Richard Schiver

Category: Random Musings

  • How Music and Writing Connect: Finding Your Flow

    I’m running a little behind right now. Installed a new entry door on my house last week and have been paying for it ever since. My sciatica is kicking my butt and the heating pad has become my best friend. Hopefully soon it will loosen up and I can get back to our normally scheduled programming. My apologies all around.

    I recently found a clip on You Tube taken from the concert film, The Song Remains the Same, a movie released in 1976 that featured the group Led Zeppelin. Filmed during three nights of concerts at Madison Square Garden.

    The clip features the song Stairway to Heaven which has become a classic since it’s release in the early seventies. I grew up listening to groups like Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Boston, and The Eagles just to name a few. But this was the first time I even saw the guitar solo by Jimmy Paige halfway through the song, and I was blown away.

    In the close up you’ll notice that Jimmy’s eyes are closed as he’s playing. It’s as if he has transcended the mechanical melding of guitar and man, the song no longer coming from the musical score in his head. It is no longer the act of metal strings being strummed while fingers move to the appropriate fret. This goes much deeper than that. In a sense he has become the song itself and what we hear comes from the depths of his soul. Jimmy has entered the zone. If you were to ask him what he was thinking about while he was playing, I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t be entirely sure himself.

    Writers do the same thing when they create. During the initial phase of a story’s creation, after the spark that inspired it. To write that first draft the writer finds it necessary to venture into the zone where all things become possible. In the zone there is no grammar, no punctuation, at least not consciously at first. That will come later, during the many rewrites to polish the story to a hard brilliance. No, during that first stage, the very first time a word intrudes upon the unblemished page, the writer infused with the fever of creation slips into a state of self-hypnosis.

    For some the ability to slip into the zone becomes second nature. As soon as they sit down at their work they enter that altered state. For others it is a struggle to find that quiet room in the mind where all things become possible. Here time has no meaning. The seconds, minutes, and even hours pass unnoticed as the writer becomes wholly focused on that imaginary place they have created in their mind. Where the words flow like the waters of a swift moving river that passes through their consciousness. Dark, deep, and muddied by the swirling emotions that whisper across the page.

    It is only then that the writer is at peace.

  • Upon The Shoulders of Giants

    Upon The Shoulders of Giants

    I’ve heard new writers complain that there are no more good story ideas out there. That everything that could be, has already been done. I wholeheartedly disagree with this. While there are only seven central archetypal narratives that form the basis of every story ever told, each writer brings their own unique perspective of the world to work at hand.

    The seven narratives are: Overcoming the Monster, Rags to Riches, The Quest, Voyage and Return, Comedy, Tragedy, and Rebirth.

    When we retell a particular story we are in essence as writers, standing upon the shoulders of giants. We are taking existing ideas and retelling them from our own unique perspective.

    The most successful authors of our time understand this and use it to their advantage. To cite just a few.

    Stephen King’s novel Fairy Tale features many familiar fairy tale elements including a royal family, a cursed princess, and a monstrous guardian. Typical for his work he leans into the darker, more gruesome nature of the Brother’s Grimm originals. With references to Rumpelstiltskin, Hansel and Gretel, and Little Red Riding Hood.

    Stephen King’s Dark Tower series took its inspiration from Robert Browning’s poem “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came,” J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, Arthurian legend, and spaghetti Western films like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.  He envisioned the Gunslinger as the man with no name featured in many of Sergio Leone’s westerns.

    Dean Koontz  is currently tackling the Frankenstein story with Prodigal Son book 1 of his Frankenstein series.

    I’ve heard of a rumored quote from Richard Matheson that contrasted the largely psychological, ambiguous atmosphere of Hill House with his own novel, which presented a haunted house where “you damned well know it’s haunted” I’ve been unsuccessful in tracking down the quote though I’ll leave it at that.

    Each of these writers stood upon the shoulders of giants to bring their own vision of a classic to life. The examples are endless.

