Fred Aiken Writing

Category: Blog

June 3, 2024

Tres Libros de Mi Vida

Daily writing prompt
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
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‘Infinite Jest’ comes to mind first; it taught me that sometimes books are not fun to read, especially when they have an overabundance of footnotes and are overwritten in a semi-academic format with some of the fanciest words ever thought of and strung together. Don’t get me wrong, I still think ‘Infinite Jest’ was a great book and was/is the definitive post-modern story, but I was a dumb teenager that thought I would read Wallace’s magnum opus one summer vacation, and while I did finish it within a month before the end of summer ending, I did not enjoy the experience.

I did eventually go back to ‘Infinite Jest’ when I was in my twenties to reread it, and it was somewhat more pleasant, or at least I felt like I could more easily digest what was going on, but I still have to say that I did not enjoy just how overwritten and bogged down Wallace’s style is with so much description. Way too much description. I’m not one to say that Hemingway’s minimalist style of writing was all that good, since I really did not like ‘The Old Man and the Sea’, but I do think there’s a middle ground between David Foster Wallace and Ernest Hemingway in terms of style and descriptors that is around my tolerance.

While ‘Infinite Jest’ was perhaps one of the first books that I found myself truly not enjoying, I guess the first book that comes to mind that I truly did enjoy and got caught up reading was Mark Twain’s ‘The Prince and the Pauper’. I know it’s not one of Twain’s more well-known books, and I had read both ‘Huckleberry’ and ‘Tom Sawyer’ prior to ‘The Prince and the Pauper’, but for whatever reason I really enjoy the latter. So much so that it was the first book I remember in my childhood that I stayed up to read and finish in an 8 hour span.

There’s nothing particularly special about ‘The Prince and the Pauper’, from what I can remember. In fact, it was essentially ‘Freaky Friday’. I mean, not exactly, and obviously ‘The Prince and the Pauper’ came out long before movies, much less ‘Freaky Friday’, were ever a thing. But it was the movie that came to mind. Plus, the Lindsay Lohan ‘Freaky Friday’ movie had come out around the time that I read ‘The Prince and the Pauper’, and I had a crush on her when I was a kid, which isn’t weird considering we’re about the same age, but I figure that in my adolescent, hormone-addled brain I probably related a lot of books back to various Lindsay Lohan movies, and I suppose ‘Freaky Friday’ and ‘The Prince and the Pauper’ were perhaps the two most similar.

I suppose another comparison one could make between ‘The Prince and the Pauper’ is the story of the life of Martin Guerre, whose biography I read in college. I mean, there are plenty, and I mean plenty, of stories, both fictional and nonfictional, of characters doing a switcheroo both before and after Twain. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is the concept isn’t all that new, and probably at this point in writing it is a bit played out. But when I was a kid and constantly relating books that I read to my celebrity crush at the time to Lindsay Lohan, I suppose I could understand why I might have really liked ‘The Prince and the Pauper’ more than any other book at the time.

There are quite a few books that have had an impact on me. Anything from the Beat Generation to modernism and post-modernism. I think a majority of my book choices have generally stayed within the range of being written in the past 100 years to now. I definitely was never a fan of Romanticism or Shakespeare or the Enlightenment periods and their style of writing. But when I think on it a bit, I suppose I’d have to say the third book that had a major impact on me was Ken Keseys ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’.

Again, I was a teenager at the time, though I have since reread ‘Cuckoo’s Nest’ multiple times since, and it has stood the test of time as one of my all-time favorite books, but it also happened to be a time where I became really obsessed with psychology and mental illness when I first read the book. I was going through some mental struggles myself, and for some reason the story a psych ward patient, McMurphy, faking mental illness to get out of prison and then rebelling against the authority of Nurse Ratched, who then subjects McMurphy to electroshock therapy and then eventually a lobotomy before being mercy killed by the narrator, Chief Bromden, a Native American psych patient pretending to be deaf and mute, who then is inspired by the spirit of his dead psych-ward friend to escape himself really resonated with me at the time.

