Posted on by michaelwconrad

Shoes.

“The snow has melted in Austin Texas.” That’s a funny phrase one doesn’t often get to say. Normally it would be bundled with something like “It was nice while it lasted!” but not in this instance. This time it was deadly in some circumstances, and the kind of nut shot we’re all over at this point. Anyway, today it’s 80 degrees, and one would never know just 7 days prior this was a place of icy survival.

I took advantage of the remaining cool temperatures on Monday and took a long walk. This is something I like to do, it allows me to collect my thoughts for stories to be told, or to listen to some of my audiobook while moving my body. I didn’t have a destination, in fact I avoided that thought all together, willfully taking unfamiliar routes. This is a “dérive” as the Situationsts called it, a drifting walk focused on lack of focus in pursuit of the deeper truths offered by the psychogeography of your city. 

Situationist maps are incredible artifacts, resembling a randomly cast pile of spaghetti noodles. They’re influenced only by where one is able to walk freely and the spontaneous moments of interest taken in the secret landscaping of even the familiar areas of our residence. I highly suggest adopting a practice of the dérive to anyone who may (like me) have a lot of weighty issues on their mind. I have always loved a walk. I think my passion began when at a young age I found myself inspired by the book Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse. In this, the titular character counts walking among the things that are of greatest value to him. In effort to pursue the Buddha, I came to value this freedom in a way I never had prior. I’m quite lucky to have the ability to ambulate, but rest assured, even without such abilities, the dérive is free for all to explore. A literalist translation of this practice is not what I suggest; I’m sure there is room to drift regardless of one’s circumstance, and I encourage it.

As I wormed along, creating another noodle on the map in my mind I did find myself crisscrossing areas of familiarity. This wasn’t a problem for me, the goal of the exercise was NOT to push against circumstance, but instead to allow it to unfold and to enjoy it as one might a familiar story told by someone unfamiliar with the material. I just kept my legs going and enjoyed the moment, this walking meditation proved again to be big medicine.

I suppose it goes without saying that anything offered by the Situationists, a group of avant garde artists and political revolutionaries, doesn’t involve the Capitalistic tendency to connect the process to consumerism. It’s with some shame that I must report that in this case, it did result in my purchase of new shoes. But I was well past due, and this dreamy stroll had delivered me to a shop (one I was unaware of previously, as I’m normally blind to such things) where I was able to pop in and make a quick decision.

Having made my selection (some very plain black tennis shoes made of plant based material) I found myself, only moments later outside with them bound to my feet, my old pair already in the bin. Just like that I had a new pair of sneakers to see me through the rest of my travels. Abracadabra.

I did pause, only for a moment though. Thoughts of remorse came, memories. I had so quickly disposed of those shoes and I hadn’t taken a moment to reflect, mourn, say goodbye. I never identify as a sentimental sort, even though I am in many ways. Hell, I’ve thrown away more meaningful and valuable items in the past. I’ve let go of entire, hard earned, collections of rare books and comics, photographs, pieces of my personal history, and yet this pair of shoes seems to immediately haunt me as I passed the trash can. I looked in, sadly, briefly, as one might at an open casket funeral and spent the rest of my dérive as a walk. I was no longer drifting, I was headed home in a direct fashion. I spent the time remembering.

I bought those dead shoes in New Hampshire at “The Outlets” in 2019. I had always heard folks talk about going to the Outlets for hot deals, but I never bothered myself with that. On a rare visit home Becky and I made a point to do such things and it was during that trip that I picked them up. I was proud of them, they were blue! 

I wore these shoes for the next year and a half, they were the only pair I owned. These protected me during my long walks, and they wore all the wear and tear one might associate with someone whose mental wellness requires several miles a week. I tried to list some of their virtues mentally, the elements of gratitude I had for them, and the moments connected to them.

-I wore these shoes to the first family Christmas I had been to in well over a decade.

-I’m fairly certain I was wearing them when I was asked to co-write Midnighter and soon thereafter Wonder Woman.

-They were on my feet when I heard of the passing of nearly a dozen friends in the past year. They sat waiting by the door like patient dogs  as I clutched myself in the shower remembering lost friends, wishing I had been a more present person.

