After reading my latest short story, Mike said, “Wow, that’s pretty dark.” Yes, it is. He’s right, and I do have a very dark side. It’s shadowed my whole life, usually in the form of nightmares and catastrophic thinking. When the wind sets off our Ring camera my imagination can turn the weather into a home invasion, a blood-soaked crime scene or even a wrongful conviction if I’m having a low self-esteem day.
Of course, there are pills for that, and therapy and meditation and, and, and… But there is no pill for the demon that peeks around every horrific headline lately, the demon who whispers, “What if this is it? What if all your most unspeakable fears are coming true at last?”
As far as I know there is no cure for situational existential dread. For what it’s worth, I often find meditation to be the gateway to a downward spiral, but out of those have emerged some of the best story ideas. And I have found over the years that while there is no cure for it, that dread can be treated with a keyboard, a pen and a piece of paper, or even the back of a receipt. I don’t mind sitting with my demons for a while, by now we’re used to each other but, for my sanity’s sake, at some point they must be exorcised—trapped in the page.
“What if”, you say? What if indeed. The stories I write might make you chuckle, they might scare you to death, or they might just make you wonder what the fuck. But dark times need dark people to take notes. Art, of any kind, not only illuminates the awful, but uses that light to show us the way out. Creativity starves the despair that feeds on helplessness, so please, if you’re looking for a way to fight back…sing it, paint it, play it or write it down. Frightening as it is.
On any given day desert hikers risk basic irritants like dehydration, sunburn, and the occasional murderer. We also contend with plenty of things that bite, sting, and claw, which is great stuff for us writers to imagine but encountering them in real life is considerably less fun.
Even the fluffier, more benign creatures out here in the wild west are tough. The jackrabbits on the trails I frequent don’t scamper away when hikers approach. They can be huge, and they will stop what they’re doing to stare you down.
This observation prompted me to invent one that’s three-feet-tall with giant ears and rows of sharp teeth who hunts teenage girls. He’s evolved a bit over the years, and I love that character, but all jackrabbits still get the side eye from me.
With spring approaching I’m reminded of last year when Mike (my longsuffering, not so stoic partner) and I came across two rattlesnakes in as many weeks. The first one blended into the trail so well that I accidentally kicked him before I ever saw him. I don’t know if he struck at me when we first made contact, but I do recall screaming and jumping and doing all the things that an Arizona native knows better than to do. Perhaps both woman and snake were so startled by the incident that neither performed admirably under the circumstances.
If you’re wondering, AZ Game and Fish has a great five-minute video on the appropriate response to coming across a snake on the trail.
Mike is more concerned with what doesn’t scare me. As a creative individual, I’m also curious beyond reason and capable of convincing myself of absolutely anything, especially when I’m alone. He doesn’t love hiking, but apparently loves me enough to come along most of the time. As devoted as he is, he will occasionally decide that he’d rather mourn my loss than be dragged out to the desert at 5am; and, sometimes I just want to be alone.
One morning in January, I was about a mile into a solo outing when I heard some rustling in the bushes just off the trail. The sun was on its way up, but my headlamp couldn’t quite cut it, so I turned the flashlight on my phone and set off to investigate. In such a situation, I’m hoping for aliens or a portal to another dimension but, alas…
It occurred to me that we’d seen a javelina in that area a few days earlier and since they can be pretty aggressive, I prepared myself to stomp and clap if necessary to scare it away. Another thought occurred to me, and I suddenly could not remember—is one supposed to make lots of noise or play dead if attacked by a mountain lion?
Whatever it was started huffing and the rustling grew louder and then I fell backward screaming as a cow poked her head out of the bushes to see what sort of idiot was out that early in the morning.
The conversation later went as well as could be expected. Mike said, “You mean to tell me that, in the dark, armed only with your cell phone, you went in SEARCH of the noise?” He also explained they are expert stalkers and what one does when attacked by a mountain lion, is die. I Googled it later and confirmed that’s not always the case, but his point was well taken.
I was raised in the desert, back when our parents used to say, “go play,” and we spent our days running around flipping over rocks, looking for scorpions and spiders—which we always found. And, in all seriousness, my adventurous streak is tempered with a deep respect for the potential dangers.
I have a love of this terrain that I’ve joyfully immersed myself in, to the point where I even created a magical desert world where the characters in my books live out their continuing adventures. Though middle age has hit me with some unpleasant realities, I’ve also gained some incredible insights. I credit that, in part, to my time spent outdoors and along with my characters, I too plan on adventuring for as long as I possibly can.
