Superheroes...

Tonight I just feel the need to write. Which, I guess, is a good sign if I take it to mean that I'm slowly making my writing a habit. (If I ever hope to actually finish writing the pulp serial I have in mind this will obviously be crucial.)
It's all about the discipline.
Now that I put the pieces together I can see a metaphorical pattern uncloak in front of me. Self-discipline; what my father has, preached, and habitually pointed out to me that I lacked. And, in hindsight he was right. If I'd had more self-discipline I'd have graduated school on time with better grades. I'd have a good career by now... I guess I just chose to exercise my will in other directions.

I'm pleased to say that I *did* come through in some cases though. After being kicked out of school I reapplied and graduated with a 3.87 in my major. I proved to myself that with an iron will I could go on a sphincter-tightening diet for 10 weeks and lose close to 30 pounds. I would suppose that the problem is that I only picked and chose which battles to see through.

Odd, now that I think about it: my strong desire to write manifesting itself in idea for a series of connected pulp-style adventure stories set in the 1920's. But, those who know me well know I've always had a soft spot for the classic superheroes or mystery men. "The Shadow," "Batman," "Doc Savage," "John Carter," "Solomon Kane," Phillip Marlowe. There was purity about them despite their human flaws. A sense of purpose and a code of conduct that I can relate to and admire. "Down these mean streets a man must go..."

I'm sure that, by today's standards, they'd be considered archaic and quaint to the point of absurdity (well, not Batman, Frank Miller saw to that) but that's why I see them and their breed as timeless archetypes for the knight errant. Especially Solomon Kane; if ever there was smoke in search in fire it was him.

* For those not familiar with Robert E. Howard's character, Solomon Kane, here's a primer to help illustrate my point. Howard biographer writes, "Kane is an Elizabethan Englishman, adventurer, privateer, swordsman, duelist, soldier-of-fortune, world-traveler, explorer, religious fanatic. He is a strange, sinister, mysterious figure; tall, lean, dour, ascetic, garbed all in black. His quests constantly involve with rescues and vengeance, and his stage is the world -- often remote and fantastic. He is the contemporary and friend of Francis Drake, of Walter Raleigh, of Richard Grenville, of Henry of Navarre.
Kane is known far and wide as 'God's angry man.' ..."

Glen Lord adds, "A Puritan, he has a penchant for righting of wrongs done to others. His superhuman efforts and energies and successes are related directly to his fanaticism. Howard paints him as a sombre, black-clad swordsman, searching for something he may never find."

My favorite Kane story is entitled, "Red Shadows," and I can think of no better way to both introduce and explain Solomon Kane than by reprinting part of the first chapter:

Kane comes upon a small French village that has been looted and burned. While investigating, he finds the body of a young woman, not quite dead.

" 'The fires of hades!' he murmured. 'A girl! What has harmed you, child? Be not afraid of me.' The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the dark.
'You -- who are -- you?' her words came in gasps.
'Naught but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in need.' The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the man.
The girl sought to prop herself up on her elbow, and instantly he knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against his shoulder. His hand touched her breast and came away red and wet. 'Tell me.' His voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe.
'Le Loup,' she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. 'He and his men -- descended upon our village -- a mile up the valley. They robbed --slew -- burned--'
'That, then, was the smoke I scented,' muttered the man, 'Go on, child.'
'I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me -- and -- caught me --' The words died away in a shuddering silence.
'I understand, child. Then --?'
'Then -- he -- stabbed me -- with his dagger -- oh, blessed saints! -- mercy--'
Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth, and touched her brow lightly.
'Dead!' he muttered.
Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless vow, swore no oaths by saints or devils.
'Men shall die for this,' he said coldly. "

Now THAT is a sense of purpose. He didn't have to check his PDA to see if he could squeeze vengeance into his schedule. He didn't worry or wonder if it was the right thing to do or whether he should get involved; he simply chose and acted upon it without hesitation.

