difficult to grasp how extracting pollen can have an effect on your ability to socially interact. I crave it like the next man but, should problems arise, I am often too spent to repent.
I have been culpable of writing reactionary pieces on only a couple of occasions and personally don’t care for the style. It’s for one clear reason, that being that nobody wants to hear me gripe. I wouldn’t want to hear me gripe and I’d muzzle myself before I could ever do so. What I do instead is to channel any bugbears into whatever I desire writing at the time, ordinarily fiction and use the tool-set at my disposal to write my frustration out of me. Some of my most jovial prose has come at my own expense as I teeter over my own personal abyss and this is because I loves me some black comedy. It’s how I process information and it works for me so I deem it unnecessary to make alteration. As long as my verse can bring a little joy, share a dash of happiness and tickle a few quimms en route then I’m a happy bunny bounding in a field of harvested carrots with four lucky rabbit’s feet and not a whiff of Myxomatosis.
I’ve enjoyed sharing myself with y’all, first and foremost. For twenty years I lived inside myself and Rivers of Grue and all you fine people reminded me that sharing is caring. Do I fuck up? Frequently. Am I misunderstood? Invariably. Do I care a jot? Of course I do. However I can only worry about what I can change right now and factors out of my control are just that. Another poser and I shall be making this my last: Am I selfish? I have had to be and continue to be with regards to keeping my own head above water. However if you stay the course and Rivers of Grue explodes as it will, then you will see the true kindness in my soul. I mean you no harm, I’m benign to my spine, just a guy with a few useful words and the drive to thrive. That’s something of a doozy to share. Thank you all for allowing me to do so.
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2014