This act imagines its reception

Sunday, 1 February 2009

Not having written any serious fiction for years stings at moments but is generally a soreness and atrophy. Unnoticed except in moments of exertion—entirely tolerable with distraction or medication.

In this thing I’ve been trying to write for 12 or 13 years now there is a character who kills himself. He was adored but slowly distanced from others. Two of the others in particular can barely handle it when it happens. They see why he went. He was a writer who never experienced a sting. Never ached. He was merely made distant to the world. By the world. On his work. I could never name him. His ending shoos the other two off well-worn paths to the grave. Makes them make themselves.

A funny, intelligent, kind man of conscience visited this site for the first time on March 12th, 2005. He made a couple of comments here; my favorites actually (one and two). We traded some emails now and again. The last email he sent me was February 20th, 2007, 4:49pm. I’m lately informed by his equally friendly sister that 42 days later he killed himself. His name was Edward Vela III.

As with another recent loss of something I never had, I feel mistakes were made. How I let the world of men distance me with so little fight.

This seemed a prod to move me to work on the novel again. After a day of fruitless technical plinking trying to avoid failing to write I fired up the application I set up to write on it a long time back.

All of the sudden I had the name for the character. Gage. I was finally able to start writing some dialog for him. What I quickly dropped into however was his suicide note. And quickly retreated. It was far too on point, cheerful, seductive, and difficult to deny.

Maybe I’m not so sore as would be convenient just now.

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Re: This act imagines its reception

Hi, This was about my brother, Eddie. Thank you for this... You write like Eddie did. Miss him so. Who are you? April 2007 and on have been a bloody blur... xo Lisa in Texas

By lisa on 4 November 2010 · 18:50

A is A

Re^2: This act imagines its reception

This is Ashley. I think you told me a little about what had happened back then via email. I’ll drop you a note if I can find your address.

I miss him too and I barely knew him but immediately felt I knew him closely and that we’d always be friends in some way or another. I wish I’d made less of an assumption about that and engaged him as a friend and not just as kith. Difficult. Eternally.

By A is A on 4 November 2010 · 20:30


Re: This act imagines its reception

a little late to respond to this, but it takes awhile to recover from suicides. :) evcubed just missed another birthday. i occassionally read whatever i can find with his name on it, hence this today.

eddie was my total love. soso sad, but he had to leave. at any rate, i'm wondering whatever happened with your character, Gage, and if you've written any Gage stuff i could read.

eddie did leave me a note. it is framed over my bed, which some think is bizarre but i think is beautiful. and honestly, even people who hang in my room for a period of time rarely read things on my wall. eddie wasn't like that; he read everything on every wall...

xo rene

By rene on 17 August 2011 · 14:55

A is A

Re^2: This act imagines its reception

I don’t think it’s strange.

I wrote a short story about putting things up on the wall which I only share because of the coincidence—and because I have nothing complete of Gage to post—not because of any meaning: Taking the Ticket Down.

Gage and Nick and Jamie and Flicker and Winslow and Cookie and The Cop and the rest of them might make it out into the world some day. But not soon.

By A is A on 18 August 2011 · 20:55