Why I'm Writing into the Black
On entropy, starting over, and the stories we find in the dark
Why I'm Writing Into the Black
Writing into the Black defines the stories I need to tell. It's about facing the universe's underlying truth: entropy. The inevitable trend of all things toward chaos and decay. The universe's silent law. It frays relationships. It turns lives into memories. And given time, it will devour even the last star.
The Black is the final state of entropy. It's the vast, unseen cosmic ocean we float in. A presence like dark matter whose gravitational architecture we can map but whose fundamental nature remains hidden. The darkness in the woods. In our hearts. In the gulfs between dying stars.
Writing into the Black means staring into the abyss to chart its depths without being consumed.
This is the Black I want to write about.
I started writing as a child, but only in adulthood could I do these topics justice. Youthful optimism lacks the experience to portray authentic complex reality. You have to live first—walk into the Black and let it seep into you—before you can find that voice.
My life began in chaos. The Black was always there, but a cloak of innocence shielded me. Life, however, erodes that shield. As chaos persisted in my world, I found my sanctuary. My grandmother was a librarian, and the branch where she worked was a place of soft carpets and a hushed atmosphere. I could breathe without the knot in my stomach I'd get at home. By twelve, I was taking the bus across town to lose myself for hours in Portland's massive Central Library. Soon after, I discovered Powell's City of Books. In its café, surrounded by the smell of coffee and literature, I found not just books, but a community where I fit in with the misfits. I hated the chaos, and these places were my refuge from it.
My rebellion took the form of engineering. A profession where system decay is the enemy and failure is the only outcome of disorder. For two decades, I lived by logic and code, taming complex systems.
By forty, I had built enough to step away from that world. But the state of all things trends toward entropy. The chaos resurfaced in many forms. Failing health, ending friendships, loss of pets and family and friends. Passion and ambition faded. Reading, writing, coding, even gaming lost its appeal. The Black swallowed everything.
I grew to accept it, settling for contentment in quiet and solitude. Soon, my health declined to the point where that peace became impossible. That year tethered to a machine has since condensed into a single, feverish impression: the mechanical drone providing ambience to the ritual of pain, and the slow progress of healing. I wasn't on the ropes; I was on the canvas, being counted out. My heart was one of those final stars, winking out its last light and succumbing to the Black.
Some theorize that after an eternity, the universe may recombine and explode into a flash of brilliance, starting things anew.
Then, my own quiet cataclysm. An old desire surfaced from some forgotten depth. A visceral memory seized me. I loved writing, and that old dream of becoming a writer resurfaced with it.
I assumed it a fleeting impulse. At an age when most writers achieve mastery, I am an apprentice. And yet, the spark refused to die.
It fuels a different kind of fight. After seven years confined to a bed, I am still here, fighting back. In the last few months, I have learned to stand again. With assistance, I can walk down the hall and back. Sometimes the greatest accomplishment is to persist. This passion for writing is part of that slow, painful, necessary rebuilding of a life.
Writing into the Black, is the ledger of this expedition. My purpose here isn't to teach but to share what I discover. We'll cover the genres, craft, literature, and authors that call to us from the dark. I'm here to explore with you.
If you, too, feel pulled toward the vast and the unknown, I invite you to subscribe. Let's venture into the Black together.
Coming next month: Break Your Story or Readers Will
All posts are, and will always be, free.