As our nation commemorates the 150th anniversary of the Civil War, I find myself wondering why this same nation has yet to fully accept what that event entailed, and what it ended. I’m sure there are many historians who will write an article just like this, but this one is from my own perspective. I grew up in the Confederacy’s capitol state, I have studied and read about this conflict for the past twenty-five years, and only with age have I really understood it. I have come to terms with the Civil War—and I hope many others will before it’s too late.

First was coming to terms with my own past. When I was a ten-year old boy, I was fascinated with the Confederate States of America—for the wrong reasons. I knew no African Americans personally, nor had I been exposed to diversity at that point, and thus elements of racism and the Lost Cause dominated my thoughts into my early teens. I really believed my ancestors had fought and died for something more noble than slavery. Confederate flags adorned my room, and I loathed black people. It wasn’t until I saw the film Schindler’s List at the age of sixteen that I understood what racism could lead to. But even afterward I still had the nonsensical belief that the Civil War was fought in defense of state’s rights. Eventually, that myth also died in my mind.

Oh, I still read books on the subject; I still tear up when Chamberlain leads the bayonet charge down the slopes of Little Round Top in the 1993 film Gettysburg. I visit Civil War sites and reenactments in my area. And like anyone who has never seen real combat (and is thus ignorant of its horrors) I still armchair-general the great engagements like Gettysburg, Antietam, or Chickamauga with countless ‘what if?’ scenarios.

But something had changed inside me. Like all wars, the Lost Cause became the Greedy Fool’s Cause.

By now readers of this article will assume that I think the South was in the wrong, or that all Southerners were (are?) a bunch of racist rednecks who thought the sun rose and set in Robert E. Lee’s pants. I do believe the former, but not the latter. Both sides were racist; neither really wanted blacks to be freed and share equal rights, save for the Abolitionists. Even Abraham Lincoln is on record for saying that blacks weren’t the equals of whites. That isn’t the point of this article. We know all this already—or do we?

In the South, there exists a great denial about the Civil War. This doesn’t exist in other parts of the country. Most Southerners will vehemently argue that the war was fought for freedom— a second American Revolution—and that Northern aggression brought on the calamity that claimed the lives of 600,000 Americans. There is the lionizing of early Southern victories like First Bull Run, the Seven Days’ Battles, and Chancellorsville; that Confederate armies were thus better. Better led in the beginning, perhaps. But some take it too far; a right-wing politician even claimed the Army of Northern Virginia was the greatest fighting force in history. Obviously the guy had never heard of Alexander’s Companion Cavalry, Hannibal’s Iberians, or the Mongols. 

And as for aggression—the South fired the first shot at Fort Sumter. The South swore to secede if Lincoln was elected—and it did. This was because they opposed Lincoln’s policy of not spreading slavery into new western states. In short, the South wasn’t interested in peace or negotiation. It wasn’t interested in letting go of its labor force, or the possibility of spreading their lucrative slavery economy into the young western territories.

It always comes back to this issue, no matter how one looks at it. Northern jealousy of the Southern cotton economy, or Lincoln acting the tyrant in forcefully keeping the Union intact, or Federal armies invading Southern states—these are nonsense arguments and I will debate them in depth with anyone. They are excuses for keeping people of a different color as property.

I’m not degrading the men who fought for what they believed in. Confederate generals such as Lee, Jackson, and Longstreet served the South as an act of solidarity with their homes and families, not out of loyalty to the slave trade. There is much to be said for the valor shown by both sides in this great tragedy—for that is what the Civil War really was. A tragedy that is perpetuated in people’s ignorance of its causes and effects. But I certainly will degrade the cause the South fought for. That cause was slavery. 
 
The poorer classes who fought for the Confederacy never knew they were dying so that rich white men could keep their slaves, the source of their economic power. Like all wars, those young men believed the propaganda that they were fighting for independence, or to defend a way of life. And just what way of life was that? All Southern traditions that existed before the Civil War continued after the conflict ended. That is, save one: slavery and its attendant plantation culture. Therein lies the denial. 
 
