Mark, your initial comment about being a "writer" now and the wrath at not always being able to find the words is psychologically astute—I'm plagued by the same demon. Most of the time I find myself "building" sentences rather than writing them.
I also found your writing when I was a young man, and I am can confirm your influence was striking. As an N of 1, it was very helpful, even more so when the honesty was perhaps pushing the boundary. When it comes to suicide, I have difficulty establishing true relationships with those who have not considered the possibility of suicide. Not just as a means to escape a terrible life, but in the positive sense: it as a fact of existence, a truth we choose to exist and hold the potential to not exist, whether we choose to not to exist to avoid a fiery death trapped in a helicopter or to be free from a life threatening illness or some other reason. My hunch is it is simply the sign of a mind that refuses to shy away from hard questions.
Last point, that knife drawing looks like a Mad Dog knife. I have the Hell Toad. It's a wonderful blade and it went through hell with me.
I need to sit with your comment for a while before replying as it deserves. For now, suffice to say, yes, I have felt this same difficulty.
Also, it was indeed a Mad Dog blade as the model for that illustration, a Baby Mako if memory serves. Kevin made incredible knives (and holsters too). I still have a serrated Mongoose Tanto and neck sheath he made for me to take to Antarctica in 1997 so I could cut away from the rope if I fell off an iceberg into the water. And there's a well-used OG ATAK around too.
What is still preventing you from confronting those parts of self that would allow it all to flow?
Do you think there will come a time when Blair will know it all? Will you lay yourself completely bare to her?
Maybe finding the right person or people and doing the work to have that full uncensored intimacy is one the most important things we can accomplish as a human?
Thank you Mark. Through your words I have often felt seen and understood. Throughout the entirety of my adult life your words, written and spoken have been a beacon and guide. The evolution overtime has so often coincided with what I sought or am seeking. The current chapter, brimming with honesty and vulnerability is the most potent and, at least to me, so beneficial. I’m glad you write and share. Thank you my friend.
A strong piece of writing which struck me hard as I didn't know what I was about to read.
Regardless of how you feel about your talents, ability etc. the way you described several sections of this article impacted me and had an immediate physical and emotional reaction. You are an important mind of our generation.
I’m reading David Foster Wallace’s book, “Infinite Jest” again since it’s the 30th anniversary of it.
DFW wrote a lot about suicide in it. I never realized it until reading it after he took his own life. People say he wrote of male loneliness but I think he wrote of the lack of purpose and rituals.
Seems like you have found your own Way. I remember watching as a third party, the projects you created and wondering what the arc would be. Even coming to the release of Refuge made me think, “how long is this sustainable for him”.
Your Power is in materializing the abstract of thoughts and emotions. Thank you for your Work.
That launch event for REFUGE was good, and moving. I'm glad you made the drive. The intensity seemed sustainable at the time ... but it will always be the inverse of duration. And I'd rather endure so let the flame burn down to coals. I know it can be reignited with a fan or bellows and a bit of new fuel.
/
I think you're on to something with regards to missing purpose and lack of ritual, the rites of passage, the lost reference points that once marked (clearly) the On- and Off-ramps of our lives. And I see how this focus fades across the years, especially when I can recall not too long ago describing it as "my lean bitterness of purpose", with bitter defined as relentlessly determined. I suppose the raging river that carved a gorge spreads out as it hit the beach, still moving and affecting the land beneath ... but softer.
Another great piece, Mark. It raises more questions than it gives answers and entertains thinking and reflection within me.
"What if his circle of friends gets smaller every year? How does that man see the future, and does he consider himself to be living the successful life outside observers perceive?"
This seems an inevitable path of life, if one only lives only long. For the last ten year of his life, I watched my late grandpa lose sight of his, of any future. Whenever we met, he told me which of his friends had died lately. When enough had died, he only referred to himself as the oldest of his street indirectly expressing some lack of connection to his neighbours, the village he had never left. I watched him lose interest in life when his last dearest friends had left this place. I never understood it in the moment, because from my outsider's perspective his life was a success. But since he's gone ironically I begin to understand (him).
Thank you for your kind words, and the story of your grandpa. I do hope we tend the coals as we age (and help others do the same) because the wisdom accrued must be shared, if only as observation, a story, a considered phrase. I was still in my 50s when Jeff Lowe and Tom Frost passed away and I found a picture of them and Alison Hargreaves, who died in 1996, and realized I was the last one standing from that day, that climb. And it made me hungry, fueled more work, because I didn't want to lose interest ... as much as the weight of living life sometimes offered up apathy as solace.
