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9/23/2025 0 Comments What The Miracle Sin Means To MeTo explain what The Miracle Sin means to me, I’d have to take on a trip down memory lane. It’s a bit of a rough neighborhood, so bear with me.
*slight spoilers* The story itself has existed in some form or another all the way back in high school. Though then it looked very different, the title was different and changed a number of times, and the characters and their names weren’t the same. Sort of like when you compare From the Adventures of Luke Starkiller to what eventually became A New Hope. I won’t spend too much time on that. What would become the final complete book as it exists today I started work on in 2009. I can still remember writing the very first chapter sitting at a table in the bar I used to frequent called the Auburn Saloon. Subsequently, I found a writing exercise that I did for a course I was taking at that time in an old notebook which, though, again, much changed, detailed one of the core elements of the story—Mason and Rose. I’m afraid I can’t recall whether I meant to connect the two things, but connect they did eventually. And over the course of the next ten years, I would write what would one day be my first book. Suffice it to say, much happened in that time. I worked a job that I hated, which exacerbated my already very present drinking problem, which in turn affected my relationship at the time, and so on. Like dominos all falling one after another. I spent a lot of that ten years alone; at first because I was recovering from my addiction as well as the fallout of the aforementioned relationship when it inevitably ended, and then by choice after romantic attempts failed very unceremoniously. Though there were certainly good things that happened in that time as well. I got sober, which was one of the hardest but most beneficial triumphs I can cite. After which my writing and other creative attempts were reborn anew, eventually resulting in having my first short story published. And last but not least, I miraculously found love again; with someone who, as it turned out, became an integral part of The Miracle Sin and my whole journey as a writer. Something I never in a million years could have predicted or even believed was possible to play out as it did. All of which had an effect on the book in some way or another. But there was one thing that unwittingly became a focal point of the story that happened some years earlier. Something I’m choosing to talk about now fully for the first time. In 2003 I was involved in a car accident. A serious one. One that wouldn’t have happened had I not be drinking. Regrettable to be sure and a mistake I’ve spent every day since paying for in one way or another. Fortunately, no one else was with me nor involved and the only fatality was the car itself. Due to the extreme circumstances—let’s just say I managed to turn a land vehicle into an airborne one—had I not somehow remembered to buckle my seatbelt, I’m quite sure that I wouldn’t be around to darken a doorway today. Fortunately, it didn’t go that way. I survived. A few bumps and bruises, but with life and limb in tact. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder…say there are parallel universes (if you don’t believe in the possibility, just go with me on this) it means there’s one where I didn’t walk away from it. And in doing so destroyed the lives of my friends, family, and loved ones. It crushes me to think about it. George Lucas has recounted an incident from his past wherein a serious accident at eighteen informed much of his life afterward. By a similar token, I too experienced the same thing—a serious accident, also at eighteen, which changed the trajectory of my life. Lucas’s accident was June 12 (1962), mine was June 8 (2003). Lucas’s seatbelt snapped, ejecting him from the car, which wound up saving his life, whereas my seatbelt staying in tact saved mine. I am by no means comparing myself to the Maker, I just find the similarities interesting and the effect such things can have on people. Ironically, while Lucas’s made him a film maker, my ambition was to be a film maker, and the accident in turn cut that short. Basically, I had applied to a film program and though I met the requirements, the acceptance quota for the semester had been met; but they put me on the wait list in case anyone dropped out. Well, sure enough, after the accident I got an acceptance in the mail…only I declined because now I owed thousands of dollars in damages and couldn’t afford tuition. The moral of the story: don’t drive drunk. Who knew? That accident formed so much of the experience of Mason Cole, particularly in surviving the Great Quake of Jerusalem. And not only that but the resulting survivor’s guilt that followed, for both of us. The funny thing is, I didn’t even realize this at the time. It took someone who had read the book and knew of the incident pointing out the connection between the two events for me to see it. Funny how things can be so present, so right in front of our faces, woven into the very fabric of things and yet go unnoticed. Either way, it’s a chapter of my life that has affected it to this day. Then, just little over a year later, a friend of mine was involved in a similar incident. One who wasn’t so lucky. Her name was Suzanne and she was among the people to whom I dedicated The Miracle Sin; along with my grandmother and a family friend, both whom Mason’s grandmother Rose was based. And of course, my beloved cat Pearl. I’ve spent much time since then asking myself questions I’ll never have answers to. Why her? Why not me? Is there a reason I’m supposed to be here and she’s not? If so, what is it? Even if I had such answers, it still wouldn’t be fair nor hurt any less. No one should die a teenager. I loved Suzanne. She was a friend to me when I had none, when I was new to town and knew almost nobody. She meant something special to me in a way I’ll never be able to fully explain. And it started with nothing other than that we just happened to be the only two kids in the same place at the same time. I often pass by where we