by Joshua Guess
Things change, but sometimes they stay the same no matter what you do. I'm trying to stick with the mental exercises Gabby has me doing for therapy. Trying to focus on the positive aspects of life right now, such as how far we've come as a community in a very short period of time. We have enough people even now, when much less than half of the total newcomers are here, to allow some people to work very specialized jobs without putting undue strain on the people who keep New Haven running.
Which leads me to the second announcement: I don't have a job anymore.
Well, not entirely true. Kincaid has been placed in the permanent position of Director of Offensive Operations, an office that didn't have a nifty name like that while I was doing the job. He works under Dodger, obviously, and for the near term will be working out of my house. I have the office space and location, so it only makes sense. I also want to get to know him a little better, give the guy a chance to overcome the preconceived notions I have about him.
I won't be wearing any of the hats I used to switch between anymore. I'm free to work whatever jobs I want, from clinic hours to helping my brother and his crew build stuff. But I no longer have duties as a coordinator of any kind. I won't run things, oversee people, or be required to do anything that will push my boundaries further than the occasional rotation as an on-call fighter during attacks.
My only job title now is one of those specialized ones. Will smiled as he announced it yesterday; I am New Haven's official historian. It's a position that can only be bestowed or removed by the council in a supermajority vote, and otherwise it lasts for life. I honestly thought at first that I was going to be shunned by citizens who thought I was getting an easy ride because of my breakdown. Hell, I thought the same damn thing. What right do I have to mooch off others and provide no needed services while they break their backs in the fields? Or risk their lives on the wall? Or do one of a hundred thankless and difficult jobs while I sit at home with my computer.
I thought that until people began coming over and congratulating me with smiles that held genuine warmth and joy. Many of them thanked me for my years of service, for seeing The Fall coming (many people saw what was happening, I am not special that way), and for a number of other things. The prevailing opinion seems to be that after two and a half years of doing what was necessary to safeguard others and build a home, I had earned the right to do the one thing I love above all else and give up a risky life.
I'll be damned, but after losing count of the number of people that came by my house to thank me (I stopped tracking them after a hundred) I started to think they might be on to something. Realistically, I still feel as though I should be contributing in a more meaningful and concrete way, but my lingering instability makes me a liability in many situations. I think I can fight undead without a problem, but the thought of aiming a weapon at another living being gives me a bad case of the shakes. I don't even think I could hunt for food at this point.
Stress might affect me the same way, so the council decided the best thing for everyone was to put me where I could be the least stressed out and the most effective. I didn't miss the fact that it's also a kind of reward. I cried a little when Will read out the news.
See, before The Fall I had long nurtured a dream of being a full-time writer. I wanted to entertain the masses and make a positive impact on the world. I've joked before that it took the end of that world to make my dream a reality, but the truth is that even over the last two years I haven't been living that dream. I have done so much, things both terrible and wonderful, and had so many responsibilities that even this blog has become a darker place, filled mostly with news and happenings and devoid of much of the character and love I want to see in it.
So...that's my goal. I have complete freedom to write what I want, when I want, and how I want. I will always update on events here, but my troubles have shown me that having that positive impact I'd so long hoped for isn't going to ride on news updates and the latest survival techniques. I have a chance to reconnect with that child of wonder inside me, the one who saw the rays of light shining through the darkness of the zombie apocalypse. I have the opportunity before me to highlight the love I have long ignored from my amazing friends and family. I can share pieces of beauty and joy, contrast them with the sad and the awful, and hopefully once again give hope to those of you out there who need it that the world isn't bleak and empty.
Not only will I be trying to convince you of that fact, but myself as well. I may not be entirely comfortable with this new reality, but over time I expect I'll be out there again, doing things that have a material impact to balance out the morale boost I will try to provide here.
I'll have one last post for this month, and then I'll take the last day of August and the first of September off to get my bearings and start anew. September second will mark exactly two and a half years of Living With the Dead. As I look back on all the words I've shared with you, the highs and lows, I start to feel one of those rays of light trying to fight through the clouds in my heart. The chance to focus entirely on writing here, to touch lives in a more meaningful way, is the only thing besides my loved ones that has given me hope in the last few weeks. It's tiny, but it's there.