The modern-day, twisted show of pride in the South regarding the Confederacy is sad. A tragedy in itself, like a rippling echo of the war’s tragedy. Am I saying we should forget the past? Of course not; that is the purpose of this article, to not ignore what has come before. But flying the Confederate Stars and Bars outside of historical sites is shameful. I see no problem with that flag having a presence on preserved battlefields, or even on the graves of Confederate veterans. What really smacks of hypocrisy is when politicians, hate groups, and the uneducated display this flag, serving as a denial of what they see wrong with society. It’s not about heritage. It’s not about glorious rebellion against the overwhelming odds of modernity. For me, the Confederate flag in such context is a statement against pluralism, equality, and progress. It is the last dying gasp of an older unenlightened world—one that still haunts us. 

Would it be so hard for this country to come to terms with the truth of the Civil War? Southerners should feel no shame for what their ancestors did—unless they too perpetuate those same ideas. I’m not for slave reparations, either—no white person alive owned a black slave, and no black person alive was a slave, at least in this nation. It’s time to cease the division, to erase this mental Mason-Dixon line and realize that we really are one nation. It takes courage and dignity to face the truth. It takes an open mind to learn from it.

As Grant would have appreciated, I came to an unconditional surrender to these terms. It took years and several life-changing experiences. I am reminded of the 100th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, when veterans—Blue and Gray—clasped hands across that stone wall at The Angle, where Pickett’s Charge met with empty glory and bloody failure. They too had learned, with the passage of time, that they were one and the same, and that the Civil War should be remembered for its lessons—not for continued partisanship, hatred, and ignorance. 

Those lessons, for me at least, on this 150th anniversary, are unity, compassion, and wisdom.

Recently, a fellow writer/critique partner—and most importantly, friend—asked me when I started writing fiction. I gave her the answer that you’re about to read below. After I hit ‘reply’, I realized just how bitter (and self-deprecating?) I sounded in this message. No wonder she didn’t reply soon afterward. I regret that I came across that way. So I post this for other writers—new and experienced—to read and ponder. Not only when did you start writing…but why, and how you deal with rejection, elusive success, and doubt. I learned something about myself in this message. Maybe you can, too.

The message:

You mean, when did I take writing seriously and try to write on a regular basis? ;-)

I started in January 2008. I had wrote a few things over the years before that, and had really wanted to be a writer. Inspiration came and went. I remember when I first saw Troy in 2004, I was so pumped up on Greek myth that I dashed out four tales in a month, totaling 75K. Then I didn’t write again for many months. Funny thing is, at that time I mostly wanted to write historical fiction.

But 2008 was the real beginning. That year I wrote a total of 180K, which seemed like a lot to me at the time. My largest yearly total so far is 2010 for 537K (but I was unemployed that entire year). Last year was abysmal, with only 22K in new fiction, but I spent literally months on revising three different novels (Inheritance alone took altogether three months for revisions). This year I’m currently at 144K, but I’ve revised those same three novels once more each (more like polish passes) and I’m gearing up to revise Progeny very soon.

My tally so far is 7 novels, 5 novellas, 18 novelettes, 188 short stories, and 10 flash pieces. Last count was 1,768,086 words of fiction. If you add other things I’ve written (I once tried to create an RPG many years ago), then that total goes up to 2,660,319 words. 
 
Now, this may all sound like I’m super-focused on wordcount, or that I’m bragging. That isn’t the case. I keep a spreadsheet updated with all this data, as a constant reminder of what I’ve accomplished, and how much more I can accomplish if I stay the course. I never dreamed I would write all this material, or stick with it for so long. This is my sixth full year of writing; from what I gather many writers never get that far. They get frustrated, lose confidence, or procrastinate. They give up.

I currently have 431 short story rejections and I have sent out 109 novel queries that produced nothing. I have over 100 personal rejections; many of them from the pro markets. I’m not proud of these numbers, but I’m a veteran. The worst rejection said my writing was ‘like an arrest warrant with literary pretensions’. If I ever get rich, I will have a plaque that says that hanging in my library ;-)

I’ve had fifteen tales published in fifteen different markets. Heh, my biggest paycheck for any of them was $40 and a contributor’s copy. Total earnings from all my sales? $242.50 and 8 contributor’s copies (and one audio file). I only let one go for free, because I was so desperate for writing credits at that time. I still have copies of my contracts; even scanned the checks I was sent before I cashed them. Just more reminders of what I’ve done, and what I might do.