“Muses” are for amateurs—put your ass in the chair every day. My old friend John Milius, one of greatest writers I know, would spend his entire day bull shitting with friends on phone and entertaining visitors with stories about Curtis LeMay, Pol Pot, Ghengis Khan, Lance, Rickson Gracie and others. Then, just as the sun began to set, he would manically start writing longhand on a pad of paper. Sometimes his day only consisted of one hour of actual writing, but the quality of work in that hour surpassed that of almost other writers in Hollywood. Afterwards, his assistant Leonard Brady would dutifully type up those page and he would do it all over again the next day. Sadly, I have no assistant, but pay my bills by writing. Typically, I work on 2-5 projects at the same time. Don’t feel like polishing the book manuscript? Write an oped. Need to make some fast cash, write a magazine article. All my books have their own soundtrack that I don’t listen to unless I am working on that book. When I wrote Rickson Gracie’s Breathe, I had my friend Rodrigo Amarante’s song “Tujo” (theme soung of Narcos) on a one hour loop. At the end of that hour, I get a 10 minute break to look at email, news, surfing vidoes. Then the soundtrack goes back on and I’m back in it. I wrote this about my friend and novelist Taylor Brown:
"What continues to impress me the most about Taylor Brown is that, irrespective of the success or failure of his books, the good or bad reviews, or the lure of Hollywood, he continues to write with the same diligence that a mason lays bricks, a logger falls trees, or a fisherman hauls traps. What many fail to realize about writing is that it is a craft, not an art. If you spend enough time in the chair, however, one day, just maybe, like the Japanese carpenters who can match wood grains and construct entire houses without nails, as Taylor is learning, your craft can become art."
Oh, my. Thank you for this. There were indeed long years when my ass was in the chair only on Sundays, when I had committed to producing a weekly sermon. These often weren't published until very late Sunday night, or as late as 6am Monday, especially towards the end of that project when my commitment flagged under the weight and expectation. Still, there were over 200 essays from that period, and many of them were good and made their way into a book. These days I'm in the chair more than ever, with multiple projects simmering simultaneously (the book manuscript long gone cold on the counter). And yes, as it did for Milius, the distraction changes to focus at some point, and mania could be an apt descriptor of what ensues.
Also, I read the 'Just War on Drugs' piece this morning and found myself humming along, nodding in agreement about who and what should be targeted. I especially appreciated your universally applicable statement about, "... appropriation of my culture by out-of-state carpet baggers who risked nothing ..." among other poignant turns of phrase. Once again, thank you.
Hopefully, in this life we get speak together about this and other aspects of writing and living. Keep on punching the keyboard and what else needs punching.
Mark, your initial comment about being a "writer" now and the wrath at not always being able to find the words is psychologically astute—I'm plagued by the same demon. Most of the time I find myself "building" sentences rather than writing them.
I also found your writing when I was a young man, and I am can confirm your influence was striking. As an N of 1, it was very helpful, even more so when the honesty was perhaps pushing the boundary. When it comes to suicide, I have difficulty establishing true relationships with those who have not considered the possibility of suicide. Not just as a means to escape a terrible life, but in the positive sense: it as a fact of existence, a truth we choose to exist and hold the potential to not exist, whether we choose to not to exist to avoid a fiery death trapped in a helicopter or to be free from a life threatening illness or some other reason. My hunch is it is simply the sign of a mind that refuses to shy away from hard questions.
Last point, that knife drawing looks like a Mad Dog knife. I have the Hell Toad. It's a wonderful blade and it went through hell with me.
Thank you for the excellent piece.
I need to sit with your comment for a while before replying as it deserves. For now, suffice to say, yes, I have felt this same difficulty.
Also, it was indeed a Mad Dog blade as the model for that illustration, a Baby Mako if memory serves. Kevin made incredible knives (and holsters too). I still have a serrated Mongoose Tanto and neck sheath he made for me to take to Antarctica in 1997 so I could cut away from the rope if I fell off an iceberg into the water. And there's a well-used OG ATAK around too.
What is still preventing you from confronting those parts of self that would allow it all to flow?
Do you think there will come a time when Blair will know it all? Will you lay yourself completely bare to her?
Maybe finding the right person or people and doing the work to have that full uncensored intimacy is one the most important things we can accomplish as a human?
Thank you Mark. Through your words I have often felt seen and understood. Throughout the entirety of my adult life your words, written and spoken have been a beacon and guide. The evolution overtime has so often coincided with what I sought or am seeking. The current chapter, brimming with honesty and vulnerability is the most potent and, at least to me, so beneficial. I’m glad you write and share. Thank you my friend.
Thank you Mark.
Thanks to all who commented.
A strong piece of writing which struck me hard as I didn't know what I was about to read.
Regardless of how you feel about your talents, ability etc. the way you described several sections of this article impacted me and had an immediate physical and emotional reaction. You are an important mind of our generation.
Very well done Mark.
I’m reading David Foster Wallace’s book, “Infinite Jest” again since it’s the 30th anniversary of it.
DFW wrote a lot about suicide in it. I never realized it until reading it after he took his own life. People say he wrote of male loneliness but I think he wrote of the lack of purpose and rituals.
Seems like you have found your own Way. I remember watching as a third party, the projects you created and wondering what the arc would be. Even coming to the release of Refuge made me think, “how long is this sustainable for him”.