And really, that's what hope is, isn't it? A stupidly small chance that we grip as hard as we can and work toward. The journey might be fruitless and end in pain, but I begin to see that the destination isn't as important as how you get to it. As Will said, we make the future. We choose how we will impact others. We might never reach the goals we shoot for, but if we don't do what is right on the path toward those goals, we can never achieve something better.
I choose hope, no matter how far away it may seem. I choose life.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Rise
Posted by Josh Guess
It's early morning and the wind outside is cold. For the first time in more than a week I am in my own home. For the first time in months I went for a jog. The breeze was uncomfortable at first, then almost painful as the air began to cool the sweat beading on my skin.
I kept running, though. I muscled through it and embraced the experience. On my circuit through the streets I took new avenues, wandering across the most recent expansions and taking in hundreds of unfamiliar faces. Even in the gloom of predawn there were so many people working. The bustle was a background to the noise of my run. I focused on the swoosh of my limbs, the pounding of my heart. I felt my pulse race as I pushed harder.
Yet I couldn't help but notice the sharp crack of hammers meshing with distant, muted calls as men and women coordinated their efforts. As my feet slapped against the pavement, my eyes were drawn to the skeleton of a new watchtower climbing into the sky, just visible against the brightening sky. Our new arrivals began their real work today in the darkness, and will carry on through the light.
There's something poetic about that image. I heard laughter and cheer as those people shed sweat and effort to create something that will stand above what was before. My chest swelled with fierce pride that they would forgo sleep and probably a decent meal to ensure that much-needed work was done.
Many of them waved at me as I moved by, and I waved back. My face isn't so special that people remark on my handsomeness, but with my hair having grown as long as it has--a rarity in a society that fears an enemy grabbing onto it--and my heavy-framed glasses, I'm easy to pick out of a crowd. They greeted me with smiles and what seemed to be nods of respect. I felt the embers of happiness kindle inside me a bit. Acceptance can go a long way.
When I came back home there were already guests waiting on me. Courtney, Steve, Patrick, Becky, Bill, Gabrielle, Rachel, and a few others. Some of them, most vocally Gabby, were worried that I'd vanished without telling anyone. My jog took better than half an hour. Jess punched me in the arm for not waking her up. She hits really hard.
The fact that we were all supposed to sit down and have breakfast had totally slipped my mind. Pat and his nieces were cooking--something they liked to
do for us now and again--while Pat's little girl was passed around like an adorable, crying football.
We all sat down in my living room and ate together. Deer steak and eggs are a staple food here, and one most people tire of after eating it every day for weeks at a time, but the company around me added a certain something to the repast. Friendship and good times are a spice that makes life much sweeter. The bonds we share are powerful things.
Like anything else, those bonds take work. Ask any circus tightrope walker and they'll tell you that a net is only as good as the time you put into servicing it. If you ignore what could save your life, what supports you (and in this case, the people you support in return), the whole thing can fray.
That's why mornings like this are so vital. Shared experience is important, but not just the random events we all have to live through. To knit ourselves closer, to secure what binds us together, takes deliberate choice. That's why we decided on a big meal together. Not only to remind me that there are people who care to lean on when I need them, but to simply enjoy one another. To make new memories together, adding to the rich collection of them that defines our friendships.
It's that way all over. Everywhere throughout New Haven and spreading to communities of survivors wherever they're found. That curious element is the focus of all our endeavors. To grow and fight for a better way. To rely on each other to set our course straight when we begin to veer. Love strong enough to bear the guilt and anger of being brought back down to earth when rage and arrogance pushes us in the wrong direction.
And in the simplest possible terms, concrete and down-to-earth, the force that pulls a man back from the edge of self-destruction. These people, my loved ones, are the reason I'm here right now. Only time can help salve the guilt I feel for ignoring them for so long, but they've given me the strength and encouragement I need to face that struggle. The gratitude I feel is...
There aren't any words. It's too much.
I lose track of the number of times I've said this, but some messages bear repeating. We will face enemies, human and zombie alike. We will likely face sickness and starvation, war and death. We will disagree--sometimes violently--and we will falter. Bad things will happen, and they will chip away at us. I'm living proof of that.