    I’m currently reading Dan Franklin’s newest novel, Steel Machines. A retelling of the Golem story that has been redone multiple times. If you were to look deeper into every new story ever told, you would find it has its origins in the past and the author is in a sense standing upon the shoulders of giants.

    So, the next time you hear an author complain there’s no new plots or story ideas out there, remind them that the innovation comes not from the plot, or central idea, but in the unique way they tell a story.

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    Jimmy and his friends have come to the roof of their apartment building to watch the passage of the comet Omega9. Little do they know the dust from the comet contains ancient organisms that are about to turn their world upside down.

    They’re already dealing with tough times, but things get even crazier when Robert’s mom is attacked by his dad and turns into a zombie. This is only the first act in a chain of events that plunges the world into the zombie apocalypse. Forcing the boys to figure out how to survive in this new, terrifying reality.

    Trapped between the undead, and the evil living in the building, their future becomes more perilous until Robert makes a startling discovery in the basement. In the end it’s all about survival, friendship, and facing their fears as they fight to protect each other and their home.

    Sign Me Up!

  • The Ghosts of Conflicts Past

    The Ghosts of Conflicts Past

    The gunfire has long since fallen silent, most of the scars that once marred the field of battle have healed, and the physical signs of the past conflict were but a memory. Yet if one were to listen closely to the restless breeze whispering across this hallowed land, you might hear the voices of the past. The cries of anger and terror fading to the final whimper of a dying soldier as they came face to face with that which awaits all of us in our final moments.

    The names of the battlefields might change as well as the means of conflict, but one thing will always remain. The dying. Be it from sword or arrow, bomb or bullet, death moves among the combatants gathering up the fallen. Where they will march for eternity in lock step with death as the world of the living honors their sacrifice.

    Stories of ghostly encounters near old battlefields are as old as the nature of war itself. On the plains of Marathon, north of Athens, Athenian soldiers repelled the Persians in 490 B.C. Afterwards visitors to the battlefield talked of hearing the whistle of spears and the screams of dying soldiers.

    British history is filled with similar stories. Three battles from the civil war of 1642 have been reportedly seen by visitors, the engagements at Naseby, Marston Moor, and Edgehill. Two world wars have also left their mark upon the landscape from Dieppe to Burma.

    The U.S has its fair share of stories with most centered on the ghostly apparitions that inhabit the civil war battlefields of Gettysburg, and Antietam just to name two.

    I experienced an encounter in West German in the mid-seventies. It was my first trip out of the country, courtesy of Uncle Sam, and we were in the field on maneuvers. I had been assigned to a listening post for two hours. It was punishment because me and my tank commander, a west pointer who was always trying to bully people, had been locking horns ever since he’d been assigned to the tank. I had been bullied growing up, so I had very little patience for people of that nature, no matter their rank.

    It had only been a little more than 32 years since the guns of WWII had fallen silent, and in many parts of the country there remained small reminders of the past conflict. Most notably were the abandoned structures still riddled with bullet holes.  

    We weren’t near any towns, or even farms. The night was clear with a full moon and as I waited to be relieved I caught the sound of movement to my right front. I focused my attention on where the sound was coming from but could see nothing. It sounded like several people sneaking up on our position, and it was obvious from the sound of their movement they were soldiers. An armed force moving through the night, no matter how quiet they think they are, will still make small sounds. A rifle sling rattling softly, pants catching on the weeds, footsteps moving as quietly as possible. When you’ve done it enough you recognize these sounds.

    There were no infantry units nearby, and as per our rules of engagement everything in front of us was considered hostile. I was about to call it in when whoever it was started speaking quietly, in German. Like they were giving orders or bitching about their situation. I only knew enough German to get into trouble. I looked again at where the voices were coming from, but there was nothing there. The weeds in the field were only about a foot high and not very dense so it’s unlikely they were hiding.

