by Joshua Guess
It wasn't just that one book, you understand. It was as if that one tome was every unfinished story, every jagged sentence broken off by the end of all we know. All of the cliffhangers and plots never resolved burst into my brain...
All those brilliant writers, whose talent with words made me laugh and cry, my heart slam against my chest and the pit of my stomach go cold--gone.
I would love to believe that Brandon Sanderson is out there somewhere, picking out the last two books on an old typewriter, determined to finish the epic. I hope that Patrick Rothfuss is filling page after page with longhand by candlelight, perfecting and ending the beautiful novels that sing the song of Kvothe.
But here and now, I realize the importance of our own stories. Not just those that tell our lives, but those we tell each other, truth and fiction alike, that say things we can't articulate any other way. Those tales create one narrative that simultaneously touches each person differently, yet draws all who read or hear it along for the same journey.
We read and share stories because they are the best and most enduring way to explain the best and worst parts of us. Sometimes there is no difference between fiction and non-fiction for highlighting those aspects of our nature that give us hope and fuel our determination.
Stories are entertainment, and education, inspiration and fear. They are mirrors of us and distortions all in one, but above all they are unique to who and what we are as human beings. Stories are creations of man, the only animal that lies, and thereby telling the deepest truths.
Posted by Josh Guess at 9:17 AM
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Points
The last few days have been quiet ones. No big attacks, no new and mysterious strangers bothering us. Just digging up a lot of potatoes, much planning and hoping that our wills can match our ambition. There are so many of us now, and in two parts of town, that we are doing more than we ever thought possible. But with those large efforts comes the risk of failure. Many of the people that live downtown in our fallback zone are farming there, and the rest are either working here or out at the farms we are trying to cultivate out in the country.
Patrick seems to actually be having fun pushing Lt. Price around with him everywhere. Pat loves seeing the pleasant surprise on his face every time the younger guy sees something far beyond what he expected from a group of survivors with no real expertise in most things. I remember his shock when he realized the clinic had electricity all the time, and not from a generator. He still likes to make eyes at my wife, but that's ok. If seeing Jess will make him open up to us, it's a small price to pay.
Evans says that he might be able to start standing soon. The break in his leg was painful, but not terrible, not a complex break. I am torn on this--him being healthy is good because it means he can throw in his weight in more significant ways (like giving some of that intense military training to our people), but increased mobility also means he becomes a bigger threat should his intentions prove sinister.
I'll be honest, we are pretty hopeful that Will Price really wants to be here, to be one of us. Because he does know a great deal about combat, warfare, tactics, and many other tremendously useful areas we are somewhat lacking in. Or, at least always looking to learn more about...
My brother and I are planning a big project, something that will be an enormous boon to our communities if we can get it done. We are hoping that Roger and Patrick will be up to the task, as it will require a lot of metalworking and welding. We are keeping what the idea is under wraps until a few last supplies can be located, though we are almost certain that we will find them.
Before I go, a small note: It is possible bordering on likely that I will be taking some Sundays off from writing. There is a lot going on around here, and living relatively primitively means that doing the most mundane things takes longer. So a lot less free time, and I am making it a point that every sunday Jess and I will do something together. That will likely mean I will be too busy with her to write here. If so, and if that bothers you, then I apologize. But my wife is far better than this blog or taking my mind away from the walking dead beating at our walls.
Posted by Josh Guess at 10:28 AM
Monday, August 30, 2010
The World That Used to Be
Today is my two hundredth post on Living With the Dead, and it got me thinking about milestones.
It was only months ago that we measured the bends and forks in the road of our lives in many ways. For some of us, it was finally buying that first new car. Getting your first home. Maybe it was paying off that last bit of credit card debt. Almost all of us used birthdays as markers for the progress of our lives. Pick a big event anywhere in your past, and I am sure you will see what I am talking about. Our achievements were many and varied, but we loved them.
But I think back on those moments of victory, and I find that at least for me, they didn't define me.
So much of what I once equated to success simply existed as an outgrowth of the necessities of modern life. Paying my bills on time every time never said much about me. Yeah, it said I was responsible, but that is what all people should be. Nothing about it made me special.
So when I got on here today, lacking anything else to do at the moment (no zombie attacks and no work that needs urgent attention) I saw that this was to be post number 200, and it got me thinking.
Milestones. Achievements.