-I wore them when Becky and I used to go on walks together frequently, a practice that has been subdued by the state of the world.

-They protected me in early 2020 when I didn’t know what the future held for me as a writer. A period defined by 5 mile walks to the library to write strange short stories I used to post here. This was a hopeless time, and those stories and those walks were critical to my wellness.

-I wore them during our last major trip (to Portland) just before Covid shut travel down. I spent time there with inspiring friends, and tried not to lose sight.

-I believe I was wearing them during an NYC visit, during which I was with both my brothers and several of our closest friends, a memory I’ll forever cherish. I will not cherish the part where I got absolutely destroyed on Dickel Whiskey (solo) and proceeded to weep and basically become a liability for the next 12+ hours. I’m dualistic y’all.

-I wore them as I drew 2, 24 hour comics, and 2 mini comics.

-I wore them to feel serious, official, awake, when Covid created an environment when daytime clothing became something less than necessary, instead- a mark of BUSINESS.

-I wore them in sad times, in happy times, in times of dreaming. Their soles worn through by countless miles, having served me without question.

I left them in the trash.

The new shoes felt like they were made for someone else’s feet entirely. I told myself they hadn’t been trained yet, they were wild mustangs that needed to be broken. I committed to walking enough to get them in shape this week. I committed to making a stronger list of memories for when their time came. How many more pairs are in my future? How many miles are left before I can’t do it anymore? How long until the main function of shoes will be to keep my feet warm, rather than protect them on my journey? How long until the final pair? Do people wear shoes when they’re cremated? I don’t want to think these thoughts, I just want to honor my fucking shoes.

They feel pretty good, a little snug, but I suspect they’ll stretch. They don’t have much tread, but I mostly walk upon paved surfaces. The insole leaves something to be desired, that might be their failing, but as someone who has worn Chucks more than anything else in my life, I think they’re adequate for the time being. I’m thankful for them. I know what they mean, and what they will mean.

These shoes were made in Cambodia. I’m sweating at the mere thought of the unimaginable hardships the workers may have faced. I’m ashamed that I went for a $40 price tag (this was one of those places poor folk shop… as a poor folk I don’t need to field your goddamn questions) over a more expensive “all vegan, human rights” kinda situation. I do what I can… always, I cannot help everyone, and if YOU think you can I welcome you to the internet which has PLENTY of gofundme’s that NEED you to act right now. I dunno, I needed shoes… maybe next time I’ll be more able to make my money talk for me… right now I need to honor the suffering that went into these discount shoes… thanks.

Shoes… I mean, I have t-shirts I’ve worn for a decade plus, but they haven’t done the heavy lifting. They just kind of hang there and cover my amazing body. Shoes really show the passage of time, and literally, where I’ve been. Their value extends beyond the practical, beyond vanity, beyond most things. They end up in the trash, there’s something poetic and sad about that.

“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

Ernest Hemingway

Posted on by michaelwconrad

Somniloquy

This is one of those mornings when the words aren’t coming easy, not for lack of ideas as much as not knowing what the move is right now, let me explain-

I’m in an awkward position of having a number of projects nearly at a point where the fun can begin- projects with big publishers, more work with the incredible Noah Bailey, potential interest from even more publishers, a newfound interest in finding a literary agent, so much to do without really having a straight up greenlight to follow. This is a trying time, as I feel like I’ve been suited up, ready to enter the arena and there keep being delays. I tell myself to just keep writing, keep thinking about stories, everything I consume I consider and examine for its strengths- but I just want to get in there and mix it up- like, yesterday.

At GalaxyCon Richmond I told a young writer to just keep grinding, that the path to writing is simple: if you wanna be a writer you must, no matter what, write, always. Right now I feel like a bit of an imposter, but I’m doing what I suggested, I am typing. I told this guy that most will give up, most will be defeated, and only those who push can manage the sad pressures of waiting. I was speaking from a very real place of experience, it’s really the only advice I can give knowing that I am becoming a master of that particular discipline.

I am not where I want to be right now (who is frankly) but I write knowing that if I obey the creature that crawled into my mind and told me to write I will get closer to my goals. I know that if I keep throwing my body against the wall it will break, if I spend my whole life doing this it will not be a life poorly lived. I don’t know how many other writers meditate on this, but it has been my mantra, I will not stop.