    They continued to get closer, their footsteps growing louder, that guttural voice whispering orders. They were no more than five feet away from me, but nothing moved where the voices were coming from. I couldn’t see a damned thing, but I could hear them as clear as a bell. It was then I took a chance and turned on my flashlight. I was supposed to call in any movement, but for some reason this didn’t sound right. There was something off about the way the person was speaking so I hesitated on calling this in. I’d heard a number of stories about strange occurrences that happened to others in the field.

    I searched everywhere but saw nothing. If it had been an opposing force patrol sneaking up on our position, the moment I turned on my flashlight they would have come after me. As it was whoever had been there simply vanished. My relief showed up, and I returned to the tank to get reamed out by my TC for turning on my flashlight. I didn’t tell him what happened. It wasn’t until later that I started to piece together what I might have witnessed. I believe what I heard that night was a lost German patrol that paid the ultimate price but were still continuing their mission.

    Sounds farfetched, and some might question what kind of drugs I had been playing with at the time. But I was stone cold sober, and I know what I heard. I believe it was just one of the little events that put me onto the path I now follow.

    In the coming weeks and months, I plan to explore the stories of hauntings from the world’s battlefields, from ancient times to the present day. If you have any personal experience I’d love to hear about them too, please share your story in the comment below. Thank you.

  • Elder Gods and the case for Ancient Aliens.

    Elder Gods and the case for Ancient Aliens.

    This post originally appeared on my blog in 2015.

    In the thirties a young writer by the name of Howard Phillip Lovecraft created an ethos that is still going strong to this day. Dubbed the Cthulhu Mythos, he wrote of ancient gods who came to this planet long before man emerged, arriving upon astral winds from the fathomless depths of deepest space. Before man’s arrival the great Cthulhu retreated to the briny depths of the ocean’s deepest parts where it is said he lies dreaming to this day. 

    While for most people this seems like a pretty far fetched idea, the concept of  Cthulhu makes an appearance in modern works. Most notably as the visage of Davy Jones in the blockbuster series “Pirates of the Caribbean.” Lovecraft himself drew a picture of Cthulhu that presented the body of a man with the face of a squid whose tentacles formed a beard. In its distilled form every writer of note has put forth their own take on the concept of ancient alien gods.

    When you look to the stars, can you honestly say you believe that among the thousands of spots of light spread across the night sky, representing a very small fraction of what can be seen with the naked eye, that we are alone in the universe?

    Many find it difficult to  wrap their minds around the concept of time beyond the measure of a human life, which is but a brief twinkle, a nanosecond if you will, when compared to the immensity of cosmic time. Current estimates place the age of the Universe at around 13.75 billion years. But there are those within the scientific community who believe we’ve underestimated that number. Keeping with the current estimate the Earth, by comparison has only been around for 4.5 billion of those years. The Universe was 9.21 billion years old when the Earth, and the solar system it inhabits, first formed.

    Allowing sufficient time to cool to support life, let’s say it was 4.6 billion years after the big bang before the first single cell organisms could have conceivably formed on earth like planets. A point in time over 9 billion years ago. Life on Earth has had 4.54 billion years to develop into the intelligent beings of today. What’s to say intelligent alien life wasn’t standing at the point we currently find ourselves, when the Earth first formed? Giving them a 4.5 billion year head start on humans.

    Granted some alien societies would not have survived beyond the nuclear age. We ourselves face the possibility of extinction as a direct result of our nuclear proliferation. I’m sorry, but while others may disagree with me, there are some nations and leaders who should never possess such capabilities. Iran and Korea being the first that comes to mind.

    Yet we face unlimited potential. Given time I’m confident electricity can be generated in a safe, low cost, manner that protects what natural resources we have. Just as I’m confident many alien societies faced the same hurdles we do now, back when the Earth was but a spinning cloud of vaporous rock whipping around a newly formed star.

    Those that didn’t succeed perished. But not all of them would have fallen to extinction. Some would have realized the potential we now face. Some would have overcome their internal bickering to become a single species united in a common goal. Be it a life of leisure, or one of exploration. Some would have chosen to live their lives in eternal comfort, focusing on their concept of beauty and the arts.