Your Power is in materializing the abstract of thoughts and emotions. Thank you for your Work.
That launch event for REFUGE was good, and moving. I'm glad you made the drive. The intensity seemed sustainable at the time ... but it will always be the inverse of duration. And I'd rather endure so let the flame burn down to coals. I know it can be reignited with a fan or bellows and a bit of new fuel.
/
I think you're on to something with regards to missing purpose and lack of ritual, the rites of passage, the lost reference points that once marked (clearly) the On- and Off-ramps of our lives. And I see how this focus fades across the years, especially when I can recall not too long ago describing it as "my lean bitterness of purpose", with bitter defined as relentlessly determined. I suppose the raging river that carved a gorge spreads out as it hit the beach, still moving and affecting the land beneath ... but softer.
Really, really beautiful writing.
🙏🏻
Another great piece, Mark. It raises more questions than it gives answers and entertains thinking and reflection within me.
"What if his circle of friends gets smaller every year? How does that man see the future, and does he consider himself to be living the successful life outside observers perceive?"
This seems an inevitable path of life, if one only lives only long. For the last ten year of his life, I watched my late grandpa lose sight of his, of any future. Whenever we met, he told me which of his friends had died lately. When enough had died, he only referred to himself as the oldest of his street indirectly expressing some lack of connection to his neighbours, the village he had never left. I watched him lose interest in life when his last dearest friends had left this place. I never understood it in the moment, because from my outsider's perspective his life was a success. But since he's gone ironically I begin to understand (him).
Thank you for your kind words, and the story of your grandpa. I do hope we tend the coals as we age (and help others do the same) because the wisdom accrued must be shared, if only as observation, a story, a considered phrase. I was still in my 50s when Jeff Lowe and Tom Frost passed away and I found a picture of them and Alison Hargreaves, who died in 1996, and realized I was the last one standing from that day, that climb. And it made me hungry, fueled more work, because I didn't want to lose interest ... as much as the weight of living life sometimes offered up apathy as solace.
Thank you for your words, Mark. They have helped in many situations of life.
“Muses” are for amateurs—put your ass in the chair every day. My old friend John Milius, one of greatest writers I know, would spend his entire day bull shitting with friends on phone and entertaining visitors with stories about Curtis LeMay, Pol Pot, Ghengis Khan, Lance, Rickson Gracie and others. Then, just as the sun began to set, he would manically start writing longhand on a pad of paper. Sometimes his day only consisted of one hour of actual writing, but the quality of work in that hour surpassed that of almost other writers in Hollywood. Afterwards, his assistant Leonard Brady would dutifully type up those page and he would do it all over again the next day. Sadly, I have no assistant, but pay my bills by writing. Typically, I work on 2-5 projects at the same time. Don’t feel like polishing the book manuscript? Write an oped. Need to make some fast cash, write a magazine article. All my books have their own soundtrack that I don’t listen to unless I am working on that book. When I wrote Rickson Gracie’s Breathe, I had my friend Rodrigo Amarante’s song “Tujo” (theme soung of Narcos) on a one hour loop. At the end of that hour, I get a 10 minute break to look at email, news, surfing vidoes. Then the soundtrack goes back on and I’m back in it. I wrote this about my friend and novelist Taylor Brown:
"What continues to impress me the most about Taylor Brown is that, irrespective of the success or failure of his books, the good or bad reviews, or the lure of Hollywood, he continues to write with the same diligence that a mason lays bricks, a logger falls trees, or a fisherman hauls traps. What many fail to realize about writing is that it is a craft, not an art. If you spend enough time in the chair, however, one day, just maybe, like the Japanese carpenters who can match wood grains and construct entire houses without nails, as Taylor is learning, your craft can become art."
https://petermaguire.substack.com/p/taylor-brown
Oh, my. Thank you for this. There were indeed long years when my ass was in the chair only on Sundays, when I had committed to producing a weekly sermon. These often weren't published until very late Sunday night, or as late as 6am Monday, especially towards the end of that project when my commitment flagged under the weight and expectation. Still, there were over 200 essays from that period, and many of them were good and made their way into a book. These days I'm in the chair more than ever, with multiple projects simmering simultaneously (the book manuscript long gone cold on the counter). And yes, as it did for Milius, the distraction changes to focus at some point, and mania could be an apt descriptor of what ensues.
Also, I read the 'Just War on Drugs' piece this morning and found myself humming along, nodding in agreement about who and what should be targeted. I especially appreciated your universally applicable statement about, "... appropriation of my culture by out-of-state carpet baggers who risked nothing ..." among other poignant turns of phrase. Once again, thank you.
My pleasure. You know the drill. Keep on keepin on--you know the drill!
Hopefully, in this life we get speak together about this and other aspects of writing and living. Keep on punching the keyboard and what else needs punching.
One of these days, yes. Let's make a conversation happen.
I love this piece. The honesty more than anything.
Thank you. Hard to write, harder still to hit the Enter key ... and yet, all so natural.