My own ventures with publishing have always been about the quest for the greatest story ever told. I have openly acknowledged the subjective nature of this quest and was once much more adamant about documenting my own ventures with various books (outlined in a cute little narrative at with a naivety about said goal of reading one book per week for a year, which never actually happened).
But it became a conscious practice of reading and critiquing fiction stories in their respective timelines with a twist of modern perspective.
At the time, the convenience was more of having a reason to have a book on hand at all times (that also appeared worn) because I would always carry one with me wherever I went! In grocery store lines, at the doctor’s office waiting room, or wherever there was a little downtime, reading is what I did. In fact, I didn’t even have a fancy cell phone with a data plan to check said website… even though that was standard issue for most people at the time.
The book would fill in the downtime throughout the day. The review website was an afterthought meant to entertain myself and any random soul who was into that sort of thing—which it turns out, there were a few who followed (to my surprise)!
1, 2, 3… It’s Not that Easy.
I once attempted to take what I had gathered over the years (not just as a casual book reviewer, but an adamant reader of many-a-genre) and turn it into a story.
Hated it. Chapter six of my sci-fi fantasy killed it, or so that’s where I left it. The story was grand and extensive… it’s almost completely written in my head! And also almost impossible to regurgitate into something as artful as Joyce could have put into words, thus an absolute waste of time.
Will Americans… my own version of Dubliners… ever become a real life book? Is this real life? Realism? Should I put a copyright sign next to that shit and get on with it? I guess that’s why we’re here in the first place. ALSO—don’t steal my idea… you couldn’t write it anyway, BUT just in case.
AND what a TRiUMPhant time tis’ to write such a book and spin it as satire in the old Swiftian way.
I knew the “greats” had a great deal of perspective to come to their respective conclusions, whether it was brought about by age, experience, or schooling, they had something that made their writing great, which I knowingly lacked (not being a professional writer at the time! I would often hear things like, “Fitzgerald was a journalist,” and the thought of having “clients” scared the shit out of me!).
Eureka! There I said it.
A turning point arose upon realizing nonfiction is “easy.” It’s not like that fiction shit where you have to make something up and confuse the audience, until they feel the emotion you wish to incite and drop to their knees in tears at the sight of text on the page. In fact, it’s what most people are forced to do to pass college classes, therefore have proven their efficiency in such a realm of writing by default.
But where it becomes an art… the art of nonfiction (just to be punny)… is in writing the book that you want to read yourself. For me, it was none other than a non-horoscopic tale of astrology. Nothing to do with horoscopes, zodiac personalities, and divination, and everything to do with the historical origin, the philosophical explanation, and the true physiological and psychological natures of such ideas—do the stars and planets have an effect on the human body, animals, and plants? The answer’s more than you think! Read the book. Or don’t find out why potatoes know what time is true noon better than you do. Your choice.
It may not seem outright apparent with its current name (Cosmic Astrology: The Book of Answers), but in adding another book to the series on the subject of alchemy, I have always hoped to clarify the “gist” of what I’m going for with these books. Pretty much, it’s a complete guide to the universe in four parts—the “ancient mysteries”, starting with Astrology (as an explanation of cosmos), then Alchemy (as an overview of the Emerald Tablet, or wo/man’s place within the laws of nature), then onto the more subtle aspects of mankind in Theosophy, then blah, blah, blah, et cetera, et cetera.
Who even knows what alchemy is or can explain it in simple terms?
No one. Not even Jung. Hence, the reasoning for said book.
The Universe… What a Concept
The greatest story ever told is not going to be found in a nonfiction series about the universe (in four parts). But my own version may dwell in the shadows of the darkest recesses of my own unconscious—or so the alchemist would say that’s where the immortal story lies. The Philosopher’s Stone is the ticket to one’s own immortal tale. It’s ironic to think countless stories have been written on the subject of immortality without the ability to acknowledge the immortal quality of stories themselves—having been a “thing/story” manifested by a person that long outlasted their own thought processes or lifespan or physical body (how spooky is this witchery?).
Isn’t this the true definition of alchemy? Sure, but it still stops short of those subtler laws of nature that may seem supernatural to some, but could be classified as “vibes” for the New Age crowds… that is, if you resonate with that sort of phrasing. And so it’s missing the metaphysical aspects of the “soul” of the book. It must be immortal, because it has a soul. It lives on as it’s own thing, after death.
That soul brought to life in each story is what any great writer wishes to replicate—and what gives this story a soul? It is its purpose that transcends time and has touched, and captivated, and changed lives across time and space, all the same. The greatest story ever told has an immortal soul and becomes the writer’s magnum opus.
Couldn’t remember the greatest story in the world—this is just a tribute.
CC: Luiz Cristofer Almeida, Drew Coffman, lizrosema, Art Gallery ErgsArt – by ErgSap, Chris Waits