I did eventually find myself in a psych ward myself, a couple of years after reading reading ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’. It was in the late 2000’s, so obviously lobotomies and electroshock therapy were no longer practiced. But I do feel as if drug-induced, semi-temporary lobotomies are still being practiced through the administration and management of various psychic drugs to quel various mental illnesses. I think that experience even more so heightened my connection to Ken Kesey’s work.

But like I said, there are quite a few books that I’ve read that have had an impact on me, some more than others. I do read quite a bit. I’d probably say I read about 2 books a week on average, so there will definitely be some that don’t really mean anything. I’d probably say at least one book every 2-3 years comes along and has a larger impact and influence on me than others. Though I suppose I do sort of relate the 3 aforementioned books as being the most impactful due to the significance they played in developing my mind at an age where my brain was still forming higher level thoughts and I was beginning to think about my place within the world, philosophically, morally, and all those grand things.

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June 2, 2024

Not All Fears Fit in Your Pocket

Daily writing prompt
What fears have you overcome and how?
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Leo wakes to the soft chime of his alarm, a sound that blends seamlessly with the gentle rustle of leaves outside his window. The day is charged with a subtle electricity, as if the air itself is holding its breath.

For as long as Leo can remember, spiders had been his constant dread, weaving webs of fear in the corners of his mind. The fear of real spiders, with their many legs and quick movements, and the fear of imagined ones, lurking in the shadows of his thoughts—all intertwining to form an invisible web around him. But today, he senses a shift, a readiness to face the shadows that have haunted his dreams.

Yet still, he must confront his fear. In the attic of his house, where boxes of forgotten memories gather dust, lies the heart of his fear. He approaches the narrow staircase, feeling the cool wooden banister under his fingertips, and takes a deep breath. Each step upward is a challenge, the air growing thicker, the light dimmer. The higher he climbs, the more the familiar world below becomes a distant memory, a surreal landscape that blurs the lines between reality and imagination.

At the top, he finds himself facing the darkened attic door. A tight knot in his stomach forms, but he knows he must continue. He closes his eyes and lets the darkness envelop him, realizing that the shadows, while real, do not have to control him.

Pushing the door open, Leo steps into the attic, his flashlight piercing the gloom. The first spider he sees is small, hanging delicately in its web. His instinct is to recoil, but he forces himself to stay. He watches it, studying its movements, understanding its place in the world. The fear remains, but it is tempered by curiosity, by the realization that this small creature has no power over him.

As Leo continues to explore the attic, he finds more spiders, each one a little larger and more intimidating than the last. He encounters a tarantula, its hairy legs moving slowly across the floor, and a black widow, its red hourglass glinting ominously in the light. He feels his pulse quicken, but he takes deep breaths, reminding himself that he is in control.

Descending the stairs, Leo feels lighter, as if he has shed an invisible weight. The next challenge lies in the foyer, where spiders spin their webs since he could remember. Not allowing him to pass. A silky barrier to the outside.

From the shadows, a spider of emerges, a creature woven from his deepest fears. It is large, menacing, yet strangely beautiful. He does not recognize this spider. But the spider knows Leo. He stands his ground, his fear palpable, but mixed with a sense of determination. He speaks to it, not with words, but with the strength of his presence. The creature, sensing his resolve, begins to shrink, becoming less monstrous, more manageable.

As Leo stares into the spider’s many eyes, he sees reflections of his own fear, his own vulnerability. He understands that the spider is a part of him, a manifestation of his deepest anxieties. By confronting it, he is confronting himself. He reaches out a hand, and the spider crawls onto it, its movements no longer threatening, but almost gentle. He feels a strange connection to the creature, a sense of empathy and understanding.

Leaving the foyer, Leo walks with newfound confidence. He has confronted his fear for the day. He stared into the many eyes of that fear and not blinked, so to speak.

As he moves forward, the shapes grow clearer—phantoms of dread, shadows of past anxieties, specters of his imagination. But with each step, his confidence fades, unable to withstand the light poking through the front door.

Escape, he tells himself. Walk out the door and face what comes. But a small, invisible hand holds him back. The hand belongs to a specter of his young self pulling him back into the house, back upstairs, back into the comfort of his room.

