Imaginary Blurb

I was idly writing a fake blurb for my future novel (because why not?) and it sort of turned into a micro-story of its own. No spoilers for the book are here outside of the vaguest thematic sort.

“I finished this Wehunt novel and took it outside and beat it to death with a shovel in my back yard. I know a book isn’t a living thing so I couldn’t beat it to actual death, but at the same time it kinda is a living thing, too, you know? But I use the expression to mean I really went to town on it with that shovel. I was wearing a cap and I took the cap off when I was done and wiped the sweat off my brow. My hands had started to blister. But that wasn’t enough so I dug a hole with the shovel and buried the book in the hole and yelled at the hole until I got a little hoarse. I could hardly sleep that night, restless and bone-sore and troubled, so I got out of the bed and put the day’s clothes back on and went out and dug the book up, put it in an old potato sack. I locked it in the trunk of the Buick and drove forty miles in the dead of night until I saw the silhouettes of gravestones leaning in a field in an untended pasture. There was a church slowly falling down off to the east of it, but the graveyard looked like spoiled ground, as good a place as any to bury this damned book. There was a clutch of trees off to the right, holding their own shadows. I waded into wet unmown grass, the cicadas screaming in their strange vibrating tongue, and dug a hole out in that graveyard beneath a paring of moon. The hole turned into a pit and the blisters on my hands broke open and wept. Ten feet down I stopped and shook that novel out of the potato sack into the hole. The sky had gone the color of lemonade that had got blood in it by the time I finished filling in the hole, the sun clawing its way up from its own grave to burn off the night’s dew. My arms trembled from the labor of these burials. Then I drove home and brewed a pot of strong coffee on the stove and woke my children to send them off to school, terrified something would happen and I would lose them. I sat with my coffee in the morning sun and felt a great weight had fallen away to be replaced by a more everyday burden made heavier by what I had read. Why did I bury that book? you might ask. Did it scare you that bad? It’s a fair question. Yes, but no, it wasn’t that, or not that exactly. It was also that it was so unutterably sad, it felt real, and in that realness it seemed an occult thing. I wouldn’t have it near the life of my family in this house. I guess that is a sort of endorsement to some. I went a lot of words past what they said I could say but I don’t know how else to talk about it. You could read it and find out your own self.”

—author unknown

44 thoughts on “Imaginary Blurb

  1. This is an appealing and strong text! How nice that you explained why you wanted get rid of this damn book.
    It’s right, it can feel real and it can be real. It’s just a matter of the soul that’s in the book and communicates with you.

  2. I think you will hook quite a few people with your blurb. I wonder,…do we risk digging a hole for ourselves once read…;)

  3. WOW! Creepy and so full of imagery. If the book has a feel like this I want to read it!
    Best part: “The sky had gone the color of lemonade that had got blood in it” I will never look at a sunrise the same way.

    1. Thank you and good luck! Though most of my blogging revolves around my fiction career, I do try to post things that might have a wider appeal beyond “hey, look at me,” like writing “advice” or the occasional cultural topic. But your blog is ultimately about you and what you have to say, so just be passionate. 🙂

  4. Spooky. Great read, very well described. I guess books can be disturbing in tge way that they can introduce thoughts and ideas one may never have thought about before. This can be good, obviously, but I can imagine wanting to bury a book, literally, that had much negativity embedded in it.

    1. I do not think you want to bury it. It’s a challenge, a lot of work, nerves and passion are attached to it. Maybe tears and anger and things that are called negative, because it hurts. But isn´t it, that you float in the sky, when you overcome yourself and take on a great challenge and complete? Do you think about all the negative things when you achieved? Do you ever remeber thee pain when you give birth to a child? No, you forget it in the moment you have the child in your arms, when you have achieved what you desperately wanted.

  5. Thank you, Michael. You’ve encapsulated the soul-searching an Author sometimes performs when thematic elements from the craft seemingly clash with personal lifestyle values. In such cases, the Writer may have to disassociate from the situation long enough to realize “it’s just a story.” With that perspective, anything that needs to happen ~to~ that tale to make it great becomes fair game, and even necessary.

    Thank you also, Michael, for the poignant, artistic rendering of your struggle with your internal recriminations. I’m glad you found clarity and a sense of appreciation for your own diligent effort to bring it into the world. Your fans are looking forward to immersing themselves in the story, the events, and the characters.

    Sam Westhoek

  6. Quite well-written. But your reaction to something you created is an aberration, something like a wayward Mom dumping her newborn into a dustbin…things like that make newspaper headlines… Was that your intention too?

    1. Thank you! Hmmm, interesting question. I meant this more as being in the mind of someone other than the author reading the book and being affected by it. Sort of like my child haunting someone else. 🙂

  7. This is moving, arresting and startling in all the right ways. “…and woke my children to send them off to school, terrified something would happen and I would lose them.” Yes.

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