So sometimes it seems like editors really don’t understand what it means to get a pro sale. And sometimes writers like me expect the genre intelligentsia to enjoy a story that features action, vulgar language, and nihilism. If only I’d been writing in 1930, or 1980…I think the pulp or cyberpunk crowd would’ve loved me in the initial stages of those sub-genres.

There is never enough time to write. I really wish the human body/mind didn’t require sleep, so I could have more hours to pound away without mercy at these plastic keys. Ideally I try to write one new piece a week. If I’m writing the first draft of a novel, I write at least one chapter (which for me is at least 3K in the early stage) every day until it’s finished. I work on no other projects; not even critiques if I can help it. 
 
What keeps me going? I have a hell of a lot more to say, that’s what. I know my best work hasn’t been written yet; I know there’s greater stories inside me, I just have to keep channeling them from my mind to that blank word processor screen in what amounts to a synergy of organic fancy and electronic realization. I still get excited about new projects, and I remain excited about these novels that are about to be sent out to agents. Kivita still has more transmissions to send, Blake still has a Tarot card up his sleeve, Roxie still has a few Cinn tabs left, Alessandro still has unfulfilled contracts in Hell, and Jhadar’s purse and heart remain empty. Only I can help them.

At least these days I get more praise than disdain from fellow writers (such as yourself), readers, and editors. My goal is a writing career, but not necessarily millions of dollars, fame, or writing a ‘classic’. If people are still reading about Shekelor, Samuqan, and Rourke after I’m dead, then I’ve accomplished something. 

When I posted ‘2001 – A Continuing Odyssey’ a while back I mentioned the idea of getting celebrities into space, to engender public interest in space exploration. Well, it seems someone intends to do exactly that. Sarah Brightman, the world’s best selling mezzo soprano and classical cross-over artist, plans to be the first person to perform in space come 2015. Though I've been a big fan of her work since 1998, I applaud this move on her part because of the inspiration it will give us down here on Earth. I say this as someone who wants to see the human race return to the next logical step in its continued evolution, not just a biased fanboy of Brightman.

I rarely review anything on Amazon.com (I did defend Wolfgang Petersen's 2004 film Troy) but after reading negative reactions from Sarah’s fans to ‘Dreamchaser’, I decided to post my own review. I have included it in this post:

Amazon review of Sarah Brightman’s ‘Dreamchaser’ (5 out of 5 stars)

Ignore the naysayers--this is wonderful music.

After reading so many negative and lukewarm reviews on here, I decided to contribute my own opinion. I've been a fan of Sarah's work since 1998, and own copies of all her material, even dating back to the Hot Gossip era. So I’m not a casual fan.

‘Dreamchaser’ comes across as a more intimate soundscape than I’ve ever heard from Sarah. That crystalline voice is still there. Other reviewers think that just because there’s no titanic duet with a fellow opera singer or technically challenging vocal phrases, that she’s lost her voice. Nonsense. What matters is how this music moves you. 
 
It is a beautiful work, and goes along well with Sarah’s theme of space travel. The arrangements are stripped down compared to previous albums and some tracks feature a trance-like quality, but Sarah’s performance is highlighted all the more because of that. Her vocal stylings on this album are more along her pop sensibilities. A good move, because her previous album, ‘Symphony’, gave us plenty of classical opera pieces. That was an excellent album, but she needed to follow it with something different. And she has.

In time, fans will accept this album. I have always appreciated Sarah’s diversity, from the pop craft of ‘Dive’, the world/house beat of ‘Harem’, to the priceless purity of ‘La Luna’. For those fans who want more of the same with each album release, then listen to a less creative artist. Music is a celebration of humanity and emotion, and I for one loved this aural journey with Sarah. It made me want to soar with her into the firmament.

As a closing note, when I watched the video for ‘Angel’, it brought tears to my eyes. To capture her dreams, and the collective dream of the human race, in that collage of space exploration footage/Brightman home videos, was brilliant. 

Never stop dreamchasing, Sarah. 