Leo tells himself he’s done enough for the day. He’s faced enough spiders as is. Perhaps tomorrow he will brave his fears again. Perhaps tomorrow he will open the door and walk out to face the world’s spiders. Perhaps…

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June 2, 2024

Enchanted Image

Daily writing prompt
How do you know when it’s time to unplug? What do you do to make it happen?
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Each morning, Aurora awakens to the faint whisper of wind chimes outside her window, a gentle cue to rise and greet the day. She stretches languidly, savoring the fleeting peace before the world intrudes. Her mornings are a ritual of deliberate actions—slipping into comfortable clothes, brewing a pot of tea, and basking in the quiet glow of dawn.

Aurora is a weaver, her days spent intertwining threads of thought and creativity into tapestries of meaning. Her home, a small but vibrant cottage on the edge of a vast forest, is a sanctuary of colors and textures, where every item tells a story. She prepares a simple breakfast, the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the earthy aroma of herbs drying by the window. Her enchanted mirror, which reflects the outside world’s clamor, remains dormant by her choice, its surface dark and silent.

Her journey to the loom is a winding path through the forest, each step a meditative exercise in mindfulness. She greets the ancient trees, the birds, and the streams, drawing inspiration from their unspoken wisdom. At the loom, she loses herself in the rhythm of her work, her fingers deftly dancing over the threads. Her fellow weavers often marvel at her ability to maintain such focus, attributing it to her harmonious connection with the natural world.

As the sun climbs higher, Aurora feels the pull of the enchanted mirror, its siren song of distant voices and shifting images tempting her. She knows the cost of its allure—how it can fracture her concentration and drain her spirit. She resists, setting firm boundaries to preserve her creative sanctuary. She understands the importance of solitude, of listening to the quiet whispers of her heart.

By twilight, Aurora returns home, her mind a tapestry of ideas for her latest creation. She prepares an evening meal, each ingredient chosen with care, the act of cooking a soothing ritual that eases the day’s tensions. The enchanted mirror remains untouched, and she basks in the stillness, the only sounds those of chopping vegetables and the gentle crackle of the hearth.

One evening, as she gazes into the darkened window, she sees her reflection framed by the night. Her face bears the marks of exhaustion, shadows beneath her eyes a testament to the ceaseless demands on her attention. She realizes she has allowed the mirror’s call to disrupt her peace, encroaching on her time for introspection and rest.

Determined to reclaim her tranquility, Aurora devises a plan. She places a cover over the mirror after the sun sets, a barrier to protect her evening hours. She sets specific times to engage with the outside world, ensuring these moments do not dominate her day.

The following morning, she awakens feeling more refreshed. Instead of uncovering the mirror, she reaches for her sketchbook, letting her hand roam freely over the paper, capturing the remnants of her dreams. The walk to her loom feels more vivid, each step a reminder of her commitment to stay grounded in the present.

At the loom, she shares her new boundaries with her fellow weavers, who respect her need for balance. She finds herself more productive, her creations infused with renewed energy. She takes frequent pauses to step outside, breathe deeply, and reconnect with the forest, grounding herself in its timeless rhythms.

In the evenings, Aurora immerses herself in her weaving, losing herself in the interplay of colors and textures. She reads ancient texts, visits the village storytellers, and reconnects with friends by the fire, cherishing these tangible interactions. The restlessness that once haunted her begins to fade, replaced by a profound sense of calm and fulfillment.

Aurora learns that knowing when to cover the mirror is about honoring her own rhythms, recognizing when the noise of the outside world drowns out her inner voice. It is about creating space for stillness, for creativity, for true connection. She finds that in shielding herself from the mirror’s pull, she reconnects—with her art, with the world around her, and with herself.

Her reflection in the window changes. The exhaustion fades, replaced by a serene glow. Her eyes shine with inspiration, and a peaceful smile graces her lips. Aurora understands now that the key to her well-being lies in these moments of intentional disconnection, allowing her to truly live and create with her whole heart.

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