    Others would have followed their curiosity to the stars in vehicles capable of reaching across the vast expanses of time and space. Quite possibly visiting our world at a time when man viewed these visitors from the stars as gods.

    Could it be the legends of the past were inspired by these otherworldly visitors?

    Are the creations of H.P. Lovecraft, and Clark Ashton Smith, mere imaginings, or did they come to the same conclusions? Would an early predecessor to man view these visiting aliens as Gods? Is it possible these visitors seeded a young earth with Homo sapiens? Or is there a more sinister reason we accompanied them?

    We are left with the question, What if?

    What if we were nothing more than food for this alien visitor? Cattle in the field that left to its own devices managed to evolve into the intelligent human being of today. There are as many possibilities as there are stars in the sky.

    What do you believe?

  • Following in their Footsteps.

    Following in their Footsteps.

    Operation Market Garden 34 Years Later

    In 1978, at nineteen years of age I was serving with the United States Army as an armor crewman. In 1977 the motion picture, A Bridge Too Far, was released and featured a star-studded cast. I along with a couple of my friends watched it at the base theater in Fort Hood, Texas. The following year our unit was slated to take our six month turn at the tip of the spear at the U.S Army’s heavy metal playground in Grafenwoehr, West Germany. Located 21 miles from the Czech Republic border, a member nation of the Warsaw Pact. 21 miles from a border of concrete and barbed wire constructed to keep their citizens from escaping the harsh life of a communist regime. Our only goal, our sole purpose was to halt any soviet advance that might push across the border. As such each of our tanks carried a full load (67 rounds) of what we referred to as service ammunition. It was a mix heavy on armor piercing and HEAT (High Explosive Anti Tank) rounds, designed to slice through enemy armor.

    In Graf, we lived in Quonset huts that featured a large open bay filled with beds and footlockers. It was where we stayed when we weren’t working on our tanks in the motor pool, or out on maneuvers with other units preparing for a day all of us feared. Many a night I would lie in bed worried if I had what it would take to face our adversary. Thankfully that day never came. We also had most weekends off allowing us a chance to blow off some steam.

    Germany is a small country, a little larger than the state of Oregon, and aside from the autobahn, the railroads are a prime means of transportation. You can go practically anywhere on the European continent with a train ride. Which is how a small group of us ended up in the Netherlands, following a route carved into history, and featured in a recent movie we had all watched. What I’m referring to is the primary route followed by the ground forces in Operation Market Garden, one of the most disastrous allied operations during the war.

    In short the operation’s purpose was to open a path into the interior of Germany to outflank the Siegfried Line. The operation used elements from the British First Airborne Division, the Polish 1st Parachute Brigade the 82nd and 101st U.S Airborne Divisions. Their task was to secure and hold the bridges until 30th Corp could relieve them. This would have opened a direct route into the heartland of Germany if it succeeded. Possibly shortening the war. But it didn’t work out that way.

    It’s been forty-seven years since I walked that route, and while much of what I remember from that day has faded into the mists of time, the emotions are still very strong. I recently watched A Bridge Too Far, again, as I recover from knee surgery and those emotions are as powerful today as they were then.

    At the time of our little walk, thirty-four years after it happened, I don’t believe we really understood how deep that river ran through us. I can recall feeling a sense of walking upon hallowed ground, what one might feel at Arlington. Our usual jack assery settled as we were filled with a sense of walking among the honored dead who gave their all for what they believed in. Yet when your nineteen and with your friends it’s nearly impossible to fully explore your emotions of the moment. As such the respect of silence was all we could offer.  

    Every year, on the anniversary of the operation, a memorial walk is held, and I’d give anything to follow once again in the footsteps of those who went before, while I still have time. Only this time not as a young man struggling to figure out life. But as an older, wiser man who understands the full measure of devotion needed to throw oneself against such odds.

    They were called the greatest generation, and their numbers dwindle everyday. It falls to us then to carry their stories forward for a new generation to maybe learn from.

    Follow the link below for some amazing then and now photos from Arnhem.

    War History Online