This is one of those stories that has taken a bit. One of my favorite characters is Harley from The Hell Chronicles. When I was in college, I met a man who was brawny, strong and had a heart of gold.
We’d spend hours talking on the phone, and a part of Harley is based on that purity, that joy. Sometimes the voices in our heads lead to our forfeiture. But sometimes, writing gives us a chance to do that deep shadow work to know that we are worthy of love — of giving it, and receiving it.
That in that beautiful imperfection, in the darkness of doubt, we find comfort and respite. In all of those years of being told I wasn’t good enough, he looked at me and said I was. I will never forget that.
I haven’t spoken to him since 9/11 when somehow I made sure that he was fine, and he was. You never know who’s life you may have touched by your kindness (or when you’ll wind up in a book because of that pure heart and compassion). Today I am back in Harley’s head, and his emotions are so pure… just woah!
This is from today’s writing session: Harley loved Hel with his every passing breath. Time was irrelevant, but still, in the body of a 24-year-old man, he’d tolerated bullshit, such falsehoods, and abuse, but it was the lost leading other sheep over the cliff to shamanic drumbeats.
Love wasn’t a curse or a burden, but something to treasure, the most valuable of words, of actions and sentiments. Men fought wars to win a woman’s affections, without patronizing them, without disrespect, but with uttermost care. They’d bruise knuckles and egos to rescue untamed hearts, and die on their swords for that one thing, the uninhibited love of a good woman.
And that is what Hel was.
#WIP #SureasHell #AmWriting
Work launched into space aboard the NOVA lander as part of a literary time capsule.