I ate some potatoes and (ugh) summer squash last night that Jess and I grew ourselves. I got a new belt buckle to replace a broken one, made for me by Roger, a man whose life I saved. I slept in my own house, armored and altered to survive the ceaseless waves of the undead in the early days of the downfall.
When I look around me, I see small victories everywhere. For all of us. Men, women and children who have passed through the crucible of violence and chaos the world has become. That we live here behind a wall built with our own hands, in homes that manage to contain the true warmth of humans living in peace with one another, is a testament to how fully we have been able to shed the baggage that weighed us down in the world that used to be.
We have done a lot, but I want to leave you with an image that all at once moved me, scared me, and made me proud.
I was walking over to the clinic about an hour ago, and I saw a bunch of kids playing. Black, white, and latino among them, every one of them totally oblivious to the differences others might perceive between them. They were mock swordfighting, a game we encourage since long blades are one of the best ways to defend yourself against zombies. One of the boys got a little too intense with one of the girls, and managed to whip her across the face with a thin length of birch.
The girl, about nine, didn't cry. The boy stopped in horror when he realized what he had done, and just stood there. Then the girl punched him in the face hard enough to knock him over.
Then she helped him up, and told him to be more careful.
If I have to be proud of anything, it has to be that. That little girl maintained her calm in the face of unexpected pain, assessed the situation, and judged that her attacker needed a lesson, short and sweet. Helping him up showed that she wasn't going to hold a grudge, and that she took action herself showed remarkable independence.
Can you see why I feel pride?
While some of us might be unhappy at the need for our young to learn violence as a solution, circumstances for the foreseeable future require it. I don't like it much myself, but my heart was singing to see the reasonable reactions, self control and self reliance in the child. She figured out a solution without waiting for an adult, and showed by example that actions have consequences at least equal to themselves.
That was a milestone for me. Maybe the most important one.
Today I saw proof that those who come after us, the ones who will lead and run this place or the ones they leave here to build, might be better at it and more capable people than us.
I couldn't be more satisfied right now. That's a feeling I will never forget.
Posted by Josh Guess at 9:29 AM
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Consequence of Words
Lieutenant Will Price, the wounded soldier we found in his crashed helicopter a few weeks ago, is in my back yard pulling up potatoes. He is having to lay down to do it because of his broken leg and arm, but he insisted.
Will has been following Patrick around for a few days, and lives with him now. That also means that he has been spending a lot of time around Roger, who works with Patrick in designing and making things out of metal. Apparently, in the course of watching Pat and Roger work, Will absorbed a lot of details about the people here, and quite a bit about me.
It didn't really occur to me that he would see my or anyone else's actions as anything spectacular. I mean, those of us that started the compound didn't do it because it was awesome or so we could eventually be looked at as something special. We did it because we wanted to live, and do so in the long term. And because there is more strength in numbers than any of us had ever thought.
When Will began to hear how the compound came to be, some of the drastic steps we took early on, and how much long term planning has gone on, Pat says he started to feel bad. Not for us, you understand, but because he realized how much effort we have put in here, how much sacrifice, and he felt like he was mooching.
Which he was. I mean, let's just call it like it is. Not that he could really help it, injured as he is.
So he decided that anything he could do, he would. Which includes crawling around my back yard swearing loudly every time he has to move his broken limbs, which is almost constantly. He's harvesting because, in his words "If I am going to eat it, I should at least pick it."
I appreciate his determination, though I worry that he will injure himself further. I might have to talk to Evans about this, see if he can do the doctor thing and scare Will into sitting on his ass.
On a completely random and unrelated note, Patrick Rothfuss, one of my favorite authors and a person I mentioned in a blog a few days ago, is apparently alive. A few survivors in his neck of the woods read my blog that day and thought to go looking for him, and found him. Mr. Rothfuss is still writing his books, and living with his family in safety. I am glad to hear it, and I hope that one day I can read his finished works.
One interesting consequence of that post is that many more survivors have come to this website because of it. Fans of his work apparently still keep tabs on his infrequent blog posts, and he mentioned the whole situation on his blog, here. Check it out, he's a pretty awesome guy.
Lunch break's over. Time to look in on Pat and Roger, see if a few of the special parts I asked for are done...don't think I have forgotten about the secret project my brother and I are cooking up. Details soon.
Posted by Josh Guess at 11:51 AM