As a writer of speculative fiction, I more often than not find myself composing tales set in a fantasy world. A world where science is not quite an authority as yet on matters of cosmology and nature. Since I’m an atheist, some might find this paradoxical. I myself used to wonder why I write more ‘fantasy fiction’ than say, science fiction, which most would attribute to a writer of my perspective. Here’s my answer to that question.

From an early age, I was fascinated with tales of knights and dragons—Greek myth, King Arthur, and other such stories filled my imagination with worlds crackling with magic of some sort. Now, when I say ‘magic’, I’m not necessarily referring to blatant fireballs and lightning bolts coming from a spellcaster’s hands. To me, magic is mystery. It is the unknown. To the ignorant minds in such settings, whether it was the Late Bronze Age or the Middle Ages, anything that could not be explained by religion or what passed for science at the time was considered magic. Perhaps not in word, but in thought. 
 
Without such mystery, those stories would quickly fall apart. More than just a suspension of disbelief, this magic made the impossible, possible. It made gods out of humans; it granted cherished heroes and heroines immortality. The ‘happily ever after’ veneer was there, in the sense that often petty human concerns could take on mythic proportions. Of course, this is a similarity shared with religious belief and stories, but these sort of tales fall out of ecumenical thought and enter the realm of excitement and inspiration—something religious stories rarely accomplish, outside of dogma and devotion.

In other words, these stories of magic fired the imagination. The real trick is that much is left unexplained—where did Excalibur really come from, who created the Titans? The more something is explained, the less mystery that surrounds it. And with less mystery, the magical aspect disappears. Imagine how fire must have seemed to our ancient ancestors before learning how to produce it. It too was mysterious, magical, perhaps even worshipped by those primitive minds. Yet in time fire was understood through science and learning. The mystery was gone, and thus the magic.

As a personal of rational thinking and a proponent of reason—as an atheist—the lifting of mystery is what drives me. It is what drives the human species (well, at least some of us). One can never have too much knowledge, but, in our current physical states, it is impossible that one human will learn everything.

So if I want these mysterious barriers to be thrust aside by human curiosity and understanding, why would I write fiction that does exactly the opposite?

There’s often an accusation made against atheists; that we despise organized religion, but we will always be intrigued by trite esoteric and New Age theories or thinking. True, I am fascinated by the Tarot—even constructed a dark fantasy setting around it—but my interest is purely philosophical. The Tarot, being so vague and open to endless interpretation, depicts a journey. Nothing more. It could just as easily show an atheist’s journey. Certainly not as a divinatory tool.

Having said that, however, my interest in writing fantasy fiction lies not in any silly belief in ‘magick’ (as Crowley preferred it to be spelled) or esoteric tradition. Rather, it is that sense of mystery that I strive for.

This sort of mystery is far different than the unknown depths explored in, say, a science fiction novel about space. Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey is full of mystery at the end, but not of the magical sort. Magic represents powers that are above the human keen, but not in a religious sense. When I write about dragons or wizards (or cartomancers in Meridian) it is never with an allusion to a higher power. These forces come from other sources. It might be another dimension, it might be the earth itself. Sometimes it emanates from the individual. Whatever the case, these forces are understood just enough for the characters to use them. Never truly control or master them. For me, it is like touching or glimpsing something that will never be understood. Like a black hole—we know its awesome gravitational pull absorbs even light, but much remains unexplained.

People crave mystery, the unexplained. I have many books on mysterious phenomena, from UFOs, cryptids, Atlantis, and a plethora of conspiracy theories that are most likely bunk. This is all fodder for future stories, but the very idea of a magical world remains a cut above such things. Perhaps it is a longing to bend reality to one’s desires, or to reach into some greater mystery.

That is what I touch upon in my fantasy fiction. Each tale that I write in such settings is a declaration that mystery needn’t hem us into constraining intellectual or psychological barriers. The mystery of magic and all it can do for the mind ultimately leads to a child-like sense of wonder. A wonder most seem to lose in adulthood. Remember, it is wonder that makes us want to learn, and then to share it. Wonder makes us want to care. Maybe without wonder, the human race would still be worshipping fire in a cave, ignorant of the cosmic fires that burn light years away.