Things were simpler. I grant that this is a work of fiction, but you see my point: the heroes from the pulp era knew right from wrong and did the right thing. They had a code of conduct that they lived and died by. The sad thing is, my father raised me with a very similar code. He was raised by an old Texas Ranger and taught to shoot from the hip by an old gunslinger. Both these men imparted "the code" to my father, who passed it along to me.
The problem is that it does not fit into today's society. It's antiquated. Archaic. Like the code of Bushido, not only misunderstood by a great part of Western society, but laughed at by the ignorant: You try and behave with honor and discretion at all times. You protect the weak, avenge the abused, help those in need, take advantage of no one, stand by your friends and always, ALWAYS honor your word.
It and being a man were synonymous.
My sister calls my version of this Code "a knight complex." Smoke in search of fire. I think she feels I'm naively trying to fit the 21st century world around a 19th century system of behavior. It's certainly been pointed out to me many times before that I'm a "Superhero wannabe." It's true: I'd love to be "The Shadow," or "Doc Savage," with a simple purpose of righting wrongs and helping those in need. I've never tolerated bullies well. I've been punched out more than once while attempting to protect those victims who were weaker than I was. But the important thing, the crucial thing was that SOMEONE had to stand against the "bad guys." Even if you were outnumbered and outgunned, the getting back up was what mattered.
So, I guess, I'm Don Quixote and will have to live with it.

Anyway. It all serves to drive home the point that I need to get back to some self-discipline. The gym, my diet, getting my business off the ground, writing my serial.
Okay, I feel a bit better. Cathartic.
Time for bed.

An Old Conundrum...

So, I'm musing over the age-old question: why do bad things happen to good people? This was brought sharply to mind after chatting with an old and dear friend online yesterday and I learned of all the tribulations she and her family are going through.

If I was simply cynical, I could say that s#it happens and that's life. I could say that if she (my friend) were the average person. But she's not; she's remarkable and one of the finest human beings its ever been my privilege to have known. To use the highest compliment that Dr. Hugh Black could ever bestow upon someone, "she's a good person."

She's a Chaplain at a hospital who truly believes that she's doing the work that God has set before her: offering guidance, comfort, support and encouragement to people who are (by virtue of being in a hospital) the very definition of people in need of someone who can help provide all these things. She loves what she does even when some weeks seem to be nothing but sadness and loss. She feels like she helps even when she makes the briefest of connections.

She's a moral and upright person who always has time for her friends, is devoted to her family and even adopted a child despite already having two of her own. It might sound cliche, but she honestly has that much love to spare. I'm not trying to say she's perfect or the reincarnation of Mother Teresa, but she's a good and honest human being.

And yet, in a manner of weeks, she and her family are visited by a host of troubles: possible MS, heart problems, I could go on but won't out of respect for her privacy. So she not only has to deal with other people's pain and problems every day but her own to compound things.

Now, I know that EVERY body has personal problems as well as those that stem from work. That *is* life. But here I'm talking about the average person.

It almost seems to me that God has a new Job in my friend. And, I'm sure there are thousands of other people in the world who feel that despite their best efforts to live a good and moral life that they too are Excretus Est Ex Altitudine. *

I don't pretend to be another C.S. Lewis and really theologically "throw down" on topics like this, but the story of Job does leap to mind. For all the petty people there are in the world, why do bad things keep happening to those who spend their lives trying to do the right thing? People who thrive on business might tell you that there are no "problems," only opportunities.

Balls.

It's one thing to see a new merchandising direction because your old one failed miserably, but this comparison fails to stand up under the Halogen light of real life. Angioplasty is not simply another chance to lose weight.

It seems terribly childish of me to look heavenward and yell that it's not fair. Here I can all-too-easily hear my Father telling me that life is NOT fair. But, to be even-handed, he's also fond of saying that A) things generally work out the way they're supposed to, and B) what comes around goes around. Both viable points, but the key word there is "generally." I associate "generally" with "average." So, to my mind, this rules out the truly good people who repeatedly have cosmic deuces dropped in their lap.

Okay, I admit this was a cathartic posting; I don't pretend to have unraveled the fathomless mysteries of the Cosmos, just throwing my metaphorical hat into the ever-widening ring of people who ponder old conundrums like these ... and I scratch my head.

* ("Shat upon from a great height.")