met—a bus stop near our high school—and every time I do, I think of her. Much of her went into Julie, Mason’s best friend. Likewise, many of the characters of The Miracle Sin sprung from people I knew or had known. Grim is basically my dear friend Ken, with whom I’ve had many a lively philosophical discussion, who makes me wish I believed that someone up there was watching out for us. Diaz is in so many ways my friend Dan with whom I’ve shared many a joke that only the two of us would get and without whom I wouldn’t have had the courage to take the chances I did. Sarah is a number of beautifully unique, unabashedly perverted, insanely quirky women I’ve known, most notably my friends Mari, Chloe, and Katilin who come up with things that would make a locker room full of men blush. And so many more. I believe that as writers we don’t create characters, we meet them. That was certainly true of this story, and I had already met so many of them. But there’s one character I didn’t exactly “meet” because I had always known him—Novak. Novak is every dark little thought I have. The coiled rattlesnake poised to strike behind every flower, waiting for you to reach out for it. A part I keep locked up far, far away so that his sickness doesn’t touch me, only visiting him when I absolutely need to. The one who just wants to watch the world burn and dance around the flames. A shadow even my shadow is afraid of. And goddamn it, he’s my favorite. Why is that? Why are we so attracted to the bad guys? I think it has to do with the fact that villains so often speak truths we already know but don’t want to face. Truths that frightens us. They’re free, unencumbered by what anyone thinks or wants to hear. They’re dangerous, and danger is thrilling. I think it’s because somewhere deep down, we agree with them. They speak to the dark side in us that we all have and know is there, but are afraid to show. There’s a scene in the first book involving Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” that I’ll never forget because in something of a phenomenal experience, I felt every little bit of writing that scene; from two very different points of view, simultaneously. I was broken and wounded beyond words while also brimming with wicked glee. I’ve never known anything like that before or since. But then there’s a school of thought that says all characters are self portraits. Reflections of ourselves. I think there’s something to that. Though again, like so many things, I think it’s only part of the truth. Because we are all the sum of so many parts. So in many ways, it is both perfectly fitting and not the whole truth. Such is life. And that’s really what “the miracle sin” truly is—life. A metaphor for the experience of living. Both a blessing and a curse. A privilege and a burden. Wonderful and terrible. Loving and cruel. Something for which we are supposed to be grateful, while at the same time frequently overwhelmed by and at the mercy of. In the end, The Miracle Sin is me exploring and trying to make sense of the many things that have happened in my life. From moving from place to place at a young age, never feeling secure, always the new kid, never fitting in or belonging anywhere, and then, if ever the fates be so kind as to give a sense of stability, having the rug pulled out from below again, and again, and again. How I felt about it all, how it had made me who I am, for better or worse. Everything. In general, life is tough enough on its own, figuring out what we’re supposed to do with it, how to make it all work, how to be happy and content. But when you add a brush with death, a hail of curveballs, and the larger matter of every horrifying thing at large in the world to the mix, the calculus becomes even more complex. I wouldn’t go so far as to say Mason Cole is me, at least not any more than Spider-Man is Stan Lee. But rather that, like Spider-Man, it’s through him that I have explored these many things and what I think about them. The questions to which I so constantly sought, and continue to seek answers. I was also writing about something I know many people feel in that we long for something more than what life gives us. A common theme in many a hero’s journey archetype and for a good reason. I think that to hope for something more in life is ok. It’s understandable. I’d say it’s even crucial. Because there’s some really hard things to deal with in the experience of living. There are soul-sucking jobs. Failed marriages. Hearts broken beyond repair. Feeling lost, afraid, and unimportant. Losing loved ones, something every single person can relate to I’m sure. We often don’t know what we’re supposed to do with it, what it means, or how to navigate it. We just have to figure it out as we go. It’s many victories and defeats, triumphs and tragedies, days spent smiling in the sun and screaming in the dark. For where else can horror truly be found if not real life? But we persist. We press on and continue to fight the good fight. To quit truly is to fail. To accept defeat. Because somehow we believe that if we keep going, we’ll get there. From early childhood we’re told that if we work hard and strive for something we can achieve it. Sure there are peaks and valleys, that’s fine. But it’s presented to us in such a way—that whatever happens, it will all work out. That’s what The Miracle Sin means to me. That’s what I can only hope it means for anyone else. And I know that it has. To me, that means everything.
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3/28/2022 1 Comment The Write WayWhat is your greatest writing challenge? That is the question asked for this 28th day of March’s Horror Writer Challenge. When I gave but a moment’s thought to the answer I was lost to a something of a cosmic montage like David Bowman in 2001: A Space Odyssey. The answer was so vast I scarcely knew where to start because the answer, quite simply, is…everything! The job, the other job, the other other job, the family, the relationship, the many varied menial tasks of life, the all too frequent catastrophic and troubling things that occur in the world at large, and the toll they all take.
