Friday, July 9, 2010

The End of an Era. The Breaking of a Heart.

I feel like a piece of me died today. Seriously. I clicked this link and read it.

To my horror, I learned of not only the end of the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans museum, but that Roy's beloved Trigger... is for sale. For money. Someone can slap down some cash and haul away Trigger. Put him in their garage. Hang bras and panties off him. String him with lights for Christmas. It makes me want to vomit. God only knows what's become of Trigger, Jr. who was also ..ahem.... mounted. (Yes, taxidermy is gross, I get that. Pipe down. I'm bearing my heart, here.)

I know that what Roy and his ilk represented was mostly about consumerism. Lunchboxes, tv shows, comic books, bedsheets, shower curtains. All these were churned out by the Hollywood machine - no different than the cheap toy you can get in your Happy Meal today when Michael Bay cranks out some fodder for the waiting sheep that we are, lining up to buy it. I know that the image of a cowboy in a shiny shirt that always kept his hat on while racing after the bad guy is nowhere near the real down and dirty cowboys of the old west who lived short brutal lives, or long, plodding, boring ones, tending cattle on the range far from towns or banks to rob. The singing cowboy was a nostalgic view, an emersion in things done the old way, when times were simpler. And of course, who doesn’t love to watch that 8 team stage coach go roaring around a curving mountain road, beset on all sides by outlaws and being chased by guys in white hats?

How did this happen? How did the museum of an American Legend go under? Yes. I used capitals for that. I believe it to be true. And in Branson! Missouri! The home of good ol’ country lovin’, church goin’, flannel wearin’ America. Is the West dying out? Is the love and the passion America had for its past, so much so that we invented imaginary cowboys, Indians and outlaws to worship long after the real ones had gotten jobs in the suburbs gone? Dying? Dead? Has the gloss and shine of the Mall of America cast its pall over the last shreds of the old west? The western novel is almost dead. There have been rumbles of a revival. But if the excellent novel The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford didn’t bring it back, I don’t know if it ever can. And now Roy Roger’s museum is gone and the items are being tossed out to the ravening crowds to bid on. It makes me kinda sick. There ought to be some sort of clause. When you buy a piece of American History...even if it is only a representation of the way America wants to remember its history, you should have to promise to maintain its dignity. Especially if it is a stuffed horse. Hasn’t Trigger suffered enough?

I can’t help but wonder what Roy would say.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

Inspired by Kara

Here's the post that got me to blog again. :)

Sorry the blog has gone all dusty and whatnot. To be honest, I was flailing there for a period of two weeks. I did not make 50K last month, for the first time since I have found my new writing philosophy (ie: no excuses, 2k a day, time's a wastin' philosophy born NaNoWriMo of 2009). But I've pushed the count up to 53,696 for the Unicorn Hunter. I'm on track to finish this month. I have yet to do any more subbing, something I really need to do! I've come this far....

Right now, I am writing a story with unicorns. I won't say its about unicorns, but they are there and an important part of the story. My first novel was heavy, heavy on the unicorns and the pegasusususes. I love them. I can't get enough of them. Same with castles and princesseseses (I enjoy the buttkicking variety) and elves and prophesy and the dark space under the trees where danger lurks, and the long trek across the countryside from danger into darker danger, the wisdom of old men, the apple-red cheek of a country girl, the sword of limitless power, the crone that foretells destiny, the castle that isn't what it appears to be, the warlord that has an epiphany, the girl that does what she shouldn't despite the danger to her reputation, the mage that risks burning themselves out to develop their power, the knight that fights for his lady, the king that sacrifices himself for his kingdom, the queen that risks the kingdom itself to vanquish evil.

I have yet to get enough of any of it. Some people had imaginary friends growing up. I had a cast of thousands. Guess it was only a precursor for my love of epic fantasy.