Wednesday, 18 September 2013

The Quiet Man

I've got something to say...better to burn out, than fade away...

Anyway, got to thinking. Thinking about those influences that shape who we are, who we aspire to be.

I grew up on cowboy flicks. John Wayne and, later, Clint Eastwood. Big men, portraying a kind of dignified gunfighter. Maybe a little dirty around the edges, but doing it right when they could, against the odds. Sure, they were misogynists, or rumoured to be. I didn't know what a misogynist was back then. But they were faded, jaded heroes. They weren't perfect, but they tried, God damn it...they tried.

I grew up on knights. Knights of the Crusaders, Knights of the Roundtable. Rapists and murderers and thieves, probably. But fuck it, they gave it a pretty good shot.

I grew up on American Ninjas, and Bruce Lee. Bruce Lee tore off a man's balls with his bare hands.

I don't have an addendum to that.

But...hang on, I didn't grow up at all. I write fiction for a living, right? I believe in the fiction of heroes and men's men, I believe in the fiction of Druss and a man living by a code despite the world trying to tear him down.

Is that growing up? Is it a fantasy?

You know what I think? I want my children to live in that fantasy world, like I, and so many others do. I want them to strive, to aim for the unachievable, to live by a code and fight for those that cannot fight for themselves. Fighting's not all about fists and guns, either. We all fight the good fight in whatever way we're able.

If they aspire to be Druss or Aragorn, or Josey Whales, or The Quiet Man, I don't believe I'll be unhappy.

I think I'll be proud.

All the heroes aren't gone. They're here. I think, sometimes, we just let our eyes wander in the wrong direction, toward the man, the woman, who makes the most noise...

Watch them, sure. Watch them fall, then remember what it means to stand tall.

Ah, fuck it. I'm all misty eyed.

Love you. x