But it’s oh so much more than that. Writing, and being an author, while connected, are two different things. Writing means having the time in a day to sit down and actually put words on the page, often a difficult enough task on its own. Being an author however is a different beast entirely. Being a writer means dealing with self-doubt, anxiety, both internal and external criticism, and producing something creatively significant enough to be, at the very least, satisfying. Being an author means making a career out of that. Both are acts of will, but also circumstances which are often beyond your control. That right there is really the toughest part — navigating the many obstacles of life, getting the job done despite them, and finding a way to keep the romance alive in the process. There’s this perception that authors are all high falutin members of some hallowed intelligentsia whose days are spent drinking wine and eating quiche whilst wearing scarves indoors and chortling at a witty remark our agents made over the latest Jonathan Franzen novel. Not so. Especially for indie authors. Make no mistake — This. Is. Work! Hard work. I work harder and longer hours at this than what I do to pay the bills. And those hours rarely, if ever, pay off in the monetary sense. It means working two jobs and doing the majority of your writing in between them. It means being an author, an agent, a publicist, accountant, graphic designer, web designer, social media guru, and full time adult all at once. It means being a parent, sometimes a single one, sometimes of special needs children while doing everything you can to market yourself and your work. It means having a well-reviewed book and working a job as a janitor. It means using the money you’ve been putting aside little by little for your next book to pay your taxes instead and assuring yourself you’ll find some other way when the time comes. It means facing hate online for being the member of a minority and having something to say about…well, anything, really. It means being told by virtual strangers that your problems are unimportant because you’re “doing better” than they are. It means watching the tide that is said to raise all ships raise every one but yours, leaving you behind to tread water. It means doing everything you’ve been told you’re supposed to do to ensure your book’s success only to see it lost to obscurity. [Sidebar: those examples are definitely not all my own but rather the collective struggles I've gathered from others] So why do it? Because having something that previously only existed in your mind made manifest is a concrete sign that you’ve accomplished something you set out to do. That you endured those many hardships for something. Being able to hold that accomplishment, physically, in three dimensions, is priceless. Seeing readers discuss your work, tell you they connected with it, that it meant something to them, that it was there for them during a tough time, there’s just nothing else like it. It means you were able to give back what you were given by someone else and keep the cycle going. It means you have left something behind and because of that there’s a chance you will be remembered beyond the tenure of your all too short years. When you find that thing that was meant for you, everything else pales in comparison. In short, it is a sign of light in the proverbial long dark tunnel. The greatest challenge for me or anyone as a writer is to just keep going. As much as you can, for as long as you can. And believe me, I’m saying this to myself as much as to anyone reading this. Gabino Iglesias once said that writing is the best gig there is, but you have to take the good with the bad. That’s absolutely correct; of writing and of anything in life. Anyone who thinks they can be a writer is correct, but it requires more than just stamina and talent and the ability to put one word in front of the other. It takes stubbornness, compromise, masochism, fire, no small amount of luck, and dare I say insanity. Often times that last one is offered up as a wry punchline in many a meme for writer’s to share around. It’s no exaggeration. You have to be crazy to do this. Crazy about it. You have to be married to it. You have to have an unkillable spirit; one which will incur many an injury but soldier on despite them. This is a calling. Something you will do for years, the rest of your life even. That doesn’t mean that everyone’s way looks and goes exactly the same, it just has to happen. Stories truly have helped me in my life. They’ve been a comfort, a source of guidance, a source of strength, and a connection with certain things when I had no other presence of them. That’s why I do this. That’s what I want to give back. If I manage to do that for even one person, then I’ve done my job. If at the end of the day I can manage to scratch out even a few words I didn't have yesterday and still want to keep doing that job, even better. And so I will. Because that’s what it takes. There is no “right” way to do it. There is only the write way. 12/13/2021 2 Comments For Anne Like many, I was saddened to hear about the sudden passing of Anne Rice. But for me it goes much deeper than that. Simply put, this woman is why I write. Others planted seeds but she was very much the water that nourished it and the sun it reached toward.