Twitter can be an ugly place, right? Aside from the unavoidable elements of negativity there are the folks who, rightfully so, boast about new projects coming together. They got a Marvel contract, they have a book doing big numbers, they have something coming next month in Previews, hell- they have an editor/agent who believes in them. As someone early on the path this can be very discouraging because I want these things, I feel I have the ability to tell stories that will connect and intrigue and drive interest to a book, why not me? The answer is simple, I have to work more, work harder, attack my goals from all angles, I have to obey the mantra and not stop.

I recognize that I am in a position that is enviable, I have written for the big two, I have an OGN that has done well in sales and the critics have appreciated what I have done. I also recognize that due to having Becky coaching me through this I have a level of insight not afforded to many. Couple this with the fact that I have found a mentor in Shelly Bond, and numerous other seasoned professionals, I am in afforded opportunities that few have. This doesn’t stop the voices though, the nagging, taunting voices that drone on from the moment I wake till the moment I find sleep. The voices enter dreams, interrupt sweet moments, distract me from the work at times, they do as much good as they do bad. These are the voices every creator requires and hates all at once.

When I played music my friend Richard and I used to fantasize about what we would do and who we would become when we hung up our guitars. We would have hobbies and good jobs, we would be normal. I realize now that not only am I not capable of being normal, I wouldn’t want to be. Making things gives my life a value that cannot be fully defined, but it is by no means easy, and it doesn’t always feel good.

I know that when I post about some of these things coming together (soon) that some will feel like I have made it. This thought is laughable, and it speaks to the agonizing fate of an artist. Nothing/everything is not enough. It isn’t for money, or legacy, or acclaim, it’s to feed the monster. The more you feed it, the more it grows and the hungrier it becomes. I will, one day achieve the goals I have in place and on a grey day like this I will take a moment and write a post just like this one. I will be looking for more, looking for a sunrise, feeling like I am not doing enough. It’s a strange fate to resign yourself to, but I find some comfort in knowing that there are always upgrades.

Let’s change the subject though, let’s talk about some nice things.

-I’m really proud of those short stories I shared. I hope you took the time to read them. I continue to write them but I will no longer be sharing them here. This is due to “plans” I have and advice from folks in publishing. Additionally, I was starting to feel like I was hitting folks with a bunch of content that no one was asking for, so I’ll save it for only the folks who appreciated that part of my writing regimine.

-At GalaxyCon I was treated well by mostly everyone. I sold a good deal of stuff and signed a lot of the work that I already have out there. I got to be part of a panel with Becky and Richard Case, a man whose work I have admired for the better part of my life. I felt like I was at The Dance. This was a privilege and I look forward to more.

-I’m proud of the script I wrote for Noah Bailey, my partner on Tremor Dose. Our next book is going to really blow everyone away, and I hope that a few months from now I will be talking about how incredible it was to work with him again, and how much easier it was now this time around.

-I’m making strides in working on my self confidence. A huge part of it is adjusting my language to reflect a new opinion of myself. I’m trying not to say “I am not really an artist.” because this is patently untrue and it does a disservice to my work. I’m trying to accept compliments without running away from them, be it by dismissal or literally leaving. I’m trying to accept that I have the ability to connect to others through my work and that it is a mark of my hard earned skills. I’m feeling more like I have earned this.

-I’m trying to be a better person, to share what I know and who I am in an honest way. I’m trying to see myself as a peer and not someone who aspires to attain something that is an illusion any damn way.

-I’m trying to feel less jealous and critical of others in the industry. This is juvenile and weak, and it has no place in my life- or yours.

-I’m trying to be a better friend to the planet and to people. I aim to improve my perspective, and I’m really proud of that.

-I remain humble. I remember to feel gratitude, but not to displace my good fortune. Luck is not the critical ingredient, I work hard.

No, I’m not there yet. The destination keeps moving, the goal post is on wheels, it’s only in accepting this that I am able to grow. I thank you all for allowing me to share and for the kindness you have shown me. I’m living my dreams and that is the most important thing I must remember. I’m already there, with you.