None of those things are the end of the world. You might have noticed, but we've been there and done that.
When one of us begins to fall, there will be another to hold us up until our strength returns. On the small scale as with my own recent experience, all the way to the vast assortment of communities that support one another already. As we move past the hardest times we've faced, the first few years after The Fall, we begin the times that will truly test us.
Once survival isn't the desperate struggle it once was, we begin to lay the framework for the future. Not just the next few years and not just in the physical sense. We are creating the first stage of a new age of human existence. We lay the literal and metaphorical foundations for the infinite time ahead. Small things now will have a larger impact decades or centuries down the line than we can possibly imagine. We owe it to ourselves, to each other, and to the untold generations we hope to see born, to out our best effort into it.
And the only way to do that is together. That may mean swallowing our pride and taking in enemies as allies like we've done with some of the Exiles and many, many marauders. Chances are we'll badly misstep here and there in the name of justice, but with any luck there will be others to call us out on our mistakes.
But not only call us out. It's my hope that all of us, the entirety of human beings we're in contact with, will always strive not only to point out these flaws we so easily miss in ourselves, but also offer solutions. Self-correction on a massive scale, arcing over years and decades and centuries.
I hope for that, even though hoping is a fool's game. I have to be a fool, because if I saw the unity of purpose and the powerful compassion around me as just some fleeting thing, I wouldn't be able to face this world another day.
We will soar above even the hopes and dreams we have now. Our legacy will be the choice to be better than we were before, in every way that matters. As our homes and technology improve, so must our commitment to one another, and to the uncounted tomorrows our children will share. A higher moral fiber, a greater code of ethics, and a future bound by mutual achievement and cooperation. Those must be equally important goals moving forward.
Otherwise, all we have lost and all we have done to rebuild is a waste. Separately we will fail and flounder.
Together, we will rise.
A note from the author
Two and a half years is a long time to work on any project. LWtD has been an (almost) daily routine for me since March of 2010. I admit that at times the blog felt like a weight on my shoulders. Not from any dislike of writing it—nothing could be further from the truth—but because I always carry the totality of the story in my head. I occasionally live in a dark place when I write it. Many of the people within are either real or based on real people I know, and I do very bad things to them.
If you've read this far, then you're done with this volume of the series. You probably guessed by the last few posts (and maybe by my introduction at the very beginning) that going forward, LWtD will take a slightly different tone. There's a damn good reason for that:
I feel inspired. The last few weeks of this season of the book were transformative for me. I have made the decision to go full-time as a writer as soon as possible, to risk much to gain much. As with every previous volume, events herein mirrored my real life. I have suffered from depression off and on for the last year and a half. I have missed out on time with my friends and family. I've developed difficulties dealing with large (even medium) groups of people.
Yet, the decision to go full-time, no matter how long that takes to actually happen, took much of that stress away. Knowing that relatively soon, I will be doing the the work I love above all else at a pace unimaginable to me at present, is amazing. Financially it will be tricky—which is why it will take a good while to get there—but once I set myself on the path to definitely do this, I felt awesome.
As is my habit, I want to thank each and every one of you for reading. I hope you'll forgive me for being all gushy, but you folks make this worthwhile for me in ways I will never be able to fully explain. The joy I get from interacting with my fans through email and Facebook, and on my blogs themselves, keep me going. This note isn't so much for me as it is for you. I wanted to give you something personal about me, since you've been so kind to spend your time, money, and imagination turning my little story into a vivid world in your minds. Writing is an act of creation, but it only works in harmony. I give you the raw materials...
But it's you, the reader, that makes the magic. You give the characters flesh and faces. You give them voice and life. Without you I would be a man singing only half a song. So, once again (and always, in every volume and novel I publish), I want to say thank you.
You've all made my dream come true.
P.S.: I had planned on writing some short fiction for this volume, but the thing ended up at a massive 113,000+ words, and I've got other projects I'm working on as well. I really didn't have time, though I promise to present something extra you'll enjoy in the next one.
Table of Contents
Copyright
This, the fifth volume
Thursday, March 1, 2012
A note from the author