I discovered her work around the age of 18 and I can still remember reading them in the lobby of the Marriott hotel where I would go on my lunch break because the nearby coffee houses were far too busy. Everything from Interview with the Vampire to Blackwood Farm I read in that spot, and at some point in that time decided I to be a writer. Actually, there was no real “decision”. It wasn’t something so ordered as that. She made me feel something through her writing that I didn’t know what else to do with. It became an extension of my mind and body. A part of who I was. To use her words, she gave me the Dark Gift, and so I was to give it to others if I could. “If.” Key word. At one point, she was very active on her Facebook page and in more recent works even offered dedication to “The People of the Page”. One day I briefly voiced my frustrations in the constant pursuit of publication to no avail when she shared an article about someone who had gotten a publishing deal from having written fan fiction, of all things. This was a time when I was very much fed up. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but at that particular moment I had had no success. None. Not even close and there was absolutely nothing on the horizon to make me think that I was anything other than a fool on a fool’s errand. In an act that I’m sure must have seemed trivial to her, she reached down like a hand from above and bestowed upon me this wisdom that I have cherished as holy writ ever since: “Keep the faith. It’s not a foot race, and if she can make it, so can you.” Faith of any kind has always been a dubious concept to me to say the least, but in that moment I went from nursing a distant, intangible hope to truly believing. That kept me going. That kept me not only driven but firm in the belief that it was possible to be published despite all signs to the contrary up until then. It’s what eventually led to my first acceptance, and by extension, carried me through the long and arduous road of publishing my first book that I had worked so long and so hard on. I wanted to quit then too, but I didn’t. And this is why. I was never fortunate enough to have met her in person, but if I had I would have said the following: Thank you. For your talent, your courage, your doubt, your belief, your loss, your pain, and for sharing it all with us. You were there for me when I didn’t know why I was here, when I experienced the same doubts and losses and wanted to quit, in more ways than one. She didn’t just make me want to write, she made me believe in myself. If I just kept trying, just kept writing, and just kept the faith. She told me to keep going when I faltered. She meant and continues to mean the world to me, and that world is a little bit darker today without her in it. But the light she shed will live on in those of us whose life she touched and affected forever. She’s with Stan and Michelle now, and has the answer to the almighty mysteries I know she had grappled with for so long. Whatever that is. 12/15/2020 1 Comment A Word To Aspiring Authors"We regret to inform you."
8/31/2020 2 Comments First and ForemostGreetings and salutations. My name is Marcus Hawke and I am an aspiring author; the other type of A.A. Perhaps it’s fate that my introduction should sound like the beginning of an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, since I know from experience that there is definitely some overlap between the two.
I’ll come strait to the point. While searching and researching how one goes from an aspiring author to a published author, there is one tidbit that continues to surface like a poorly weighted down body in a shallow lake: starting a blog. Truthfully, I’ve had no desire to start a blog before, as a logophile the very word has never been a favorite of mine — conjuring the image of a kid barfing in the backseat on the ride home from Disneyland. It seems strange to me that such a thing should have anything at all to do with pursuing a publishing career. But hey, as we all know and repeat whenever this kooky world of ours provides its daily examples, these are indeed strange times. (I wonder if we’ll ever need not to say that to make excuses for the present, but more on that later) So, here I am. … [Tell the crickets they’re on in five] For the next several months, possibly a year, possibly longer or shorter depending on how things go, I will be documenting the process of publishing a novel in whatever form that happens to take; be it traditional, indie, self-publishing, or somewhere in between. One way or another, this is happening. Along the way I’ll cover querying, editors, agents, word counts, other writers, other bloggers, scams, websites, Twitter and Instagram (ostensibly another “must have” today) and so forth. Also related topics like the nature of attempting a career in a subjective industry, and writing itself and why the hell we do it in the first place. Believe me, if I wanted to take the easy road, I’d have become an Instagram model, but my ass doesn’t look so good in yoga pants. Now as an individual, I strive to look at both sides of the coin. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst,” that’s my motto. And while the curve may often bend more toward the latter than the former, at the very least I like to acknowledge both, and will do my gosh-darnedest to approach things accordingly. Having said that…(aha, see! there’s the title) like a gimp with a Cleveland steamer, there’s something I have to get off my chest. Ahem... I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!!!!!!!!!!!! Whew. That felt good. They say to succeed in anything confidence is key, but sometimes you just have to walk up to the Void, give the nipples a pinch and scream, know what I mean? This is all new to me. Very much learning as I go here. The occasional bit of advice I happen to glean from someone with direct experience or insight will be duly noted. Otherwise, it is trial and error; AKA the future title of my memoir. I don’t know if this will help me, or you—the reader—which, after all, is why you’re here right? That is in no way a criticism, quite the opposite in fact because that is my hope. I often feel better knowing that others have shared similar experiences, and if any valuable information or advice can be gleaned in the process, all the better. Still, the fact remains that I don’t know if this will bear any fruit at all. It might be just one colossal mess. But if that’s the case, would you really want to miss it? What’s a crash without a throng of gawkers to warm themselves by the burning refuse? If it be so, let this be the black box. And if nothing else, it’s cheaper than therapy. Am I right, ladies and gentlemen? *chirp….chirp…chirp* Anyhoo, that’s all for now. More to come soon. Thanks for stopping by and you stay classy, Sodom! (but not you, Gomorrah) Yours truly, -MH- (P.S. I don’t know why I said gosh-darnedest. Won’t happen again.) |
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